Not Enough Soap... to shrink my manhood

This season's horoscope reads: Get your shit together!

It's been eleven months, after a four year sentence, since I packed my balls and walked away from the "Indian cultural clan", but without an option I had to pack my brown in my hand luggage. Couldn't leave without it now could I? What would life be without being discriminated and laughed at for 'T'he Indian accen'T' and the head boggle...

Don't get me wrong, like I've always said, I'm real proud to be of Indian origin minus the "Manikchandani's and Karamchandani's", of course...
FUCK YOU, BAR STOOLS WITHOUT FOOTRESTS!

It all happened one day when I was on my couch with Doritos and a Coke Zero wondering where it all went wrong. And then it dawned on me: I need to move to a different city with new people, a new job and a new boss so I could find some new material! That might spice things up a little.

In the few months’ break that I get between jobs, I could also commit to the woman deranged enough to go out with me for the longest I've ever been in a relationship. Honestly, I totally agree to the fact that living alone is nothing short of awesome. And women, well, men never did understand women. They buy shoes because they are on their feet all the time walking around stores buying shoes. Although, I've had it with friction burns on the palms of both my hands and it is no fun. I was at a point where I considered attaching a wind turbine to my wanking arm to conserve energy… because I'm smart like that.

Now, who would want to spend the rest of their lives with someone like me you say?! It's a shame, I know, if not for my physical appearance, personality and station in life, I'm probably 98% marriage material.

However, it isn't very difficult to confuse a smart girl to marry you. It's as simple as writing up a resume. Like when I once used a coat hanger to keep my car muffler from falling off, and now my resume reads "Budget conscious problem Solver". All I needed to do was exaggerate a little and stop walking around the house naked. Although I really needed this relationship to work, because I'm losing female followers and hot gay men on Twitter, she is my last shot at trying to be socially accepted.

All in all, I spent a few months out and a few months in India before I moved into the capital "planned" city of Nigeria: Abuja. The only thing planned in this city, I would later find out, are the car jackings and pick pockets. Very organised, I must say.

So I move into a company-provided home so spacious that I can cook, take a shit and answer the front door all at the same time. Unfortunately, I now have a boss who is on the same wave length as I am and I can't come up with one joke about the guy. He's all cool and composed and making sense all the time. Sigh, I miss the ex-boss with glasses so thick he could see into the future.
Moving on, a month into living in this glorious new "Planned City" located in the north of Nigeria, I get a very thoughtful Nigerian who probably figured I hadn't gotten some in months and decided to put his hands into my back pockets - which is probably the most sex I would have in the next six months.

It did cost me though - all my money in my wallet and my wallet and everything else in it. Anyway, I just didn't bother calling the police because I'm a confident adult gentleman with assets that won't quit. That and also because the police here are probably drunk out of their skulls by 7 pm.

Can we skip this part and go to the part where my rich aunt dies and leaves me a trust fund...?