Don’t ask any question. Da me again. Da me Paul. My friend them can call me PYH. I na like woman business. I na like eating business. I na like money business. I only like writing business. Writing da my breakfast. Da ma lunch. Da my supper. I eat writing like kanyan. You na know?
I can hit so and hit so. I na scared seh. I hit on men, and I hit on women. I hit on old people, and I hit on young people. I able to hit on everybody, including presidents. My mou’h na scared. You like it, jacko; you na like it, Jack-o’-Lantern.
I will continue talking about Liberian men in this article. I will say it. I will na tremble seh. I na scared of them. I know them good, good. They full of big show, for-nothing big show. Yor na know?
The very first university they attended and graduated from is called the University of Uselessness. Yor na know Liberian men are useless as a floor rag, like an old slipper on a dumpsite. Da small uselessness in Liberian men? They are useless during their young boy time. They are useless in their old age. They are a useless set of creatures. Da me say so.
That’s not all. The second university they attended and graduated from is the University of Deceitfulness. Da small lie Liberian men can lie? Da small deceitfulness in Liberian men? They eat trickiness like kanyan. Da me say so, my people. Besides, they attended the Sweet Mouth High School. Liberian men are sugar mouth people. You na able them. No wonder they can get women just like that. And they full of big show, too. Da me say so. Let them come beat my butt.
Liberian men think that having big stomach always means enjoyment. They are stupid set of creatures. They just think that if they have a big stomach, then it means that they are enjoying. So, some of them drink rotten palm wine and swallow stink fufu to puff up their bellies and be considered well-off.
Some of them eat Fante bread whole day, and when the yeast makes their stomachs big, they tell people that they are enjoying. Some of them keep all kinds of stupid pupu in their stomachs, and they tell people that they are enjoying. Ehn yor see what Liberian men can do?
Besides, Ehn I told you people dat Liberian men like woman business? It’s like God swear them on this woman business. A big part of their brain is all about woman business. They like sex like flies like rotten things. Yor think I lie? Just try any Liberian men.
Liberian men like woman business-ooo. It doesn’t matter whether they are old or young. They like it. It doesn’t matter whether they are rich or poor. They like it. It doesn’t matter whether they are in the village or in the city. They like it. It doesn’t matter whether they are pastors or deacons. They like it. It doesn’t matter whether they are ushers or praise and worship leaders of singers. They like it. It doesn’t matter whether they are imams or not. They like it. It doesn’t matter whether they are government officials or ordinary civil servants. Their whole brain is all about woman business.
Their eye balls are all over the place. Da me say so. If you think Liberian men’s eyes are like cassava stick on this women business, you lie because their eyes are like pineapples. And if you think their eyes are like pineapples, you lie because they are like the seeds in pawpaw. And if you think they are like pawpaw, you lie because they are like the sand on the beach. Liberian men are the creatures we call woman lappa.
They like women business too much. You give them chance, they do woman business in the church. You give them chance, they do it in the office. You give them chance, they do it in the classroom. You give them chance, they do it in the mosque. You give them chance, they do it on the farm.
You give them chance, they do it on the beach. You give them chance, they do it in the court. You give them chance, they do it in the toilet. You give them chance, they do it in the car. You give them chance, they will do it in the canoe. Young girls come, they clear it. Old women come, they eat it. Da true, my people.
To be continued…
Seriously, my people, aren’t these points to ponder?