This is a comprehensive and elaborate compiling of Valentine Stories



THE VALENTINE’S DAY CYCLE
First thing on 14th February, every year – on Whatsapp, BBM, facebook and Twitter – guys will post display pictures of ladies different from the ones they posted on the same date, the previous year and which they do not intend to post next year.
Later in the day, the real versions of these photo-shopped display pictures – ladies with real pimples and creases – will be taken out to where there is much fun fare. They will be made to drink a little too much. The aim is to get them drunk.

The music must be loud; sex must ooze carelessly. It may be shrouded in subtlety, in the red blotches of colour splashed here and there. It may be more pronounced: drooling over chitchat with the liquor cascading down tall wine glasses. The ladies will warm to the couquettry. They came prepared and ready. They had carefully chosen their dresses. Short and flimsy gowns, long bare legs mounted on glossy and mountainous heels. It must look all perfect.

Lost in the deep sonorous rhythm of romantic music, the guys will utter sweet nonsense and coo in their ladies ears. Smiles, laughter, winks.

In the end, the staggering ladies will be taken home. They will be bonked. They will be banged hard.

Between February 14th and a few months – depending on how dexterous temperaments are – hearts will have been broken. In between these dates, abortions will be contemplated and conducted in secrecy. Abortion doctors will smile to the bank. The price of butchered and mangled fetuses will be used to show some love and care. It could even be used to repair homes; let’s say these doctors use these monies to buy new cars for their wives. Or tuck neat wads into envelopes and drop them in the church tithe boxes. Are these not acts of piety?
I’ve always respected abortion doctors. They enjoy a contorted ride with conscience
***
Back to the ladies!
Those with feeble hearts and aching backs; whose minds cannot stand some bloodied forceps or whose backs can not lie still for ten minutes on operating tables or whose quaking legs cannot spread open further for the currete to make an entry will have to endure a nine-months adventure of nauseas, melancholy and such omens. By mid November, or first week of December – for those that would have had extended pregnancies – beautiful babies will have been birthed. Babies whose fathers aren’t responsible enough to give thoughts over their parenting.
November must have the highest number of birthdays. Check it out.

The lover- babe’s turned mother’s experience a closed chapter; afterall, few will ever be able to pick up the pieces of their lives and assemble them together. It’s a tough thing to do, especially when you’ve got a baby on your back. To them, St. Valentine left a sour after-taste in their mouths. Pine mouth, teeth sensitivities; something akin to eating too much unripe pineapples, sour-soup or pine nuts. These feelings are regurgitated when they look at these babies.
Some may get lucky. God and man could lure the men of St. Valentines’ Day into the stables of a shabbily planned marriage. Pray it works, or you might bear the name ‘My Baby Mamma’ forever.
***
Back to the Ladies!
The lucky ones are those who had courage, money and timing to seek for an abortion. Timing matters, for it makes the difference between taking a pill or lying on the cold steel table. If you confuse the timing- and let the second trimester roll by; your fate is relegated to coffin sellers and grave diggers. They shall decide where you’ll be buried, at the backyard or a commercial cemetery.
***
Back to the Lucky ones!
Those who had courage, money and timing to................................

CONTINUE READING: https://ugobestiky.com/2019/02/06/before-aftermath-valentine-stories/

N!gga u talk too much...

How i take talk much ni

Headlesschicken:
N!gga u talk too much...