Wheh happen? Don’t looka me like dat. You na know me? Da me-ooooo.Da me the same person again.Da me Paul. My mou’hna scared. Plenty people know about me. Writing da my area. I na like woman business; I like writing business. I na say it over and over.
I quick to take women to the police station, especially if they bring loving business around me when I am on my writing business. I na say this same thing plenty time before. Da lie, my people? No! Da na lie. But some women still want to try me.
Just yesterday, for example, while I was writing this article, one beautiful girl came straight to my desk and looked at me romantically and sexily. I looked at her, cut my eyes, and continued my writing. She then held my chin and raised it without permission. I looked at her again and said nothing.
She smiled lovingly and batted her eyes in a kind of I-am-digging-you way. I said nothing. Then she said, “Da true you like writing business, not woman business?”
“Yes, da true,” I quickly responded.
She laughed mockingly and said, “I see, my boy. But, today, yorgblokoh short because you will want me, whether you like it or not.”
Guess what I did to that beautiful girl? I grabbed her hand, held it tight and started dragging her to the nearest police station. She pinched me, but it was for nothing. She bit me, too, but it was for nothing. I held her in a manly manner and pulled her seriously.
“Da force?I told you dat I na like woman business; I like writing business. Don’t come spoil my head in this Monrovia town. You hear me, fine girl?” I reminded her, while still dragging her to the nearest police station. She was surprised. No – she was shocked.
“Leave me alone, you man. I na want you. I was just joking,” she said, trying to lesson my anger and determination to take her to the nearest police station for bringing woman business around me.
“You lie. You were na joking. You were serious. Da how you people can spoil men like me. You wanted to spoil my writing business,” I emphasized.
“So, wheh you carrying me,” she asked.
“To the nearest police station,” I answered.
“To do what?” she asked surprisingly.
“For you to make and sign a promissory note stating that, from today on, you will only bring writing business, not woman business, around me. I na like woman business. I like writing business. ” I explained.
“Da diskinda thing business you want to carry somebody to police station?” she asked mockingly.
Yeah-o, fine girl. Nobody coming take my mind from writing business to woman business. I na keep myself from this woman business for all these years, and you want to come spoil my head?” I indicated.
When we finally reached the nearest police station, I registered my case and the questioning process started. I explained exactly what happened. She had nothing to say. She only kept looking at me and the police officers. The commander and other officers at the station praised my action, indicating that if all Liberian men were behaving like me, no Monrovian girl would spoil any man.
Anyway, after all of the necessary arrangements, she was made to sign the promissory note, which reads: “I, Miss Debeh-gaamu Johnson, the undersigned, having realized that Paul Yeenie Harry, commonly called PYH, likes writing business, not woman business, and having realized that he has kept himself from involving in woman business for years, regret my today’s action and promise never again to bring woman business around him. Should I ever repeat my action, let Mr. Paul Yeenie Harry take me to court and demand US$50,000 in damages and, if I am unable to pay, let me be kept in prison for the rest of my life.”
I made sure that seven witnesses also signed. I took my copy, got up, wiped my dry butt and went back to my writing business, finishing this article on time. This is how I will treat any woman who brings loving business around me. I don’t like it. Da me say so. You like it, jacko; you na like it, Jack-o’-Lantern.
Seriously, my people, aren’t these points to ponder?