Tag Archives: vasectomy

Dear Santa, I want an iPad for my 40th birthday

Dear Santa,

I know I haven’t written to you in eons, but please don’t hold that against me.

I would like a 32GB iPad with Wi-Fi and 3G in Black for my 40th birthday.

I recognize that you usually don’t do birthdays, unless they fall on Christmas, of course.

But I think you can make an exception.

With four kids, a sagging economy and bills to pay, gifting myself a shiny new gadget is not the most responsible thing I could be doing with my money.

That’s where you come in.

I want it.

For years, I’ve assumed that parents, not you, were the real jolly giants placing presents under the tree.

My belief in you was shattered one year when my Uncle hung a Santa suit (still on the hanger) from his collar, and proceeded to ‘Ho-ho-ho’ in the thickest Nigerian accent.

The disappointment of my siblings, cousins and I, was palpable.

But as I approach 40, I’ve come to see the error of my ways (discounting your very existence).

And, well…I’m desperate.

You see, I’ve been very good this year.

I’m on the front line with the 4 kids, and that includes the 9 week old. Think smelly diapers, vomit, sleep deprivation.

I coach my son’s soccer team. Organized confusion.

I take the kids to Kumon twice a week. Can you say: Chinese water-torture?

I had the procedure. This alone should justify you getting me one! Hello?

I could go on, but you’re Santa. You’ve got the whole ‘naughty and nice’ list.

One of my friends, Ewan who publishes the Mobile Industry Review, put a call out for someone in the States to buy him an iPad and ship it to him in the UK.

A day later Gif Gfroerer from i2SMS did just that. Gif was reimbursed – he’s not all generous like you.

The point is that Ewan made a wish, and the Universe granted it.

Santa, I don’t know if you’ve got skills like that, but my birthday isn’t until April 21st. So you’ve got time.

I’m counting on you. (Picture me doe-eyed, blinking, looking up at you.)

Sincerely,

Stephen (who-hopes-you’re-real-but-knows-you’re-not-and-prays-that-someone-within-the-sound-of-this-blog-post-is-reading-moved-and-paid-enough-to-hook-a-bruh-up) Chukumba

PS If you need to talk to the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny to pool your funds, by all means do.

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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!?…

………………….Mommy?

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