Tag Archives: spermatozoa

Diary of a mad (as in crazy insane) Black man(‘s nightmare come to life)

His junk is gone. Who can laugh at a time like this?

In less than 12 hours, I’ll be having surgery for the big ‘V.’

I’ll have to admit that I’m a little shook.

I mean some dude is going to be putting needles, and scalpels and heat…down there.

In a place that none of the aforementioned implements of torture should ever be.

It’s barbaric.

It’s inhumane.

It’s necessary. (Child number 4 was…how do you say…an accident.)

I’m trying to pyche myself up.

You see, back in December, when I had my original consultation, I thought I had more time.

The baby wasn’t here.

Wifey hadn’t healed up.

I could talk about ‘The Procedure‘ in a far-off, abstract way.

But in less than 12 hours (did I tell you that it’s happening in less than 12 hours?) some man in scrubs and rubber gloves will attempt to stop the flow of spermatozoa from my gonads.

I’ll plant no more seeds.

Build no more ‘lil Chukumbas.

Cease contributing to the world’s overpopulation.

I’ll be sterilized.

Not to say that there aren’t positives to having your faucet turned off.

For example, I’ll be able to run up in wifey whenever the hell I damn well please.

Bareback. Thank you very much.

AND if I ever slip up and fall into some booty that’s not the wifey’s, I’ll never have to worry about paternity tests, “cause I’m shooting blanks Maury!”

So there is an upside.

But I can’t help thinking about the words of my sadist, I mean ‘doctor.’

“Some guys syncope, at the mere thought of having the procedure.”

Syncope? C’mon dude, plain english! (Syncope=pass out)

Didn’t you take a Hippocratic oath? You monster!

Oh, so you’re saying I’m a punk?

But….as I sit here, thinking about the fact that:

1. Someone is going to stick a needle in the vicinity of (or God Forbid, IN) my balls; and then

2. That same someone is going to take a scalpel and make an incision (forget the pleasantries – CUT) my nutsack with said scalpel; and then

3. (without skipping a beat or allowing me to recover from the unadulterated trauma of items 1 & 2 above) pull my vasa deferentia from said incision, sever and seal them (with FIRE); and then

4. Stitch up the incision with another needle.

Perhaps I am feeling a wee punk-ish.

But I shall remain undaunted!

I’m just writing this post for your entertainment…

I don’t REALLY need to get psyched up…

I’ve got this in the bag…

I’m Nigerian damn it!….

We chase lions and kill food with our bare hands!…

What’s a little needle, knife and heat going to do to a straight Mandingo like myself!?…



Filed under Smack talking

Stephen Chukumba says: “My children are…peculiar.”

At the advice of counsel (the wife) the names of my children have been changed to protect their reputations, which will surely be ruined if anyone ever comes across this post in the future.

I don’t know what my wife did when she was pregnant, but she baked some weird strange peculiar kids. Of course, I contributed some genetic material to the mix, but in my opinion, the particularities of my children have more to do with the nine months gestation, than my little spermatozoa (aka “It’s the wife’s fault, not mine.”)

Take my oldest, Sasha Sming, who had the strangest habit of tying things in knots. Stuffed animals, toys and objects of all kinds were found bound and gagged in all parts of the house. (Not really gagged, but totally bound)

Teddy bears, bunny rabbits, Afro Barbies (we only get down with dolls in which the children can see reflections of themselves), Lego figures, tricycles, knitting needles, were all bound by Sasha Sming.

Literally anything that she could wrap a piece of string/rope/yarn/headphone cord/jump rope (you get the picture) around was enveloped in these elaborately tied knots. We were really quite disturbed (still are actually – gulp).

Clearly, in her former life, she was either a boy scout, longshoreman or a dominatrix with a bondage fetish.

My son, Nehpets, is a pre-pubescent Adonis. Women just find him incredibly appealing (definitely a trait inherited from his daddy).

From the day he was born, members of the female species have simply been enamored with him. As an extension of the awareness of his appeal to women, his peculiar habit is disrobing.

The wife and I have been regularly perplexed by the frequency with which we’d find this boy with his shirt off. As he got older and could articulate himself, he’d say (to justify being topless) that he’d gotten his shirt wet, or that he was hot, or some other equally implausible reason for walking around the house half-naked.

Nowadays, he regularly gets dressed in his pj’s sans top.

In addition to taking off his shirt, he’s fond of showing off his muscles, and has the most unusual ability to undulate his stomach like a belly dancer.

In Nehpets’ his past life, he must have been a Chippendale, body builder or male escort.

Without question and despite the unusual behavior of Sasha Sming and Nehpets, Darun is by far the most peculiar.

I could describe it in excruciating detail, but it’s probably best if I just show you.

This particular behavior started when she was about 9 months old. We’d find baby blankets and pillows stuffed into her onesies.  As she got older, more and more stuff was being stuffed into her clothes.

We theorize that she may have been a magician in a former life…or a shoplifter.

At the end of the day, I must admit (in the absence of a paternity test on Maury) that these kids are just lil’ bits o’ me, ’cause as hard as it may be to imagine, people say that I’m wild crazy peculiar too.

Go figure.


Filed under Parenting, Smack talking