In Which I Realize I Am A Farm Animal

In Which I Realize I Am A Farm Animal


Reaching forth from the depths of the roiling blackness of… err, that’s just my hand, really

Hello, darlings!

I’ve written so many things in my head over the past two months, it’s crazy. None of these great works have actually made it beyond the door of the dark, dusty attic at the back of my brain though. So I decided to fackit all and just sit my lazy butt down and write something on here. In related news, MissMeddle turned two about three days ago, so… Yeah. Thanks for following me on this journey.

So, recently I realized I am a farm animal. Turns out I am a chicken. Not just an ordinary chicken, but the type we call “Agric fowl”. You know the kind, that weird blob of flesh you get when you eat at Mr. Biggs. It’s big and sumptuous-looking until you take a bite, then you realize, “This meat is not ripe!!!” Yes, those huge, fatty, mass-produced chickens that are allowed to grow only a short while before they are harvested and shipped off to the nearest Mr. Biggs.

I’m physically, emotionally and intellectually “not ripe” these days; and it seems I’m getting *cough* fluffier by the day as well. Exercise, I hear you suggest? Oh please! I jog.

In my head. Of course.

This is a short weird post which only serves the purpose of letting you know that I’m still alive.

Ciao, bellas.

If that makes any sense.


OJB Jezreel needs a kidney transplant which will cost about $100,000. Yes, I shout “OJBeeeeee!!!!” whenever I see him on telly, but is that enough support? If all his fans gave N1,000, wouldn’t he be that much closer to life than death? Please donate.

Donation info: BABATUNDE OKUNGBOWA | UBA | Account number: 1015075120 (from

Change is in doing stuff, not in going “Ah, eyaaaaa!”