The Four-Hour Erection

I don't have it --- with good reason.

But every time the Cialis or Viagra commercial comes on and says something like, "If you have an erection that lasts more than four hours, consult your doctor," I cannot help but wonder what that feels and looks like.  And no, this is not a shy and subtle attempt at asking for pictures of four-hour erections.  

Four hours is a long, long time.  It's 240 minutes.  It's 14, 400 seconds --- of a man just sitting - or maybe standing - behind a hard place, doing what?  I've heard and read stories of men suffering from blue balls because they were turned on and weren't given the opportunity to have a plunging relief of their tension.  

The times I've heard and read such stories, they did not sound as if the man was standing, doing nothing, admiring the stiffness that threatened to put a hole in his pants.  Or his mattress, if he was lying face-down on the bed.  But I assume that such a position would be as comfortable as a pregnant woman lying on her stomach.  Of course, if he was not wearing any pants or underwear, the threat of a hole in them would be null and void.  Impossible.

If a man were to be patient enough to let four hours of hardness pass him by, he ought to be efficient.  There are many things that could be, should be done with the hard instrument.  Pounding yams, grinding pepper, staring a hot pot of soup, using it as a pin and needle holder, and hitting a nail.  These are just a few creative ideas that Cialis and Viagra should consider adding to their commercials.  Although it'd be fancy seeing a man walk into the clinic with his emotions on his loins.

And if you're wondering what on earth has gotten into me, quite honestly, I'm not sure.  I need a breakthrough.

Looking For Me?

Every now and then, I like to blog about the key words that people search for on search engines, the keywords that ultimately lead them to Verastic.com  It'd be incredibly unVerastic if I were to blog about the regular words.  Who needs those?  The absurd ones make my day any day.  Enjoy.

1.  Turai Yar'Adua

I'm not sure what bothers me most: the fact that the search for Turai leads people to my blog, or the fact that Turai Yar'Adua is the fourth leading search.  I think it's the latter.  And this is all because of that flattering post about her

2.  www.project@verastic.com

You think I should tell the searcher that www does not come before this or any e-mail address?  Yeah, maybe later.

3.  Oral sex in the bible.

Oh, honey, been there, done that --- searched for it, that is.  This may be hard to believe, but nowhere in the bible do the words oral sex appear.  Go figure!  But maybe my post on oral sex will help, no?

4. "I found out he's married" "green card"

Now, can you ask him if he'd like to be a co-host on the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio Show?  You (or he) can read about the talk show, and the show in question is number 11.

5.  Angelina Jolie stay away from my man

*Gasp* Oh, my goodness!!!  Vanessa Pardis, is this you?  You found my blog! How is Johnny Depp?  Wait, did you read the post I put up about you two three?

6.  Ask boyfriend for facebook password to prove trust.

Sweetheart, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but passwords and trust are almost mutually exclusive.  Besides, he could be like me.  I have several e-mail accounts --- which, of course, only implies that I love e-mails J

7.  Aso Rock boyfriend of Turia Yar'Adua

Turai has a boyfriend at Aso Rock?! I knew it!  Now, it's all starting to make sense.

8.  Boyfriend used to date my friend.

We had a show on this one.  Go listen.

9.  Boyfriend won't give me his Facebook password.

Please refer back to number 6 above.  And when you're done, ask Ray what he thinks about passwords.

10.  Breasts that reach for the sky.

Only a man would search for this.

11.  Does Tonto Dike use Makari?

Seriously???

12.  Get perkier breasts

It's your lucky day!  I know the secret.

13.  How to rededicate my life to Christ.

More often than not, people start with a bible-believing church.

14.  I love my fat wife

Good for you!!

15.  I want a fatter wife

Please refer to number 14 above.

16.  If your boyfriend doesn't call you in a day and doesn't send a text, does he love you?

Heck, if I know!

17.  My friend is technically engaged

You're technically a bridesmaid.

18.  My push up bra will get my man

What kind of push up bra is that, and where can I get one?

19.  Sniff menstruation pads

Before or after they've been menstruated on?

20. Verastic Nigerian blogger.

Finally! Someone looks for me JJJ

That's all, folks!  Out of 536 search words - thanks to Google Analytics - I managed to pull 20 out.

P.S. The show goes live in less than 10 hours (at 10am U.S EST and 3pm Nigerian time).  I'll be co-hosting with Diamond, NaijaBloke, and Kola [Baroka] Tubosun, and we'll be talking about how to, if you will, tell your friend that his/her spouse-to-be is a monster.  Listen here.  Call in: 1.646.929.1905 <<>> Text your response(s): 1.443.934.9039 <<>> E-mail your response(s): radio@verastic.com

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Could It Be...

...That I, Vera Ezimora, have single-handedly figured out the root and cause of the political strife in Nigeria??  Ah, yes, indeed, it could be.  You see, it all started like the Garden of Eden.  Remember back then, things were perfect, and there was no sin.  (Azazel, jump in anytime and disagree J).  Things were perfect --- until Eve got lured and deceived by Lucifer.  I'm sure we all know that story.  Fast forward to a couple thousand years later, in the newly independent Country of Nigeria.  Things were running well - as they always do in the beginning - until something went terribly, terribly wrong.

You see, our President, Nnamdi Azikiwe hosted a dinner, a dinner where dignitaries, affluent people, and movers and shakers were all present.  Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa was there.  Alhaji Shehu Shagari was there.  Obafemi Awolowo was there, too.  The event started off with everyone having a round table discussion.  They talked about Nigeria's way forward, about free healthcare for children, and about coming up with a name for Nigeria's currency.

Things were going well until the actual dinner was served.  It was then that General Johnson Aguiyi and General Yakubu Gowon began to struggle over the food, over who would eat more, and over who would take more takeaway plates home.  General Johnson grabbed most of the takeaway and ran off.  General Yakubu caught up with him, murdered him, and ate all the food.  And that, my people, is how we became so greedy in Nigeria.

Now, if you think that this post has anything to do with the event I attended on Sunday where Nigerians could not happily eat a plate of food each, but had to grab plates on both hands, leaving some other people without food, then, well, I cannot confirm or deny your allegation!  If you further insist that this event took place in a church in Baltimore, Maryland, U.S.A,  I still cannot confirm or deny your allegation.

Men Have It Hard

On Friday, I went to my former school to print some things out.  I was about to walk into a building when I noticed an African-American girl in front of me.  She was about my age, give or take a year, and she was walking rather slowly, so I eventually walked past her.  She had on a white pair of leggings, a white shirt, and a pair of white sandals.  Her leggings weren't full in length; they stopped midway between her knees and her ankles.  Her shirt had three-quarter sleeves, stopped somewhere between her elbows and her wrists.  Her sandals were the thong kind, the kind that had the little thing between the big toe and the second toe.

She was not skinny or small in stature.  On the contrary, she was probably about my size, except, perhaps with a heavier, nicer butt.  Yes, I noticed her butt.  As a matter of fact, that's probably why I'm blogging.  With each step this girl took, I could not help but notice the decadent and rhythmic swaying of her hips, the bouncing of her butt cheeks, the thickness of her thighs, and even the way the wind blew the soft brown highlights in her hair.

And so, when I got to the building before her, I did not do what I would have, should have done.  I would have, should have opened the door, gone through, and then, courteously held the door ajar for her.  Instead, like a doorman, I opened it and waited for her to go past first.  I even said, "Go ahead."  And she did.  As she walked past me, my eyes were still fixated on her.  Facially, she was forgettable.  As I type this now, I don't remember her face anymore.  I do, however, remember her butt, her hips, her hair, the color of her skin, her sandals, and possibly, the size of her breasts.

As I walked behind her, I found myself scratching my head, mesmerized by two things:

1.  Could this be how all the gay people became gay?

2.  Why on earth did I not leave the house looking like her?! 

Now, if you'll excuse me, there is a pair of three-quarter leggings somewhere calling my name!

Tonight Is The Night

In Nigeria, mom owned a Pharmacy, right across our house.  We lived in Jos, about five minutes drive from Aribaba's house, but our house was a lot closer to the Muslims.  The young lady who worked in mom's pharmacy shop, although a Christian, lived in the heart of the Muslim community.  During one of those times when there was tension - but no actual fight - between Christians and Muslims - mom's employee (whose name I cannot remember now) always brought us news.

"Tonight is the night!" She always told us.  They said they're coming this night to kill all the Christians.  And they're starting with all the rich Igbo people here."

We were not rich, but we were certainly Igbo.  Our house was not small.  It would have definitely given the wrong impression [that we were rich].  Behind us, there was a rich Igbo man whom we rarely saw, but who always drove out in a different car - all with tinted windows.  In front of us, a very deaf and very rich man resided.  He, too, was Igbo.  Beside the deaf man, a rich doctor and his wife, both from Delta State resided.  They were not Igbo, but they weren't Muslims either.  Beside us, my uncle's hotel stood strong.  Talk about sitting on a landmine!

So, every night, we went to bed in fear, wondering if it was going to really be the night that the Muslims would attack.  Every time one of our dogs barked, we wondered why: armed robbers, reptiles [we had a lot of those, too], unfamiliar late-night visitors, or Muslims?  We went to bed with knives, mortar pestles, and sharp, metal suya sticks.  We did not have guns, tasers --- or at least, mace.  In retrospect, I can only imagine what little damage our weapons would have done, if any.

Today, Jos has a different story.  The tension between the Christians and the Muslims isn't imagined or just talked about anymore.  It is felt, died for, buried, and mourned.  The good news is that we have our very effective Government. They are ever present to lump all the casualties into one mass grave --- and then, life goes on.

The Government is alive --- or maybe not so alive.  Its wife is ambitious, ready to take over the Country.  When she cannot, she rallies her sons in-law, debating which one of them would succeed the incapacitated Government.  After all, Nigeria is only a little village, a village that hosts 100 to 200 people, plus or minus 50.  A constitution (especially one that is written to be obeyed) is only for Countries, big Countries, Countries that have people, people that have education, education that edifies, informs, and betters.  That wouldn't happen to be Nigeria, would it?

Come Saturday, we would be talking about the State of the Nigerian Union on the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio.  I'll be co-hosting with Mustapha and Nonso.  You really, really don't want to miss this one.  We'll be talking about Yar'Adua's life (or lack of it), Turai's ambition(s), Jonathan's Acting Presidency, Jos' violence, and the youth's recent rally in Abuja (called, Enough Is Enough).  You can watch a short video of the rally below, courtesy of 234Next.com 

Listen to the show at its usual time, 10am U.S. Eastern (3pm Nigerian time) here.

Join the conversation by calling 1.646.929.1905

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P.S. In case you didn't notice, the blog template has  changed.  Notice the tabs up there?

P.P.S. Daylight Saving Time has started, so there's now a five hour difference between U.S. Eastern Time and Nigerian time = the show will now be at 3pm in Nigeria (no longer 4pm).

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Fotunatus Is Totaled

Totaled!

Remember that little accident I had on Sunday morning, the one that gave Fotunatus a dent and caused him to be rushed to the hospital?  Well, that little accident wasn't so little.  My insurance called and gave me the grim news: "Ma'am, unfortunately, due to the extent of the damage of your vehicle, we're gonna have to count it as a total loss."

Wonder where my hubcap flew to.  Mystery.

Up close and personal

Still up close and personal.

Really, really up close and personal.

I did not know how to respond. I just cried silently as the insurance agent spoke.  And this time, it wasn't the puff puffs that I was crying for.  Fotunatus is was is was is a white twelve year old Toyota Corolla.  He never gave me any problem whatsoever.  The last thing that I feel like doing right now is going car-hunting.  I neither have the time, the money, nor the desire to do so.  My insurance is going to give me some money, the amount they have deemed to be the value of the vehicle.  I'd really rather have the vehicle back.

As I type this post now, tears of anguish, anger, and frustration are messing up my otherwise flawless foundation.  But Bro. W, a guy from my church, just called to check up on me.  He didn't see me in church on Tuesday, so he was wondering what happened.  I didn't tell anyone about the accident - even though it happened before church on Sunday, and I still got a ride to church.

Bro. W said I shouldn't worry, that God would never forget His own, that everything happens for a reason, and that at the end of this, His name would be glorified.  He also gave me a proverb. He said my case is like that of a King's palace that gets burnt.  When it gets burnt, people think it's a thing of shame, but what they don't know is that it is a good thing because the burning of the palace would cause it to be rebuilt into a finer, stronger structure.

Very well then.  God, the ball is in Your court.  Do with me and Fotunatus as You please.  Oh, men, I miss Fotunatus.  I cannot believe it's over for us.  I went over there on Friday and took all my things out --- and that includes the puff puff.  I left the air freshener though.  Just because we're parting ways does not mean he should stop smelling good.  For the record, I did not intend to eat the puff puffs.  I was just going to give them to Funmie.  She wouldn't have known how stale they are until she took a bite out of them.

The famous puff puffs!  I don't know what happened.  These puff puffs looked a lot yummier before the accident.  Okay, I guess she would have known they're stale.

I'm done crying.  Operation Find-Serakus has officially begun.  Yeap, Serakus is the next car's name.  Lucky him/her!  I don't even know if Serakus is a male or a female name.

Angelina, Stay Away From My Man!

That's apparently the sentiment of a lot of celebrity women when it comes to Angelina Jolie.  But who can blame them?

Remember Billy Bob Thornton?  He was engaged - happily or unhappily - to actress, Laura Dern until he came across Angelina Jolie.  Next thing we knew, they were both wearing vials of each other's blood around their necks.  Oh, and they were also married from 2000 to 2003.

Who can forget the case of Brad Pitt?  Am I the only one who is disappointed that their relationship has not met its demise?  I mean, it shouldn't be this way.  Nollywood movies have told us that this is impossible!  When you steal a woman's husband, karma will bite you in the nether region.  Oh, karma, where are you when I need you the most?  But anyway, once upon a time, the all-American sweetheart, Jennifer Aniston, was married to Brad Pitt.  I thought they were so perfect for each other.  In their marriage vows, she promised to make him his favorite banana milkshake for the rest of his life.  And he was enjoying those milkshakes, too --- until he filmed Mr. and Mrs. Smith.  Yes, yes.  The one with Angelina Jolie.

And now, history is trying to repeat itself, it seems.  Johny Depp - who, by the way, has a very nerdy sexiness about him - is filming a thriller with Angelina Jolie.  A movie that allegedly has a steamy sex scene (what else is new?) between Depp and Jolie.  This time, however, there is a woman who owns a man, and is not afraid to show it!  That woman is Johnny Depp's long time girlfriend and mother of his two children, Vanessa Pardis.  Apparently, she wants Johnny Boy to have nothing to do with that movie.  Or with Angelina.  Who can blame her?  After giving twelve years of her life to Johnny Depp, the woman is not ready to lose it all to one  Angelina - no matter how sexy her lips are!

If I had a man that Angelina Jolie were after, I, too, would tell her to stay the heck away from my man!  Who am I kidding?  My words would be more like, "Angelina, how do you do it ... and may I get an autograph, please?"

Very Mini Hiatus

The story, cut and dry:

I had an accident yesterday.

It was my fault.

Fotunatus [my car] was towed away after the accident.

I'm grateful I didn't end up in the hospital.

I'm not very happy right now.

I can't find the desire or the humor to type up a post.

I don't know how long this will last.

But I'll be back as soon as I can.

Surely, this accident must glorify God somehow.  I'm desperately waiting to see how.

P.S. I'm okay.

P.P.S. I just wish I took the puff-puffs out of the car before it got towed away. They were tasty.

I Want A Fat Wife

Those are precious words that you'll probably never hear from a man's mouth.  Perhaps, this blog is as close as you'll ever come to hearing it from a man's mouth.  And I am not even a man, so go figure.

Remember back in the day when the bigger a woman was, the better looking she was considered?  Remember how that used to be the evidence of good living?  It used to be the proof that she was well taken care of by her father or husband, preferably her husband.  Remember how the women with wide hips and butts as wide as pillows held sideways used to boast of having an ikebe super?  Igbo men call such hips/butt "ukwu pathfinder [pathfinder hips]," "ukwu transformer [transformer hips]," "ukwu v-boot [v-boot hips]," "ike danger [dangerous butt] ... and the list goes on.  Well, what happened?

Did men stop wanting the pathfinder hips, hips that are sure to find the path at any given point, even without a GPS?  Did men stop wanting the transformer hips, hips that can power the electricity in an entire block (or consequently cause the electricity to fail due to too much voltage)?  Did they stop wanting the hips shaped like that v-boot Mercedes Benz?  Did they stop wanting the dangerous butts, the kind that literally cost people their lives?  Or did we, women, change?

Women everywhere seem to be in a craze for the skinny bones.  Have we [African women] become more educated about the risks and dangers of obesity?  Or have we become more westernized, looking to the likes of Beyonce and Rihanna, for our ideal image?  What is really going on?  What we used to consider voluptuous, curvy, and shapely is now plain ol' fat.  One man's fat, I realize, is another man's average and vice versa.

But you know what's interesting, while we [women] spend a lot of time making ourselves over, redefining the meaning of [black] beauty, nipping here and tucking there, the standard of beauty, it seems, has remained the same for the men: tall, dark, and handsome.

I'm sure you have plenty to say.  Thankfully, Good Naija Girl, Caramel, and I will be discussing it live on the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio show tomorrow, Saturday, March 6th 2010.  The show will be airing at 10am U.S. Eastern time [4pm Nigerian time & 3pm U.K time].  Click here to listen.  Join the live conversation by calling 1.646.929.1905.  Send your thoughts/stories/questions via e-mail radio@verastic.com  or text 1.443.934.9039.  Follow me on Twitter for updates.

Ka chi fo [Goodnight in Igbo].

P.S. I'd like to say a big congratulations and best wishes to Onyi and Noni.  It's been a year since they started their journey.  I pray God's blessings and favor meet them both at the point of their individual and collective needs.  Amen.


P.P.S. Don't forget to vote [in the top right sidebar]!

Mr. Shoes And I Are Getting Married --- Today

And this time, it's not an April Fool's trick - like that other time.  I'm sorry you had to find out this way.  And I'm sorry I kept it away from you, but if it makes you feel any better, I also kept it away from Mr. Shoes.  You see, this isn't exactly how I planned to get married, but as they say, when the going gets tough, the tough gets going.

I'll make this as short and as simple as possible: from Friday, February 5th to Sunday, February 7th, we experienced suffered a snow storm.  It took me five hours to shovel the sidewalk and dig Fotunatus [my car] out of 26 inches of snow.  School was out for over a week.  Less than a week later, we received another 12 inches of snow.  More shoveling and digging ensued.  By the end, I was sure I would need a chiropractor to fix my back, shoulders, waist, and arms.Since then, it has snowed about three or four more times, albeit very lightly.  This week and next week, we're expecting snow; I don't know the amount.  

So, where does Mr. Shoes come in, you ask?  Well, you see, while we were shoveling, my male neighbors shoveled and shoveled and shoveled --- while their wives stood by the door and directed them, "Honey, you didn't get that little part there," and occasionally, their wives brought them soup, sandwiches, and warm beverages.

I want to be a wife, darn it!  Shoveling isn't fun.  I'd rather be giving directions and offering warm beverages.  So, yes, Mr. Shoes and I will be getting married today.  I have to make sure that I marry him before the next snow storm.  Wouldn't want him thinking that I married him just because of the snow storm.  I mean, what kind of wife would that make me?