Solomon Grundy: Wednesday 1

Solomon yawned lazily and rolled on the king sized bed. The couple in the degas above him starred undauntedly into the distance as he fought the urge to get up from the bed. The alarm clock on the bedside table rang a second time after the snooze period had elapsed and he sighed; accepting defeat. He kept out of the bed and stretched, stifling a yawn as he did. Outside, the sun was now where to be found and the world was still just waking at some minutes past six. This was his routine every day. He breathed and lived it.

Solomon sauntered towards the nine-foot tall mirror and examined his reflection. He ran a quick diagnosis of himself like he had seen his boss do.

Heavy eye bags;
not enough sleep.

Dampened complexion; result of returning home late every day from the hospital

And some wrinkles on his forehead; no lady influence. He hoped.

He had to remedy that. Now.

He plucked his phone from the bedside table, opened the call log and scrolled down to ‘Head Doctor Suleiman’. He proceeded to click the dial button but was interrupted as the alarm clock rung again.

“Shit.” He cursed and hurriedly stopped the clock from emitting its silence-shattering wake up call. He looked at his phone in disbelief and shook his head. Calling his boss who was probably nestled in a cuddle with his retired wife at six would have resulted in deep scolding. Not from his boss alone but from his wife too, who he was affiliated with. A query might even accompany the scolding not minding whether he was the hospital’s most promising prospect or not.

He returned the phone to its previous position and shuddered as someone knocked on the bedroom door. Florence. He had forgotten about that part of the routine.

“Mr. Grundy Junior Sir.” Her warm voice coursed into the room from the corridor preceding it.

“Yes mummy.” He answered wearily. He heard her chuckle and smiled.

Florence had been the main figure in his life as he grew over the years. Employed some weeks after his christening, he had watched her bath and cater for him every morning and evening till he was four and able to bath himself. Even then, she didn’t stop taking care of him. Coiled with his father’s official assignments in Britain and his mother’s insistence in accompanying him, Florence had been the principal guardian in his life. Hence, they weren’t any surprised persons when his first words were “mummy…mummy” and they were directed at her. The same words he just called her some moments ago.

“You know you don’t have to call me that Sir.” She paused and Solomon waited for the next question she would ask. The same one he had heard every morning for the past two and a half years since he got employed at the hospital.

“Do I get Wale to get the car ready sir?”

“No dear, I’m not going to work today.”

“Why, if I may ask Sir?”

“I need some rest… and a woman.” He added after another thought.

“Of course you do- Sir.”

He wondered if she took offence at his sudden suggestion of requiring another woman in his life asides him. He walked to the door and opened it. Her petite frame stood just outside the archway. He noticed her dark skin had gotten fairer over the years due to hours on hours spent indoors. Time spent catering for him, like his parents should have. He gritted his teeth and she frowned.

“What’s wrong sir?”

“Nothing Florence.”

She shot him a knowing look. One he had seen over the years. It always came before her placing him on her laps and scanning his body like a detective for wounds and bruises either dealt him from his rough play with the other kids or from the fists and boots of bullies. Sadly, she couldn’t do that anymore. And he didn’t have bullied on his back or little kids to run around with. This bruise was psychological and her resolute sigh told him she knew so too.

“If you say so sir… May I ask where you’ll be headed then?”

“Nowhere. I intend to stay home and rest.”

She smiled. Or did she? He wasn’t sure. It had vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“I thought…” she cleared her throat. “I thought you needed a woman.”

“I have all the ‘woman’ I need right here in my view.”

“Ha-ha!” She exclaimed in a mocked laughter. “Wash up and get dressed. Breakfast would be ready in an hour and a half… Sir.”

“You don’t have to address me as such Florence.”

“Of course I don’t but I prefer it that way. An hour and a half Solomon, don’t be late.” She said and headed downstairs.

He felt warmness in his chest as she called his name. Something he hadn’t felt in ages. Before she went down the stairs she looked at him one last time and he shone his teeth at her like he always did to show he had been a good boy.


* * *


Solomon trudged down the stairs approximately an hour and a half later as she had said. Florence’s smile grew broader as the floor above her shuddered gently with each step he too. She made finishing touches to the dining table and disappeared through the door that led to the kitchen. Solomon came into view in a blue shirt and grey slacks as he climbed down the last stairs and entered the vast dining room. The dining table which could sit eight, twelve on a full day carried sets of plates, cutlery, bowls and food.

“You know it’s just me eating right?” He asked as she appeared from the kitchen.

“I know.” She didn’t add the customary Sir or his name and it bothered him a little.

“Join me Florence. I hate eating alone.” He said as she was about to leave. She shot him a look as if to ask if he was sure of what he had just said and he nodded. She shrugged and picked the seat closest to his. They ate in silence, occasionally stealing glances at each other.

“You need a woman Solomon.” Florence said as they rounded up their meal.

He choked on his food and struggled to swallow. “A woman? I thought I have you.”

“Ha-ha… I’m serious Solomon. I watch you come home every day, in the dead of the night with a long face and tired arms. You basically just shower and collapse on your bed. A woman could help relieve you of the stress.”

He dropped his fork and folded his arms. He wanted to speak but his throat felt constricted.

“Won’t you say anything?”

“Okay.” He managed to say agreeing with her deduction. “I’ll work on that.”

“Of course you would.” She suddenly had a wry smile on her face and Solomon knew he was in for it. “I’ve asked Wale to get ready the Honda… you’re going out today.”

He thought to speak but decided against it. She pretty much had her mind made up. He won’t give in easily though.

“Why the Honda if I might ask?” He hoped it sounded as sarcastic as it did in his head. “What’s wrong with the Peugeot or the Range?”

Her sly grin in return told him all he needed to know. He had failed.

“Because young beautiful ladies like a handsome young man in a Honda. Go to your room now, get dressed and get out there and bring me a beautiful bride.”

She pushed her chair back beneath her, got up and started ridding the table of the dirty plates and cutlery. Solomon hesitated and watched her hoping she would turn to look at him and say she was joking. She ignored his presence and he got up defeated and strode upstairs to get dressed. Mummy has spoken. He had to get a wife. A beautiful one at that.


* * *


Solomon walked into the open hall of the Ikeja City Mall in a black shirt and grey pants and duly observed its interior. Dozens of people flooded in and out of the complex oblivious of his watching eyes. A young lady in jeans and a yellow t-shirt caught his eyes and he turned away from her to face another few looking. He had known this would happen. No matter how much they had seen white men, black people just had to take another glance. He turned again and watched the earlier lady climb the exterior stairs to the gallery above. He blamed Florence for his predicament and stepped outside through the revolving door.

It was barely 10 am and he had to get going if he was to accomplish what Florence had sent him out to do. The noise around him heightened and he decided to take a short break. He put on his glasses that managed to hide the bright blue color of his eyes and sauntered into KFC. He ordered a mini sized burger and a Pepsi and picked his spot at the extreme end of the restaurant just in view of the flat screen TV that had Beyoncé running along seashore and the world outside the restaurant. He took a sip from the Pepsi with a straw and scanned the other occupants of the restaurant.

An old woman, probably in her fifties sat at a table with two kids a boy and a girl. She sighed for the umpteenth time as she struggled to get both of them to sit. Solomon glanced at the empty bottles of Pepsi on the table and figured why she was having a tough time getting hyperactive kids to sit. The girl who looked older and much harder to restrain hopped to a nearby table that sat a young lady in a maroon dress. She beamed a glowing smile at the young girl and said something that made her giggle. Solomon smiled as he watched both of them and froze when she caught his stare. She smiled at him and turned her attention back to the girl not before she winked. Or did she? He wasn’t sure. He clasped his hands and tried to affirm what he had just witnessed wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Only one way to figure out, he decided. He adjusted his glasses grabbed his tray of food and sauntered in the direction of her table.

As he got closer the tray wobbled as his hands got clammy and held his breath to hide the effect of his racing heart on his chest. Her long black hair was tied behind her in a bun and the crane of her nose glistened in the light as she bent to whisper something in the girl’s ear.

“Hi.” His voice croaked and he bit his lower lip. She raised her head to look at him and he exhaled in his bid to avoid opening his mouth in amazement. She was beautiful. Her eyes shone brightly and her smile had his racing heart up a gear.

“Hello.” She replied gleefully.

“May I join you?” He sighed in relief as his voice sounded better although he could have sworn he held cowardice in it.

“I guess so.” She crossed her legs, putting the right one over the left with so much grace that it had him reeling in admiration. He placed his tray on the table gently and took his seat opposite her. A couple of boys passed by and ogled at him like he was an alien but he feigned ignorance.

“I’m Solomon… Solomon Grundy.” He held out his hand. She hesitated raised her eyebrows and shook it. It felt warm in his and he felt a chill down his spine.

“And I’m Little-Red… Little-Red Riding-Hood.” They laughed and he stroked his hand under the table to calm himself.

“Apparently, you don’t like giving strangers your name.”

“Neither do you.” She started swinging the handing foot and studied his eyes under his glasses.

“What do you mean? I told you my name.” She bent her head in a forty-five degrees angle and her eyes opened in amazement.

“Wait… you’re not kidding. Your name is Solomon Grundy?!”


“Like the rhyme?”

“Oh…” He smiled now realizing why she had given him a fake name. One from an old fable akin to his. “Well yes it is. Just like the rhyme.”

“Let me guess you were born on a Monday?”


“Hmm… and were you by any chance christened on a Tuesday?” A glint had appeared in her eyes and a mischievous grin played at the corners of her mouth.

“Oddly, yea.”

“Shut the front door! Any chance you’re going to marry today?” He squinted and she quickly added “… seeing today is Wednesday.” He laughed and she smiled that glowing smile again.

The old woman stood up to leave and the kids tugged at her arms but she dragged them nonetheless. The girl waved at the lady and poked her tongue at him. He poked his right back at her and grinned.


“Huh? Did you just call me beast?”

“Well, yea. You just poked your tongue at a small girl. That’s mean.” She folded her hands and looked straight at him.

He laughed and stopped when he noticed she didn’t join him.

“I’m sorry, I was only teasing her.”

“I’ve heard.” She waved him away and drank from a bottle of water with a straw.

“And I’m not mean, I’m just annoyingly sarcastic.”

“Really?” The mischievous grin was back on her face. “Say something sarcastic.”

“Err…you have to make a statement first.”

“Hmm. . .Okay. I love your blue eyes. They fit your tanned skin perfectly.”

“I know…” He said as calm as he could. “I can’t help it, I love them too.”


He laughed again. This time she joined him.


To be continued

Apparently, this episode lengthened beyond my control. So, I decided to break it into two parts. The second would be posted today. Thanks for reading.

Mike Dammy


Solomon Grundy : Tuesday

If you missed the first episode, Solomon Grundy: Monday, you can read it Here

That done, Enjoy today’s episode!

* * *

Christened On Tuesday

12, November 1985

Dan stared at his reflection and smiled at himself. His black hair lay curled on his scalp and some of it covered a scar on the left side of his temple; one of the many souvenirs from his brief stint at the military school back in London. The tough, white, khaki uniform stood on him like it was an extension of his body; his well-toned muscles and abs fitting perfectly in the well ironed shirt. The immaculate naval uniform shone in the morning light that was slowly creeping in through the massive windows in the high head room living room and asides the gold ring on his finger he would have passed off as a single, handsome, well to do Briton.

He stroked his moustache in a circular motion and scanned his chin for stubbles. When he was satisfied there was nothing, he ran the comb in his hand through his hair again and yelled for his wife to hurry. Today was his son’s christening and he wasn’t going to miss it for the world… or go late either. The folks in this part of the world probably had a bad omen attached to attending one’s child’s christening late. They always had one omen or another for every situation.

Just last week; Wale, their Yoruba valet had commented on how their journey to see the United Kingdom ambassador to Nigeria in his office in Victoria Island would be a futile one. He had asked why and the stout man had mentioned something about a bad omen with meeting a person of the same sex first when one was off on an important business or mission.

He laughed the man to scorn and carried on towards VI from his Surulere abode only to find out that the ambassador had left for the airport for a flight to the UK barely thirty minutes before his arrival. He strayed longer in the embassy and emerged later all smiles to the stunned Wale. He however pondered on what the local man said on their journey back home. Maybe omens existed after all and one would probably stand against them if Jane didn’t get her ass down now.

“Darling we’re going to be late.” His voice boomed in the house and after the echoes, all became quiet again. The curtains fluttered lazily as a gentle breeze oozed into the room from the gardens and caressed their light fabric. Dan hesitated for some seconds as he waited for a reply and raced up the stairs taking three steps at once in long strides.

“I’m coming baby.” Jane replied as he scaled the last flight of stairs.

“You said that twenty minutes ago dear.” Dan said, trying desperately to mask his frustration. She laughed and appeared through the master bedroom door in a dashing mauve-blue dress. He halted in his stride and smacked his lips in respite as he let his eyes run a thorough investigation of her body. The short dress delicately stopped some inches above her neat knees and a gentle slit showed those well shaped thighs he always craved.

He saw her grin and traced her line of sight to the bulge forming in his well ironed trouser. She smirked and he wiped the naughty thoughts growing in his head and diverted his gaze to the baby. The sight of the christening gown infuriated him and his face squeezed into a frown.

“What’s with the white dress? Is he supposed to look like a girl for his baptism?”

She laughed and waved him away. “You’ve obviously not seen any christening ceremony.”

He scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly and shifted as she walked past him and down the stairs.

“Actually, no. So that is what they make those poor children wear?”

“My baby looks charming in it.” She retorted. He opened his mouth to say something witty and shut it when she put up her ‘say something stupid first’ look. Accepting defeat, he feigned a smile at her and followed her down the stairs.

“I love this girl.” He uttered under his breath.

“I know, I love her too.” Jane said without looking at him. He started saying something when the front door opened. Both of them froze and Solomon yawned oblivious of the visitors.

“Rose! Mum! Dad!” Dan exclaimed and hurried down the stairs, past Jane and Solomon and towards his once immediate family. Rose smiled and accepted a hug from him. She pecked him gently and released him to greet their parents.

“You guys didn’t write to say you were coming.” Dan said as he hugged his mom and shook his dad’s hand.

“Oh! You expected me to miss my nephew’s christening.” Rose said and took Solomon from Jane’s arms. She exchanged kisses with Jane as Solomon watched; his young mind probably trying to fathom why the only familiar female he knew was kissing a stranger. One that had roughly the same nose he had, only bigger. He stretched out his hand and Rose took it in her palm. She let him wrap his tiny fingers around one of her fingers and the whole house ‘awwed’ in unison.

Dan engaged the older Mr. Grundy in a conversation as the women took turns to make faces at the newest addition into the family. The men slowly got engrossed in watching the women play with the baby and a knock on the door startled them. Dan turned to look at the visitor and gasped.

“The christening! We’re late!”

“Yes sah.” Wale said still standing at the door. “I was just going to tell you that sah.” The young, dark man added.

The family rushed out of the house and took their respective places in the two Peugeot 504 cars parked in the vast compound. Rose joined Jane and the baby in the car Wale was to drive and Dan stayed with his parents in the other ride. They said a brief prayer and drove out of the gate, their destination; The Cathedral Church of Christ, Marina.


* * *


The liturgy was shorter than Dan envisaged. After minutes of pleading, the priest reluctantly agreed to perform the ceremony.

The family watched some pews away as the priest carried Solomon to the font. The baby trashed in his arms, obviously bothered by the unfamiliar hands and finally resorted to crying when the same hands refused to let go. The priest hushed him and smiled warmly in his face. Solomon stopped wailing and watched the ‘strange’ man in the immaculate apparel quietly. The priest took some water in his right hand and sprinkled it on the forehead of the white baby. The chill swept through Solomon’s body and the resounding wails filled the entirety of the cathedral.

A tear ran down Jane’s face and Dan pulled her close in an embrace as the priest completed the rites.

“I baptize you; Solomon Walter Grundy in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

To be continued… Married on Wednesday

Please drop your comments and share the post to your Facebook and Twitter pages.Don’t forget to subscribe to the blog to get updates in your email on new episodes and articles. Like our Facebook page and follow me on Twitter; @damstylee

Thank you for Reading.

Mike Dammy

Solomon Grundy: Monday


Mike Dammy here again.

Like I mentioned in my last post; Age is just a number, I was bored some days back and I decided to bring a nursery rhyme character into life. You know, give it more depth than we ever imagined when we recited it in school and everywhere basically. It wasn’t hard selecting Solomon Grundy and I quickly drafted out a plot. This is the first episode inspired by the first verse in the rhyme.

I hope you enjoy it.

Do drop a comment and share when you’re done. Have a wonderful week ahead. 🙂


Born on Monday

4, November 1985

The heavily pregnant young lady tugged at the soft pillow encased in a navy blue cotton material and ripped it into shreds. Her voice plummeted more decibels and the cotton insides of the pillow floated haphazardly in the car as she reached for another identical one on the car mat that had half a dozen others on it. She wrestled with it like the former and yelled her husband’s name as she writhed in agony.

“It’s okay babe, we’ll be at the hospital soon.” The man behind the steering wheel of the Peugeot 504 replied. He wiped the sweat off his face with a handkerchief and tossed the already soaked hanky in the corner. As he hurried, a yellow public bus half filled with passengers overtook him making him jam against the brakes instinctively. He stuck his fist out of the open window and brandished his middle finger at the culprit.

“Bloody negros!” His voice quivered and he withdrew his hand when his wife’s wails climbed another pitch. He turned to look at her in the back seat briefly as he approached a bend and felt his tyre skid along the paved walkway.

Shouts of Yeeh!… Aaah! rang on the street as angry pedestrians jeered and cursed at him.

“Oniranu, stupid white man!” An old man that had just jumped out of the way bawled. “It is not your fault…it is…”

The voice of the man dissipated in the air as Dan sped off. On a different day, he might have decelerated to hear the rest of the comment but today was different. He didn’t care about anything except getting his pregnant wife to the hospital.

Five minutes later, Dan drove into the almost empty compound of the EKO hospital along Bank Anthony way. He yelled his predicament to a security man slouched against a column at the hospital’s entrance and the man disappeared into the building emerging almost immediately with two medical personnel and a stretcher. They balanced Jane gently on the stretcher and wheeled her towards the main building. As they approached the entrance, she groaned in pain and yanked some buttons off the white shirt Dan was wearing. The group ignored the clattering sounds of the buttons on the hard cement floor and continued towards the main entrance.

As they approached the theatre, a dark skinned doctor with a stethoscope around his neck hurried towards them as he put on a white overall. Dan halted in his steps and puffed his cheeks as his anxiety climaxed. He approached the doctor who was already barking orders to the nurses and gently tapped his shoulder.

“No offence please, but can I get a white doctor?”

The doctor swivelled on the spot and shot him a menacing look. He starred at him for what seemed like eternity to Dan and smiled.

“Sure, you can get a doctor that has your skin colour. He’ll be in by a week from now.” He answered.

“For the mean time, you can take your white wife out of the building, find a way to stop her labour pangs and come back in a week’s time.” He added and turned to return to his office.

Dan grabbed his arm and swiftly apologized. The doctor retained the stern look on his face, sighed and reluctantly walked back towards the theatre. Dan tried to follow him into the theatre but a male nurse impeded him at the door and motioned him towards a bench along the corridor that already had a pregnant woman sitting on it. She beamed a smile at him as he joined her on the bench and buried her head back in the fashion magazine she was engrossed in earlier.

Boredom soon engulfed him and he let his imagination wander. He travelled back some twenty years and pictured himself in his family home in Wilmslom, Manchester. He saw his short burly self munch on some bread and omelette while his parents ate in silence. Rose, his younger sister was seated opposite him. She had a frown on her face and he remembered this was the day their mom chopped off her pony tail. He smiled when he remembered the short tail that barely grazed her neck. She was seven and she already dreamed of being a famous movie star. He wondered if she remembered all that now with her busy schedule and uptight lawyer job in New York. He had to visit soon. Perhaps she would make it for his baby’s christening.

Jane’s wail from inside the theatre jolted him back to the present and he shuddered in anxiety. The pregnant woman had disappeared and in her stead was a frail looking old man. Two hours crept past and a young chap and his a younger lady joined them on the bench that was meant for two. Dan hissed to show his displeasure and was about to say something when the doctor came out of the theatre. He jumped up and was in front of the doctor in a single stride. He let his weary eyes do the talking and the doctor smiled in return.

“Congratulations, Mr…?”

“Grundy… It’s Grundy.”

“Congratulations Mr Grundy then, you are the father of a bouncing baby boy.”

“Yes!” Dan exclaimed, punched the air and hugged the doctor. The doctor laughed and let him hold on to the embrace for as long as he wanted. After some seconds, Dan released him and held out his hand.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. The thing is I was wo…”

“Its fine Mr Grundy, I understand exactly how you felt.” The doctor interrupted.

“Can I see her then?”

“Of course you can, but not right away. A nurse would be out to usher you in pretty soon. For the mean time, you can sit over there.” He pointed at the crowded bench and Dan nodded and strode towards the bench like an obedient child. The old man shook his hand and congratulated him. The young man mouthed some incoherent words and managed a smile but the girl just retained the sullen look on her face.

After the turn of events, Dan had no grudges against them anymore. He observed them for a while and guessed they both looked gloomy because of a sudden predicament, an unwanted pregnancy the most likely option. He shook his head in pity when he realized they had probably seen the same adverts and received the same warnings as other kids from their parents and guardians on avoiding ‘doing it’ without protection and they mostly ignored it. He was once like them. A young college student that just wanted to enjoy life. A young nurse came out of the theatre and scanned the occupants of the bench like she was trying to decipher who was the likeliest father and husband or spouse to the lovely young lady that was just delivered of a child. She finally settled her gaze on him and motioned him to follow her into the room without saying a word. Dan cast a quick glance at his brief companions and shot up from the bench like it was made of burning coals.

He entered the theatre and saw Jane on the bed in an ocean blue overall. Her stomach hadn’t fully recessed and a white cradle was beside her bed. He walked towards them cautiously like a gazelle not wanting to upset the probably sleeping baby and took her hand in his when he was beside her. She managed a weak smile and he grinned back. He took a peek in the cradle and saw the white baby sleeping like he had no care for the world he just arrived in. His tiny hand was curled around his blanket and his pink ears twitched as his chest heaved up and down in a slow rhythm. Dan fought the urge to carry him in his hands and tickling him till he laughed out.

“Solomon…” Jane’s tired voice sounded in his ears.

“What?” He asked absentmindedly and turned to her.

“Solomon. Thats his name.”

Dan let out a chuckle and shot her a mischievous look.

“You do know what that means right?”

Jane smirked and winked at him. “Of course I do.”

A nurse in the distance smiled at them and turned down to the form she was filling. She ran her finger along the plastic pen and scribbled something in the section reserved for the name of the newborn child. The wet ink glistened in the light and she chuckled as she said out the name.

“Solomon Grundy.”


To be continued…


Please drop your comments and share the post to your Facebook and Twitter pages. Don’t forget to subscribe to the blog to get updates in your email on new episodes and articles. Like our Facebook page and follow me on Twitter;
Thank you for Reading.

Mike Dammy

Age Is Just A Number

Hey Yo!
Today, I bring you quite a speech. Delivered by a 13 year girl, you would think it was scam but as I watched her, I had to admit; I was getting too old. Time isn’t on my side anymore if I’m to make an impact on the world. If a 13 year old child could make the world leaders in her time pause to think, you are not too young to effect a change in any sector of life you deem fit.

So below this is her speech, I hope it inspires you as it did me. But most of all, I hope you get motivated to start on the road to making a change.
Bless you.

Rio de Janerio 3-14, June 1992


Hello, I’m Sverri Suzuki speaking for ECO, the environmental children’s organization.
We are a group of 12 and 13 year olds trying to make a difference; Vanessa Suthe, Morgan Geisler, Michelle Quigg and me. We’ve raised all the money to come here ourselves, from 5000miles to tell you adults you must change your ways.

Coming up here today, I have no hidden agenda; I am fighting for my future. Losing my future is not like losing an election or a few points on the stock market. I am here to speak for all generations to come. I am here to speak on behalf of the starving children around the world whose cries go unheard. I am here to speak for the countless animals dying across this planet because they have no where left to go.

I am afraid to go out in the sun now because of the holes in our ozone. I am afraid to breathe the air because I don’t know what chemicals are in it. I used to go fishing in Vancouver, my home with my dad until just a few years ago; we found the fish full of cancers. And now we hear of animals and plants going extinct every day, vanishing forever. In my life, I have dreamt of seeing great herds of wild animals, jungles and rain forests full of birds and butterflies but now I wonder if they would even exist for my children to see.

Did you have to worry of these things when you were my age? All this is happening before our eyes and yet we act as if we have all the time we want and all the solutions. I’m only a child and I don’t have all the solutions but I know I want you to realize; neither do you. You don’t know how to fix the holes in our ozone layer, you don’t know how to bring the salmon back up in a dead stream, you don’t know how to bring back an animal now extinct and you can’t bring back the forest that once grew where there is now a desert.

If you don’t know how to fix it, please stop breaking it. Here, you may be delegates of your government, business people, organizers, reporters or politicians but really, you’re mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, and all of you are someone’s child. I’m only a child and yet I know we are all part of a family, five billion strong, in fact 30 million species strong and borders and governments would never change that. I’m a child and yet I know we are in this together and should act as one single world towards one single goal.

In my anger, I am not blind and in my fear, I am not afraid of telling the world; this is how I feel.
In my country, there is so much waste, we buy and throw away, buy and throw away,… buy and throw away and northern countries would not share with the needy. Even when we have more than enough, we are afraid to share, we are afraid to let go of some of our wealth.

In Canada, we live the privileged life with plenty of food, water and shelter. We have watches, bicycles, computers and television sets. The list can go on for two days. Two days ago here in Brazil, we were shocked when we spent time with some children living on the street. This is what one child told us; I wish I was rich and if I were, I would give all these street children food, clothes, medicines, shelter and love and affection.
If a child on the street who has nothing is willing to share, why are we who have everything still so greedy? I can’t stop thinking that this are children my own age that it makes a tremendous difference where we were born. That I could be one of those children living in the favela of Rio, I could be a child starving in Somalia or a victim of war in the Middle East, or a beggar in India.

I am only a child, yet I know if all the money spent on war is spent on finding environmental answers, ending poverty and finding treaties, what a wonderful place this earth would be!
At school, even in kindergarten, you teach us how to behave in the world. You teach us to not fight with others, to work things out, to clean up our mess, not to hurt other creatures, to share and not to be greedy. Then why do you go out and do the things you tell us not to do?
Do not forget why you’re attending these conferences, who you’re doing this for, we are your own children. You are deciding what kind of the world we’re growing up in. Parents should be able to comfort their children by saying; “Everything is going to be all right…” It’s not the end of the world and we are doing the best we can” But I don’t think you can say that to us anymore, are we even on your list of priorities?

My dad always says; “You are what you do not what you say”. Well, what you do makes me cry at night. You grownups say you love us but I challenge you, please make your actions reflect your words.

Thank You.




Wow right?! 13 years old…?
Exactly what I thought but then every bit of it is true. A young girl made the world (Leaders) stop to think. You can do the same. You are not too young, never forget that. Still on the young people being badass, I read something a pretty young lady wrote some days back and I was deeply impressed. Hey *****, I hope you’re reading this now you don’t be like me… never stop writing.
Thanks for viewing and reading the post. If you do have anything to share; an Idea, an article, a message of hope, anything, do send them in. I would be happy to put them up.
I bring you something new on Monday. I was bored and I decided to bring a nursery rhyme character into life. I hope you like what I came up with. You’ll get to see it on Monday.
Till then, Good day and God bless.

Please drop your comments and share the post to your Facebook and Twitter pages. Don’t forget to subscribe to the blog to get updates in your email on new episodes and articles. Like our Facebook page and follow me on Twitter;
Thank you for Reading.

Mike Dammy

She Deserves Better

Lone Survivor_ The Movie

Lone Survivor_ The Movie

Disclaimer: You really should stop reading my disclaimers. Most times they never have any relation to the post… just like this one.

I’m hoping I’m the last person on earth that has seen Lone Survivor. I always had the movie on my laptop but like every true life story movie, I never tried watching it. Not because of beef or anything but unlike fictional movies, true life stories ALWAYS have a tragic ending.

Just heard a Jason Derulo song on the radio… what the hell happened to that guy? His future seemed so bright… but then so did Pato, GEJ, MayD and even Nigeria.

Like I was saying before I rudely interrupted myself; I flee from true life stories. A perfect example is that Bollywood movie; The Family that got everybody in my school wailing and shot up the prices of tissue paper. Everybody was crying including my guys. I was the last man standing and that’s because I refused to watch it. Bad guy like me can’t be found crying.

Sha… sha… owing to my resentment, I refused to watch Lone Survivor immediately I got it about a year ago until some days back and dare I say, I was thrilled! Like the title implies, only one person survives and every other person dies, blah blah blah… did I mention that the movie was about marines. Yes, US marines!..and even though the effects, especially the deaths were pretty detailed and grotesque but they didn’t take anything away from the plot or in this context, true story.

Before you think this is a movie review, let me stop and deviate into why I’m really here. I learnt tons of things from the movie and I’ll like to share them with you as they’ll help me in unravelling the title of this post. I have broken down what I learnt into three words;






It’s a known fact that that most Nigerians are not patriotic. Yes, many claim they are but they definitely won’t spend twenty seven (27) years in jail for a cause for their country. I mean I doubt I’ll do that myself. That’s Mandela’s destiny path not mine. And like a question I heard in a pretty good Korean movie (peer pressure made me watch it) Secretly Greatly

Who would you rather die for; your mother or your country?

I laughed at this point in the movie and imagined a Nigerian being asked this question, the answer would be given without any thought; Mother. The country can find other willing martyrs in its 170 million citizens; many would be quick to say. Even those that have lost their mothers would still refuse.

In this movie however and in reality, marines basically put their lives on the line for their country and they do so with joy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting you lead a revolt with men in your neighbourhood and head to Chibok to fight the Boko Haram neither am I telling you to stand in the way of an armed robber with a pistol. That’ll be suicide and I won’t take any blame for your actions.

A great deal of Nigerians including myself are quick to disown the country when it’s time to stand up to some things or make sacrifices. To us, dying for a cause is an abomination and dying for our country is a laughable idea. It’s time we stand for something. It’s time we recognise ourselves as legit children of this great nation and children are meant to honour their parents and guardians.



Simply put, the act of treating each other the way you’ll treat your siblings and for some reason, we seriously lack that trait in this country. Its every man for himself these days, even blood relationa are not exempted, unless I need something from you, don’t expect a call. When we were younger, they enforced that we loved our neighbours like ourselves. Today, it has become ‘beware of your neighbour’.

In Lone Survivor, bar the fact that marines are made to go through rigorous traning exercises together, all these people were random folks from different races and walks of life but come a mission and they become the closest set of brothers I have ever seen. What happened to the Nigeria where neighbours stood together as one when NEPA comes around to slamming outrageous bills on our meters and cutting wires off their poles? What happened to the Nigeria where market women looked after the stalls of their competition, the Nigeria where anybody was allowed to marry anybody?

I doubt I can take a fulani or hausa lady to my mother as my bride. She will probably rebuke me and tell me her family might be members of the Boko Haram sect like everybody in the north is in support of terrorism. I haven’t even brought up the beef Yourba mothers seem to possess against their sons having Ibo wives… I mean, I adore Ibo ladies with their fair skin colour and dark hair but no, mama says I can’t have one as my wife.

It’s high time we put a stop to the feuds we have for one another and bring back our nation because that’s the only way we can move forward. If ever something happens and we have to stand against it, we would have more hope succeeding as one country not as Yoruba, Ibo or Hausa or any other tribe for that matter. We are Nigerians first, the tribal differences come later. And remember the proverb about the lone broom and the others in a bunch. Unity pays and its brotherhood that achieves that.



It is one thing to say you love your country; it is another thing to mean it.

Gone are the days when as students, we recited the national anthem and pledge with so much pride and gusto. Then we wanted to be doctors, engineers, lawyers, pilots with good intentions in mind. Good intentions that involved the well being of the country. Now that we’re much older and maturity has set in, we still want to be those professionals but it’s for our pleasure and our immediate families. The country has been thrown out of the equation. There were days when we listened to the news and our hearts ached when we heard of tragedies. These days, we just pray “Father, don’t let it come near me or my family”. Inasmuch as we insist we aren’t the problem, we are a big catalyst to it.

Togetherness is non-existent anymore. Some sell their patriotism and love for the country for bags of rice. Others just do it for some notes of Naira. And when the situation gets out of hands, we are quick to decamp abroad in the search of greener pastures and leave the country to its palava. God forbid a revolution like ‘Ghana must go’ of those days befalls us in those countries, we would cry foul and say Nigeria has destroyed our heritage.

Truth is this is our home. Unlike many other countries where the ground opens up to swallow its citizens and various forms of famine and hurricanes are happening, ours has chosen to give us a safe life and fertile grounds. We aren’t scared of tsunamis or earthquakes because our motherland cares. And whether you like it or not, if your mother loses a hand or a leg, she doesn’t seize being your mother.

I hope you take a cue from the heroes that gave their all for their country in the movie and stand up for ours. It’s not her fault she has corrupt leaders presiding over her, it’s ours and the least we could do is show her some love and respect. And like the Brazilians and Americans that reach cloud nine when their anthems are being recited or played, our nation deserves a reaction like that. She has being a caring mother and she deserves better. She deserves better from all of us.

Have a lovely day.

I remain Mike Dammy

* * *

Thanks for reading.
Do drop a comment or your views below, it will be really

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column if you’re viewing via web, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

When Life Hands You Lemons


When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade…

I’ve had this quote on my mind for a while now. It’s pretty easy to recite and use like I’ve seen tons of people do over time but I’m pretty sure many don’t know the context in which it is used. They say quotes have a deeper meaning and this one does too but I’m going to try and address it from a different angle unlike the theory we are used to. I intend to share my findings with you now.



Once you sense I’ve started thinking too much or getting philosophical, stop me… if you can.


Moving on… last time I checked; to create lemonades you require lemons, water and sugar. So if life is giving you just lemons how do you end up at lemonade without the other ingredients? Hmmm…Oro nla.

Like I said earlier, I’m going to try and give this a literal meaning different from the one you’re probably accustomed to.



Lemons in this context are talents. I don’t mean the money they spent in the bible days, I’m talking about the gift you were born with, that thing you’re extremely good at for no reason without little or no practice. Those are the lemons life has bestowed you with. Some people are blessed with fat lemons, some juicy while some others stale and small. Whatever type of lemon life has given you it’s your duty to create something out of it. That something being chilled lemonade.

So first, to make lemonade, you need a couple of ingredients aside lemons.


The first of them being Water.

Note, life didn’t hand you water like it did with the lemons so you have to discover it yourself. Water in this context is Diligence, Determination and The strive to be better at what you do. It’s a known fact that water helps plants grow, so let’s assume the ‘water’ here helps your talents develop. Many lose it at this stage. They never come by adequate water or the nerve to harness it out of the earth. So they end up with lemons still and continually look over the horizon to the finish line where their peers and life-mates turn in their lemonade for assessment. In other words, our group has fallen short of a couple of people. That’s how life is; some people never make it past the first stage and they have to endure the mediocrity that trails them throughout their existence.


Next on the list is Sugar.

Adding sugar to the mixture of lemons and water you have already is simply infusing Creativity into your talent that has been diligently developed. Like water, sugar has to be found as it’s not a free gift from life. Creativity runs the world these days. Hi5 went into depression immediately Facebook was released with its unique features. The keyword there is ‘unique’. Spain and Barcelona were blown away in the World cup and Champions league respectively because their Tiki Taka style of play had become obsolete. Opponents knew what to expect because no form of creativity whatsoever was brought into play. That’s what happens when your lemonade lacks sugar.

Dig deep into your subconscious, understand your surroundings, study your predecessors and emerge with something unique. That’s the trick. Nobody cared to listen to our old local artistes after Wizkid landed with his unique touch to hip hop as we know it. The result of his hard work is there for all to see… you can say he spoilt market for the lacklustre ones. That’s the advantage sugar gives you.

Now we have our lemonade but we don’t have a final product yet. You don’t possess a means of distributing it and nobody; I mean nobody wants to drink lukewarm lemonade. This brings us to the second phase of adding ingredients.


The first of them is a Fridge or Freezer if you will.

Nobody likes warm or hot lemonade. Everybody loves it ice cold and chilled. The fridge here is Branding. Now that your talent has been developed and garnished with creativity, you need a proper concept with which you would release it to the world. Engage in proper branding, create the perfect website, buy the perfect costume and rent the perfect offices and workplaces. Accomplish this and you have a well developed and defined talent waiting to be displayed to the world. After you’ve accomplished this, you need one last ingredient.


Jars and Cups.

The last but definitely not the least of the ingredients. You need a jar in which to share the lemonade and cups and bottles to serve with. We definitely don’t want to all drink from the bowl you mixed your lemonade in. That’s unhygienic. Everybody wants to take their lemonade to their offices and to their homes. They want to be able to put in the cup holder in their cars and take little sips when the traffic is unbearable. That my brother/sister is Having a Platform, which can mean Advertising; Social Networking to be precise. People hardly read billboards these days. They would rather view your adverts on their phones and laptops. The world has gone digital, make sure your refined talent can too. Provide a means in which we can carry your lemonade around and in that way publicise you further.


That’s the last of the ingredients in making one-of-a-kind lemonades… simply, Lemons, Water, Sugar, A Fridge and Jars and cups. Lemons never give you lemonade right away, neither would your raw talents give fulfillment or put food on your table. You need the other ingredients in the right proportions.

So, dear readers; when life does hand you lemons, make lemonade and make sure you make it just right… damn, lots of ‘make’ in that sentence… 🙂


Have a lovely day.

I remain Mike Dammy


* * *

Thanks for reading.
Do drop a comment or your views below, it will be really

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column if you’re viewing via web, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Love, Abuse & Common Sense

Posted this a while back… Just felt I should share it again.

Do drop a comment and Share when you’re done.

Bless 🙂

* * *


I will never quite understand the logic behind sticking to a spouse in an abusive relationship, I mean, how do you remain with a guy that pummels you daily and call it Love?! Some like my mentor would say would claim it’s his nature, “He can’t help it, he gets angry easily” they’ll say. So you’re the chosen one to get beaten and battered shey? That’s really sad.

I’ve been in relationships so I’m not tackling this issue like a novice; two relationships to be precise. The first one was a result of youthful exuberance so that doesn’t count but the second one was more like it. Sort of fulfilling, I would describe it even though we had to go our separate ways. Many would say I was confused and naive but I wasn’t as naive as to the point where I would raise my hand to hit her. Insulting her was impossible and yabbing her would take all the meanness in me; but then I loved her and my fist was not my medium of showing it.

They say behind every successful man is a woman and I believe many have misinterpreted that statement. That the quote said “behind” doesn’t mean she behind’s you or you are some sort of master over her; it only means you’re partners and in that particular situation, you’re the one in the spotlight or undergoing the task, the statement can easily mean “behind every successful woman is a man” so we men shouldn’t blow up our ego beyond proportion;.

A relationship is a partnership; between two people living in love and equality; the key word there being “Equality”. The moment any one starts bossing the other one around, it ceases to be a relationship and becomes some sort of Master-Servant relationship and that’s not right no matter how you put it.

Now, focusing on the ladies in abusive relationships

What is wrong with you?

Why did you become so naive?

As much as guys claim to be the better humans, we aren’t in fact better. That you were formed from his rib doesn’t give him any right to lay his hands on you. The earlier you understand this, the better for you. There is no form of Eros love that connotes long suffering except when both of you (together) are suffering together; like say saving for your marriage or abstaining from sex till marriage but when one of you suffers at the expense of the other, it aint a relationship anymore, so wake up and open your eyes to this!

There is no form of love without wisdom and common sense attached to it. If you believe love is all about the feeling; then maybe you should stick to being single and go on a journey of self discovery. Every successful love story (Ignore those Bollywood flicks) have some form of common sense in twined in it. You won’t marry an armed robber even if the feeling is strong; common sense says its wrong. You also don’t let yourself get harassed by some guy in the name of love, common sense also says its wrong. Until your mind is in tune with your feelings, you are not in love, and if you aren’t in love, you should stay away from any relationship cos that’s where all forms of molestation would come into play and he won’t think twice about indulging in them because all he has are feelings and he has nothing to lose.

If he beats you, then acts all sober after a while and ask you to forgive him when you’re all bruised up, the best way you can show love there is to break the relationship and help him sort himself out; as a friend.

If he beats or molests you because he likes it, I really shouldn’t be telling you what to do. Like my father would say’ Cant you use your number six?! (I still don’t know what that means)

Moving to the ‘gentle’men that molest women, the lord is your strength. You’re not a very smart bunch and it’s your kind that evolve into rapists and sexual molesters. You have no right whatsoever to touch a lady, no matter how much you enjoy it. Beating a lady is an act of cowardice and not some form of manhood spectacle. Except she’s your creation(which she aint), you have no right to teach her. She’s meant to be your partner not your punching bag and you’re meant to respect her.

If you do have a temper, see a therapist and get yourself checked out. Nobody has to suffer for your shortcomings.

If however, you’re a man and your girlfriend or spouse harasses you, I really do not know what to say. Except she’s blackmailing you, yours is an unforgivable case and I just pray God helps you and your self-esteem.

All in all, nobody has the right to hurt his/her partner. The reason you said yes to him/her is cos you felt it was right, so don’t push yourself to doing something contrary. If however you were forced into the relationship, see an elder or report to the police.

Finally, for any relationship to work, God is a definite constant. Remove him from the equation and it’ll never work…. Never!

That said, Stay blessed and happy in your relationships. If you’re single like I am, it’s cool. Enjoy it while it lasts. 😉


Have a wonderful weekend!

Mike Dammy  @damstylee 



Shooting Star

Close your weary eyes; relaxing them

Count from one to ten; then open them

All these heavy thoughts will try to weigh you down

But not this time

You know why?

Cos we won’t let it__ I won’t let it

The sun might have disappeared in the sky

All might seem lost and distant

Your loved ones may suddenly seem like strangers

Your friends; now distant memories

The haters are barraging on your front door like raging bulls

And you lay crouched in your closet

Your eyes tired from crying

Your sobs now gentle whimpers

It might seem like you’re all alone

No single light on the horizon to keep you company

And your candle slowly burns out; flickering gently like a sail and casting beautiful images of dancing women on the dark wall that is the sky

Right now, it’s you against the world

Everybody is up against your throat; slowly edging you towards the cliff, pushing you towards desperation and sucking the life out of you like grim reapers

Your royalty suddenly feels like a myth

The vast talents you possess now figments of your imagination

Just a blip in your history; a mirage never to be encountered again


This might be your story

Perhaps you feel all of this and more

Just permit me to assure you of one thing

A tiny revelation I encountered recently

Of how greatness can beget from nothing

An awesome moment from sheer blankness

A shooting star on the darkest of nights

Yes, that who you ought to be!


So close your eyes again

Count from one to ten like before

Then open them slowly…

Ignore the pull of gravity and rise above the tension

Fashi the sleeping sun

Be oblivious of the mocking stares and jeers and set yourself on a high

Far beyond what cloud nine can offer

More intoxicating than seven shots of whiskey or a good f*ck

Way above the reach of the drenching rain

To the world where sarcasm is non-existent

Soar beyond the atmosphere

Reach for the heights

Set your mood like its reality

Listen to the thousand beats resounding in your ears

The applause of the millions waiting to be inspired

Anticipating that song

Chilling for that best seller

Savouring that mighty leap that wins you the Olympic gold

Imagining the capabilities of your invention

Arching our hands to click play on your award winning single

Waiting to imitate those dance steps you create

Watch that movie you acted

Receive the goodwill of your donations

All these and more

Set your mind on these

Imagine the glamour

Savour the freedom

Float on the wings of fulfilment

Appreciate the gratitude of the lives you inspired

We wait earnestly in anticipation of your achievements

The princess in you clamouring for promotion

The queen beckons to emerge

Let her out!__ Unleash her!

You’re a star in the making

A spark threatening to explode

A something going somewhere to happen

So, set ablaze the dark night and cast your brilliant light on us

Dash across the universe right before our eyes brighter than we ever envisaged

We wait…

Our eyes fastened on the skies

Our anxiety heightened invariably

So don’t keep us hanging forever

Shine brighter than a shooting star!


This is my message to every woman or girl out there that thinks the world is firmly against them; the ‘damaged’, the raped, the sexually molested teenagers and the society rejects.

Reach beyond the evils of the world, it is your time to shine.

Owl City’s “Shooting star” inspired this. If you know anybody that fits in any of the categories listed above; anybody searching for meaning in this world, why don’t you share this to them and be a blessing.

* * *

Thanks for reading.
Do drop a comment or your views below, it will be really

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column if you’re viewing via web, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Is Rap Poetry?

Is rap poetry?

This question has been on my mind for a while now. It all started a fortnight ago when a couple of my friends who incidentally were rappers and I engaged in some form of argument/discussion. They were of the opinion that their art was poetry in motion. I begged to differ then but lacked credible evidence to back my claims. I still lack evidence hence this post and I’m hoping someone somewhere could shed some light on the topic at hand.

I would love to ask some basic questions; Mayowa, Lanre and Chris; I hope you’re reading this.

If rap is poetry like you say;

Would you term Eminem a world renowned poet?

Or would you describe our very own M.I.,Olamide and Ice Prince *holds laugh* as poetry masterminds seeing they have mastered the art of rap as regards the Nigerian audience?

Is poetry all about the wordplay or a few ‘deep’ lines or is it much more than that?

I’m of the opinion that poetry is way ‘way’ deeper than rap. So I tried to answer some of the questions myself and scribbled some sort of poetry/rap in my journal. To my understanding, I will just describe it as wordplay. You tell me what you think. Is this poetry or rap?

It’s titled ‘Dear Fiend’;

If it takes you years to decipher simple logic

Months to pinpoint what truly matters

Then maybe I should rethink my steps

And hurry off in the direction of safety

A world of utmost solitude

Protection from you

You probably dont understand

This might seem as mysterious as the sprinkling of his blood

But his Word I truly believe in

Skimmed it from the beginning to his Revelations

And it says I should be wary of vultures like you

And the folks you share a feather with.

Where I’m heading is unknown for now

A descendant of Abraham I’ve suddenly become

All his traits I’m bound to inherit

So I won’t let you poison my lot in life

Least I fall prey to the wrath of Sodom

And my bae becomes but a memory of salt and vinegar.

Rap? Poetry? You tell me!

The World Has Gone Mad!

I woke with hope yesterday. Hope that the world had somewhat regained its sanity over the course of the night. It has been awkward for a while. Women dressing like men and men looking more and more like their female counterparts. Animals suddenly had the balls to walk on all fours and humans are standing upright. The world is mad I tell you. It has gone bananas and I thought I was its only survivor.


I had stepped down from my throne like bed like a king. Veins of plants and fungi cropped the stony background of their illustrious resting place like the amazons and a mighty ingenious grey roof sheltered me from the abomination that came from above. I took the leftover bread from yesterday beside the bed, took a bite and dabbed the rest into a magical liquid in the ground that made the meal more delicious. I felt the raisins in my mouth and shuddered in ecstasy. That was life. If only the world was there to enjoy it with me.


I went into the open after my morning rituals. A woman was engaged in some sort of ritual at the back of the houses. I moved in closer and watched as she poured a clear liquid on her body. Tragic I tell you. A sane person would know that the body must be protected from such filth. She poured the last bit of it on her face, saw me and screamed. I smiled and only stopped when I felt a jab of pain on my nose. Quickly, I fled from the scene. It was getting boring anyway. I decided to hit the market square.


I burst into the market square later in my full regalia and took in the applause that was the noise of market women advertising their goods. Surely, they had to be hailing me in disguise. No sane person should make such noise. But then, they weren’t sane. A dog walking on all its limbs like a human came by and tried to have a sniff at my crotch. I swung my foot at it so hard it rolled over a dozen times on the red earth. A mad woman cursed at me as the dog rolled into her stall. I poked my tongue at her and walked away majestically. People threw glances at me as I strolled across muttering the words of the gods to the spirits around. That was as good as it got.


That’s where it all changed.


It started with the scream of the bathing woman.


That’s him! She said. The mad man that was peeping at me as I bathed.


I laughed and turned in her direction. If she was sane, she would know it was impossible to find a mad man in a multitude of many. That’s when I realized she was pointing at me. Half a dozen clothed mad men headed in my direction and I fled. I fled my brother. When you see mad men coming in your direction,you run. Sadly, there was no other to rescue me. Half a yard later, I was bound hands and feet.


You are all mad. I yelled but nobody seemed to care. They bundled me into a despicable van and next thing I knew, I’m in this bed tied down with chains in Yabaleft or whatever they call this place. I’m still in awe that we’re still many. Maybe there is still hope for us.


Wait… where are you going? Fellow sane men, stay with me! I can’t fight this war alone!



General Ghadaffi Idi-Amin!



Who dares to speak my name?



The voice from behind the steel door.



Whose voice?



The voice of the gods.



Speak your gracious. Your humble servant beckons.



Shut your mouth or I’ll come in there with a taser!


Mike Dammy