In this our selfish world, this Poem is a Brother's passionate plea to a Fellow Brother

Betrayal of trust is rife in our present day society. Most people live for themselves, care only about themselves and would never do anything if it doesn't benefit them.

However humans were not originally created that way, Humans are meant to support one another, help each other and face the innumerable struggles of life as a formidable, united front.

This Poem is a passionate plea for us to return to our natural state of Caring for and considering the interests of others around us.

  Ode To My Brother

Humans must first learn the denial of self,
The heart wants what it wants.
Ghosts must now haunt their predators,
We chirp about bountiful harvests,
Have all our actions been courteously cultivated?

Through dark tunnels
And slippery pathways.
Wounds infested by malice,
Love winding up on rejection highway.
Tough!
The road mortals must thread.

To wear a crown of thorns?
Bend beneath the coarseness of a Cross?
A six inch nail in each palm?
Or to enjoy a lavish dish of horsewhip?
I would gladly bear these all for you.
Brother!
Would you do the same?

Written by Onyeoziri Favour
Favouronyeoziri@gmail.com

YOONUS OLUFUNMILOLA - Class Series

Have you ever come across a very simple person, who is seldom bothered about what others would generally be bothered about?

Yes i have.

Do you know anyone who although they do not have any reason to be Lazy still goes ahead to feign tiredness and strange laziness?

Yes, i do.

A Poison Tree by William Blake is one of my favourite poems ever!

This has always been one of my best poems.

This poem by William Blake is a testimony to the inevitability of conflict in our society. Misunderstandings must occur both among friends and even between strangers.

What really matters, however is the approach with which we deal with such provocations and the ensuing anger.

The Poison Tree

“I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine -

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.”

~William Blake (A Poison Tree)

A Derailed Future - A story about Love, hate and Patience.

"What's wrong with you?" I screamed over the phone, it took a second for her to assimilate what she just heard. To her, it was very strange and unbelievable. She had never heard me ever raise my voice beyond its natural pitch, not to talk of shouting. She sensed that she must have pissed me off real much for me to respond in such an unusual manner, so in response, she began to sob over the phone. God! how i hate to hear women cry!

I had been in the process of ironing some clothes that fateful Wednesday evening, when she called me over the Phone. We had started off on the usual light note, exchanging pleasantries and enquiring about each other's welfare. Then i proceeded to ask about her Parents and siblings, she returned the favour immediately after responding curtly with the word 'fine'.

Neither of us knew the direction the discussion was going to take, but usually we would let it run its course and at the end of the conversation, we would both be feeling a lot more happy and in love. This particular evening, i was more interested in completing my ironing, especially since electricity supply was very unpredictable. Therefore i was in no mood for a long discourse, instead, i was trying all i could to truncate the conversation as soon as possible. Unfortunately, it seemed she on the other hand was less preoccupied and maybe even bored. She kept pushing the conversation, trying her possible best to prolong it beyond the basic complements and confessions of Love we usually exchanged.

With every passing minute, i became increasingly restless and my patience began to grow thin, little wonder when she brought up the issue of marriage again, i immediately went haywire.

Amaka and i had been dating for over eight years now. We first met during my Jambite years. I was unfortunate to have written the University entrance examination for four consecutive years before being granted provisional admission into the University of Ibadan to study Education and Chemistry.
I had met at the special centre were i wrote my first JAMB.

With time, our friendship transcended the platonic stage, as our emotions blossomed, our relationship graduated into a full blown intimate affair. We had clearly fallen head over heels for each other and in less than two years, our relationship had become a popular example of what a romance should be, both among married couples and dating singles throughout the neighbourhood.

By the fourth year of our relationship, i was opportune to gain provisional admission into the University of Ibadan (U.I). By third year in the University, i was already twenty-seven years old, it also signified my seventh year of dating Amaka.

For the past year, She had been very persistent about the solemnisation of our love through a proper wedding ritual. As the months went by, she began to sound desperate about Marriage, her haste seemed unnecessary to me, since she was barely twenty four years old and yet to gain admission into the University. Countless times, i had explained to her that i had to at the least conclude my University education and become gainfully employed before we could get married.

This evening, She had brought up the issue of marriage again. This time around, sounding even more offensive and even threatening to quit the relationship if i did not marry her soon. Her curt remarks were very shocking and irrational at the same time. To worsen the whole matter, She had no single logical reason for her haste towards matrimony. For her, marriage was a competition among friends, a contest which she may emerge as the loser, since most of her friends had already gotten married. Although many of then were not fully married, but then, they no longer lived in their parent's houses and at least part of their dowry had been paid for by a roadside mechanic here or a Bricklayer there.

After all attempts to placate her and try to explain everything to her all over again for the umpteenth time failed, i decided to give up on the whole exercise. Gradually, my anger built up, until I decided that she could quit the relationship if she wanted, in fact, she could go jump into a Lagoon if she so desired. For the moment being, i was tired and feed up and infarct could use a little peace of mind.

That night, i hung up on her after a lengthy exchange of words. I considered her threats to be empty and baseless, without ever suspecting that She could ever see it through.

"Hello, who is this?" I enquired, this is Amaka, she replied "sorry, which Amaka is this" i asked again, then she went into a short narrative, after which i clearly knew who it was. I was very excited to hear her voice once more after seven months. Since our last argument seven months ago, we had not as much as called or even sent each other a text message.

For a fleeting second, i was happy that my prodigal heartthrob had returned, this time, i hoped she was a better, patient and repentant person. I was about rendering a small prayer of appreciation to God for bringing her back to me, when her next words stopped me in my tracks ....." I was just delivered of a bouncing baby boy four days ago " She said, her voice laced with a weighty amount of joy.

I pretended to be deaf, then requested for her to repeat herself, this time, i heard her very clearly and she sounded every bit convincing.

where are you? Who is the father of the Child? Are you married? When did you get married? Are you pulling my legs? What happened between us? I wanted to ask her all these questions and a million more, but all i could do was to stare at the opposite wall, mouth agape, ears mute, phone clutched feebly to my ears. I stood there, beside the hot Iron, among my roommates, mortified. I stood there erect like the biblical Lot's wife, who was turned into a pillar of salt, for merely turning to stare at a bright future she had left behind at the mercy of a fiery conflagration.

A short story Written by Onyeoziri Favour

A Poem about Unilag Lagoon Front.

Unilag Lagoon Front

we come here to watch the lagoon
Dance to the soft melodies of the wind,
the sun too, overhanging us,
sneaks a glance or two from behind the sailing clouds.

this lagoon front is being overrun by overconfident bushes,
a trickle of confident couples
and a horde of shy crabs.
Red crabs with their huge tentacles
clawing at the floor,
ready to make this funny run into their burrows at the slightest feel of noise.

students always have a way of giving cognomens to places,
Like calling a garden 'love garden',
In this school, everywhere is a love garden.
Little wonder why couples
come here to frolic,
No wonder the mosquitoes
prefer to mate here.

Written by Onyeoziri Favour.

UTHMAN IDRIS - Class Series

He is very funny, jovial, light hearted and friendly,his name is Idris a.k.a Olori. Although by no means a small boy, Olori's friendliness is shocking and as well humbling. Most people in his calibre would rather act with a certain amount of pride and high handedness, but that was not Olori. He would rather be happy, interact with every other person and relive us of stress with his rib cracking jokes, than act like some demi-god whose abode among men is a sheer mistake which would soon be rectified.

Olori is of the Yoruba tribal extraction, of average height and by all standards a full fledged Man. It would be impossible to stay beside him and yet encounter a boring moment. He was a master at conversations, maintaining the tempo of such conversations was his bane.

SHODIMU OLUWASEUN - Class Series

Better known as Show, the major distinguishing feature of Shodimu is not just his height, but rather his Bald head. A baldness not induced by nature, but by cheer choice and the quest to emerge as a more handsome young man.
Show, is by far taller than the average man, of considerable handsomeness and possesses an ingenuity only Ibos are generally accused of.

His cunningness in the field of business is highly remarkable, even as his love for money would vindicate the whole Ibo race of the numerous accusations about how they love money.

AHMED RASAKI - Class Series

Ahmed is someone who is very difficult to either understand or describe. The rationale behind his actions are usually not easily understandable, the way his temper fluctuates is patternless and the only thing surrounding him are myths and heresay.
Sometimes, he claims to hail from ivory coast, other times, its from port Harcourt.
There was even a time when he claimed to have impregnated a lady somewhere. Some people have alleged that he knows a very popular canal  somewhere in Shomolu/Bariga through which one could travel from Nigeria to China in 10 minutes.

One time, during a class meeting, one thing led to another and Ahmed got the pet name 'Lackadaisical'. After several tantrums and warnings about how he hated the name, a particular stubborn Girl still went ahead to call him that name and since that day, i have never seen anyone get that furious. Ahmed blew so hot that if there was mixed flour nearby, the intensity of his anger would have sufficed to turn it into bread.

The controversies aside, Ahmed is more fair than dark in complexion, slightly below average height and slow to speech. He can easily go unnoticed in a crowd, which by the way is a good quality for any spy, just in case he hasn't found his calling yet.

Scarcity of Want - A Story

After a long day's labour, i had retired back to the discomfort of a shared one room apartment, somewhere at Ikorodu, one of the outskirt towns of Lagos. With a damaged drainage system, absence of any plumbing systems at all and a stretch of crooked mud road, with time, i came to realise that the only good thing about this apartment was my roommate Dami.

Although we had been previously been acquainted with each other during our Polythecnic days, the relationship between us was very threadbare and skeletal back then. However, since circumstances has bound us together under the yoke of one roof, he has made himself not only a roommate to be desired, but also more of a brother than an almost total stranger.

We were both fresh Ordinary National Diploma graduates of Moshood Abiola Polythecnic. Due to a marked lack of funds to further our education through to the HND level, we had been forced to overtly appreciate the OND degree we had acquired, although right now, the fact that many employers have rejected our applications seems to lend weight to the fact that we must have overestimated the value of such a certificate.

ORJI WINIFRED - Class Series

My name actually comes before that of Winifred, but i would skip myself and let anyone else write about me. It would be very dumb of me to speak highly of myself, I would rather have others do me that Justice.

Moving on to our subject matter for today, Winifred, i have more than a few things to say about her.

Before the end of her first year in School, Winifred had already contested for and lost the crown for the Miss Unilag beauty pageant contest. It is however worthy of note that she emerged from this Defeat with an even greater resolve to make a bigger mark on the Nigerian Fashion scene. Whether she has achieved this ambition yet is of little interest to this discourse. One thing i can say for a surety is that She has immense Love for Fashion, especially as it relates to the runway.

Some More Beautiful Poetry

Miserly

Grope not for what is not there,
You ate your cake once,
Yet here you are,
Bearing a sign "missing apples".

Patience left your restless life
Decades ago,
It took along success and happiness,
Today you forget who gave them the quit notice.

Failure has punctuated your Methuselah life,
The kids in the street laughs at your ragged existence,
They think of you as their Elisha,
Howbeit, one who can neither summon a She-Bear,
Nor buy them a teddy Bear.

Today, we shake things up with a little poetry

A Hard Day's Travails

Bent over like a young kid about to Summersault, 
the large hoe was clutched in both my small palms.
Large beads of sweat rolled down my head 
through my face and unto the dark soil.

Like a task master,
the sun shone its fiery temper on my arched back,
i could feel its electric rays transversing the length of my spine.

One more time, my hoe scooped up the soil
until it formed a small pyramid,
my baby brother handed me a short stem of Cassava,
which i buried slanting into the mound.

I moved to the next flat spot on the expensive acre of farmland.
My hoe landed the soil a crude blow,
uprooting layers residue to build a new pyramid.
My widowed mother gazed at me and smiled in the distance,
She found her deceased husband in me.

A Night To Forget - A Short Story

It was 9:28pm and the bustling university Campus had fizzled into a quietness known only to graveyards and funerals. Along the deserted sidewalks, the crickets and frogs relished the sound of their own voices, one call by the small animals was replied by another and soon it seemed that a competition had ensued between the insects and the crocking amphibians.

I walked silently, hastily shuffling by a young couple who strolled cozily hand in hand. Somewhere at the back of mind, i could still recall stories of the victims of this parts especially at night. Phones and other valuables had been willingly surrendered by their owners to gun-trotting hoodlums, who wasted no time in stashing their loots and disappearing into nowhere even before their victims could recover from the quivers of having faced death and emerged alive.

Gradually, i approached the second half of the long sidewalk, this side was besmeared by a swamp which housed a mini-forest, the edge of which had been quickly converted into an illegal dump site. Usually, when one got to this section of the road, your hands would instinctively move to preserve the nose from the odious smell of rotting cadavers and household waste.

THE CLOUDS ARE GATHERING -A Story On Love & Misfortune

The clouds are gathering! Now I hear rumbles from within me, quakes of water, warring and warning of an impending downfall. I hear it at night; the kicks and movement of gathered water, threatening to break the membrane of soft cells that holds it at bay, the warnings come at noon, eve and even before daybreaks. It looms like an inevitable gong of impending war, and I dread it; like a child fears the sight of sprinkling blood. I fear the heaviness of the rain, the portals of strong strokes falling rapidly in succession, the eaves and breaths of the sky descending uncontrollably down the earth and the eventual wetness that slumps red earth into slums, and drain the soil of all its dryness. I dread many things and every thing about the rain, but nothing more like the gathered cloud, the terrestrial rumbles from above, rambling through portals and causing shivers, the wind of gathered cloud, splashing in lightening and thundering thunders. But the downpour I now fear threatens from within me and soon it will rain.

It all started with dryness on a valentine day, every downpour begins with one. I woke up with a sudden thirst, a drive and cravings for excitement. The day was young but I felt bored, like my entire existence had been clouded with dryness, and I had been shrink and compressed into an average soul within myself. I was still in bed, gradually rising into consciousness, but I had nothing to look forward to in a day that should have been promising, I couldn’t start wondering why I had lived such an uneventful life but I laid down and sunk deeper into the comforts of my pillow and remembered Sanda, he was the reason for all this negative feelings I was now feeling.

Stephen Sanda! I met him on Facebook on Friday the 13th as he termed it, a day that should have been filled with excitement and fun for him if not for the election that was supposed to be on the 14th. He wanted to throw a party on the night before val but couldn’t due to the planned election, and when the election was postponed, it was too late to start organizing a party so he laid down on his bed that night and decided to open a Facebook account, and the first damsel he would see on the social network was me. At least that was the story he told me, and it was too flattering for me to pass up as a lie or joke.

I wasn’t a social network addict, or a Facebook fan for that matter, I was the type of person that could lie comfortably in bed all day and refuse to go online talk less of replying messages or accepting friend requests on Facebook. But Friday the 13th was different; I decided to go through my Facebook wall, read posts and comments and even reply some messages, then I saw a new request coming in to join the endless stream of requests that I had simply ignored. But Sanda??? I thought the person must have meant to type Sandra and out of curiosity and perplexity I accepted the request and then found out the account belongs to a guy and I was his only Facebook friend. He looked cute though.
‘So your name is Sanda and I am your only friend here. Are you stalking me?’ I wrote on his wall and he replied almost immediately. ‘Yeah bae! Every beauty deserves a stalker.’ I chuckled loudly and replied ‘Well I don’t need sanda as my first stalker. Sanda???’
‘But my name is Sanda! At least that was the name my parent chose for me.’ He messaged me and that was how we started chatting. From random courtesies to personal experiences; we chatted deep into the night and eventually conversed about plans for Val and our lustful Val wishes, but I had none. I was a big time novice without any sexual or lustful experiences, and that was when he started making me feel boring and average, like I’ve lived but never lived, as fun and excitement had simply eluded me.

I had never stayed awake beyond 10pm before Friday the 13th, I may be able to dance but I’ve never tried so I don’t even know if my body can move in rhythms with music, I don’t have any close friend; at least close enough to know the things I had never done, I had never tasted any alcoholic substance, I had never gone to visit a guy; talk less of having a boyfriend or kissing, I had never done anything that was beyond average and I had never confessed all this to anyone apart from Sanda. He seemed close and wild with a seeming sense of understanding and adventure as he began to make me feel like there may be more to me than this me, or there may be more to life than sleeping, waking up and schooling.

I eventually slept off on the chats, but my mind kept pondering on how dry my life had all been and I craved wetness with an intensity that I never knew existed in me.
I was still ruminating on my miseries on valentine day when my phone rang. ‘Hey it’s Sanda, happy Val and how was your night damsel?’ He sounded epicene; I couldn’t place the voice as either masculine or feminine. ‘Did I give you my number?’ I was curious and it was another thing I had never done before; dish out my number to an absolute stranger. ‘Yeah you did! You said you were sleepy and I should call you in the morning.’ Of course I did and I knew I did.
‘But Sanda, who the hell are you?’
‘Your stalker Simi, I thought we established that.’ He sounded so close and familiar and I began to crave him too.
‘Will you be my Val?’ I asked before I knew it.
*****
He drove into my hostel around noon in his black Peugeot, the car was painted black and its glasses were darkly tainted. He was just as dark with mushy moustache; he was tall with a gentle pointed nose and a feminine body frame; slimmed and trimmed like a female model. No wonder he sounded epicene on phone. ‘Yeah I look a lot like my Mother.’ He spoke as I stood and looked at him with apparent amazement.
‘No wonder the mushy moustache, something must stand you out as a man.’ I felt so close and familiar with him and sat comfortably in his car. I didn’t even ask where he was taking me to.
*****
As much as I dread downfall, I cannot deny its striking amazement, the seeming wonder of strokes of water and the wetness the earth would soak up in due time. Bright, dark or murky, rain is not a respecter of time or events and it strikes when it pleases. But life isn’t a stream of coincidences; it is actions that breed reactions and reactions actions. The clouds that now gathered to fall were dense of water, synthesized from my dryness and made to form into concrete strokes of scary drops.

I knew when he drove me into a bar and ordered drinks for me, when he kept pouring the tasty liquid into my glass and I kept drinking, I knew it tasted sweet, sour and itchy and my throat consequently thirst for more. I knew I felt liberated and said things I never thought I could utter, I even flirted with him and it all seemed too easy. He took me to dance and I danced and laughed as if I never existed before that moment, before I lost consciousness I knew I had known fun and it was wild, crazy and exciting but that was all I knew till I woke up in my bed naked and dizzy and Sanda was just gone.

Everything seemed normal and my skin felt cold as if I had just bathed. I stood and managed myself into the bathroom and found the clothes I wore yester night soaked inside a bucket with detergent. I tried to clean up but I was already cleaned except my mouth that still seriously smelled of alcohol. So I brushed and decided to call Sanda but I was shocked to death by what I heard. ‘The number you are trying to call does not exist, please check…’ I hung up and tried again and again but the result was the same so I decided to check him on Facebook and leave him a message but the account does not exist and even the chat history was gone. Now I was confident it was all a dream, but I was torn between what part was reality and was part was the dream, because Sanda seemed so real and how did I wake up naked on my bed on Sunday the 15th. Maybe I had just dreamed the whole thing throughout valentine. But what about the soaked cloth in the bathroom, the smell of alcohol in my mouth, and the number saved as Sanda on my phone. This must be madness, I need a psychologist.
******
Every day I wake up with a thought of Sanda, and then I had no thought of him at all because he had existed neither in my dream nor in my reality, because Stephen Sanda does not exist anywhere. I took up my average life of sleeping, waking up and schooling till the semester was over and I went back home to my parents. Mum called me into her room on my third day at home. ‘Jennifer, when was the last time you saw your period? She asked mildly as if I may be afraid to answer but I was simply perplexed. My mother had never spoken about period or no period with me since I was 10.
‘Huh? My period?’
‘Yes, your menstruation!’ now her voice was slightly raised and I wondered what for?
‘I’m even on my period right now. What’s the question about period for mummy?’ I was getting curios too.
‘Have you started having sex?’ Sex? I had never heard my mother uttered that word, at least not with such bareness.
‘Mum, I’m still a virgin. What’s up with all this questions?’
‘You are pregnant Jennifer. I’m your mother; don’t dare lie to me again.’
‘Pregnant!!!’ I shouted. I meant it as a question but my word was emphatic. I wished I could just fall down and faint but that was another thing I had never done.
******
It was four months and yet my period came every month and stopped the month my Mum discovered I was pregnant. Stephen Sanda was gone, or he never existed but he was present within me and I bear the testimony of his existence. The clouds gathered and yet shall soon fall, but there are consequences for every downfall, for the earth will have to soak up the waters and prepare for germinations. No one will believe my story, not even the Sanda within me and so earth shall be dry again and the memory of the gathered clouds and the downfall will fade in expectance of another. Maybe I’ve dreamt it all and I dread nothing, not even the impending rain.
.

Written by: Phemi D'apoet

The Tale of a Day Dreamer

I happened to be at a GT Bank branch somewhere in Yaba today. My original intention was to go retrieve my ATM card which i had requested for since last year.
From the entrance to the bank, everyone was asking me if i had done my 'BVN' registration (Bank verification number). From the security personnel to the cleaners and then the customer care representatives, cashiers, just about everyone, even some customers sef. I just kept nodding and smiling 'yes' to each of them, luckily for me, i had been tricked by one of them late last year into spending a good chunk of my time doing that registration.

I was able to collect the 'ATM' and upon getting to the point where i would change my pin, the system 'busted' me. Surprisingly my BVN number could not be found anywhere in their records, i had to go and re-register. A mere glance at the lengthy stretch of people on the 'BVN' registration queue sent me into an immediate state of melancholy.

ONYEJEBU PATRICIA - Class Series

Pat was the quiet type of person, maybe not shy, doubtfully introverted, arguably does not love to make a lot of friends, but definitely not the talkative type. Her voice was gold and she made it as scarce as possible, the effect of this was that whenever she eventually decides to speak, one may be compelled to listen since there is every tendency that whatever she was about to say was of extreme importance.

Since She seldom spoke, there was actually no room for anyone to nail her to any offence whatsoever. You know how people tend to attach more importance to what you said rather than what you did. The average person would hurt more when you rain abuses on them than when you engage them in a physical show of strength.

OLUWO ADEFEMI - Class Series

Femi is a girl.

I wish it were that easy and i could just stop my narrative about her there, but its only fair that i give her as much a comprehensive dissection as i have given to the others.

She is light-skinned, beautiful and somewhere in between chubby and normal. She can be cheerful sometimes and other times just off the social radar. She always seem to be in a haste, always giving that impression of being extraordinarily busy or should i say the impression of being unable to stay in one place and lend one a 10 minutes audience.

Maybe she derives pleasure in being elusive and unavailable, one minute we are all in the class, the same minute the class ends, she sort of disappears into the blues.
I personally find the way she chews gum offensive, not really because of the way she chews the gum itself, but more from the expression she wears on her face while at it.
One side of her upper lip would be raised up as if a madam was appraising the possible ability of a new house help to perform.

She dresses fine, although sometimes the mammary glands are put on display, maybe just to confirm that they have not lost their appeal.

Femi does not seem to find a lot of pleasure in relating with every member of the class, so with the exception of a few minority of us who were privileged to find value in her sight, the rest were shut out in a self created barrier of exclusivity.

On the whole, Femi and I were in good terms for the better part of our stay as course mates. Although She is not the best when it comes to respect and courtesy, nevertheless she has her own good side, none of which i'm yet to witness.

My take on Unilag Babes and Their Love For Materialism

Of recent, i have had a sizeable number of fresh male undergraduates ask me about my take on building an emotional relationship with a Unilag girl. It seemed they were all scared of the negative presentation of Unilag girls as materialistic gold diggers and extravagant spendthrifts.

I keep telling them that it is definitely not so, i know there are some Ladies who Money controls the steering wheel of their lives. These are the ones who rides in any car, not minding who is driving, the ones who eat at any Cafeteria, without bothering about the source of the Money, i know there are the gluttons who think of Men as fools and Mumu's who are easily deceived and exploited. These category of Babes are the career thieves, they are a no no.

The Last of the precious Jewels

I was on my way back from a very boring lecture one hot afternoon, the absence of cabs and the consequent presence of a very long queue, the length of a railway line at the Cab park, meant i had to be an unwilling beneficiary of the sun's courtesy.

Midway through my 10 minutes trek, i realised that i even had a pair of sun shades in my bag, i hissed in annoyance and retrieved it from my back pack. I was about to wear it when suddenly the sound of my phone's ring tone broke through like a hunter whistling for his stray dog to come back to him.

I grabbed for my pockets and after seconds of frantically groping for the phone, i finally retrieved it, flipped the cover open and punched the receive button. 'Hello' a soothing female voice sauntered through the phone speakers, i replied carefully with a 'hi' and then a long minute of silence followed. I thought to myself, 'Well, if this stranger had so much airtime and wished to waste some on me, then i'm game', however, as the seconds ticked by, the whole scenario started to have an eerie aura about it, so i decided to mumble softly into the mouthpiece the words 'please who is this, i do not have your number on my phone and do not seem to know you either', my question was replied by another moment of silence, followed by a very loud sigh of by the person at the other end. From experience, that was a sigh of relief, an expression of someone who had

Many Dudes Out There Thinks A Cap On Their Heads And Scary Tattoos On Their Skins Qualifies Them To be Called Bad Boys, But Who Is Truly A Bad Boy?

"...What is a bad boy? He's a rebel without a cause, a cool dude in a motorcycle jacket, a real-life Huckleberry Finn who wants to take you on a wild river ride to adventure. He's wounded, moody, misunderstood-a dreamer, a seducer, a daredevil. He is a man of mystery and a fascinating paradox. He's both a lost little boy and a man with a dark side. He breaks your heart with his wicked ways, but whether he's a wanton wolf or a dangerous desperado, he makes you long to rescue him from his pain. He's hurtful cruel, or simply careless and self absorbed, but you can't resist jumping on his motorcycle and roaring off into the steamy night with him. And once you've given him your heart forever... he's gone with the wind! He is someone who sets off throbbing sexual and aggressive passions within you. Because he's aloof and elusive, you get caught up in the challenge and excitement of the chase-though he's not always someone you'd really want even if you did capture him. A bad boy may tell you he's generally right. He's a frog you hope to turn into a fairy-tale prince with the magic of your kiss..."

Excerpt from "Bad Boys" by Carol Lieberman and Lisa Collier