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Apologies, our dearly beloved, highly tolerant, constant readers. You see, we have no post today. We’ve been on some sort of extended sick leave. Sort of. ūüėČ

Instead, we’ll give you the chance to go have some fun on our companion blog:¬†and improve your career opportunities by learning how to be a trial lawyer. Doubtful? The article starts very encouragingly. Let’s show you.


The first time I appeared in court before a judge I was all a-sweat. I was sure it had nothing to do with tension‚ÄĒlike my office colleagues teased‚ÄĒI simply had an uncontrollable glandular problem. Go on,¬†Google¬†it. It caused me severe dehydration for the entire day. I knew almost nothing about court appearances and not even my fine qualifications from both the university and the law school could reassure me. Anyway, by the end of the day, the case I went for went easy and smooth‚ÄĒand I even had the opportunity to coach the opposing lawyer on some items. So, how did I go from being a novice to being one of the greatest lawyers? And how can you also become a great lawyer with little or no formal training? All you need to know is the recipe that makes a person a lawyer, the stuff that separates a lawyer from a layman, and like most things like this‚ÄĒthey are surprisingly simple. I assure you, if you can imbibe these few tips you are about to read, you‚Äôre on your way to being the next SAN!…


You get the drift? Continue reading it by clicking on the link below, or you can get back to work—which we recommend. ūüôā


See you folks next week! Thanks for being cool.


Let’s take time to laugh at ourselves today. And what better way to light up the laugh lines than with the hallowed traditions of this country? You see, there’s this line of the Nigerian national anthem that’s obviously there for shit and giggles. Actually, every line of the anthem is for laughs, but this line is particularly extra comical:¬†“The labours of our heroes past shall never be in vain.”

"Hehehe. You're killing me, man. No pun intended."

“Hehehe. You’re killing me, man. No pun intended.”

The hilarity here is not that we have no heroes in the objective sense (we do,¬†seriously) nor is it that we¬†have consigned the labours of ¬†these heroes to the recycle bin (we have). ¬†The real joke is that our problem is much more serious: we have no freaking idea what a hero is or who our heroes are. These days, a number of odd figures show up on the hero radar, the word “hero” has lost all meaning and the criteria for selection has become quite jumbled.

BBA winners don't qualify as heroes.

Getting a Presidential handshake is NOT a criteria.

So here’s a quick test: if you’re able to identify Uti in the picture above, but not Saro-Wiwa in the picture further above, then congrats! You’re the fucking problem with this country. But before you jump off the nearest bridge—a solution which we highly recommend—its not entirely your fault that Uti is more ¬†recognizable¬†than Ken.

Its all DSTV's fault. Especially the Compact  package.

Blame the DSTV Compact package. Those rouges.

The creepy value system most of us were bred with has blatantly encouraged us to regard winning a million Naira in an effortless venture as a more worthwhile life achievement than fighting social injustice without pay. Even worse, our moral and religious systems have encouraged the idea that a good spiritual life is necessarily rewarded with riches.

"They see me ridin', they hatin'..."

“I fasted and prayed. And paid my tithes.”

That is why our leaders keep getting away with corruption. Because deep down, we value those leaders who cram their mouths full much more than those who go hungry for us. ¬†In the latest¬†installment¬†of materialistic hero-worship, lots of folks went gaga over the fact that some Nigerian woman took Oprah’s place at the top of the dollar counting scale. In typical Nigerian fashion, this was enough reason to be proud to be a Nigerian. Worse, this non-news was taken seriously by a lot of people.

"Fellow Nigerians. This. Changes. Everything."

“Fellow Nigerians: This. Changes. Everything.”

Of course, it is irrelevant to most of the Alakija hero worshipers¬†that Oprah’s influence over the years derived from what was basically¬†community¬†service, and not from the number of dollar bills in her wallet. This inability to discern what is worthwhile is why the prayer meetings are going to speed up like an expressway on drugs, as pastors get new material to feed their congregation. ¬†And all over Nigeria, folks will keep on begging ¬†God desperately for their chance at mouth-watering riches in a misguided attempt to involve the divine in material aspirations.

The Church keeps marching on.

Whatever, the Church keeps marching on.

Now here’s the lesson today: a people are defined by their heroes. Heroes are ordinary people who manage to do extraordinary things. Extraordinary things such as ¬†defending the weaker and battling the stronger. We used to have such heroes; some kickass awe-inspiring heroes that stood their grounds before teargas and gun bullets. We used to have men and women who stood and died for what was right.

We used to have Dagrin.

“We used to have Dagrin.” Hell, no.

From the days of the Aba Women’s Riot to the nights of Occupy Nigeria. We had voices that spoke without fear or guilt. Yes, Superman and Batman used to live among us. ¬†But they are mostly gone now. What we have today are bratty guys who win reality shows and silver-fed women with oil blocks. These are our freaking heroes. Well played, Nigerians. You messed up in heroic proportions.


Keeping in line with this blog’s tradition of reminding you about things you’ll rather not discuss, today, we launch into a subject sensitive to almost all of our readers. This is an issue that has brought down civilizations, sparked wars, unseated leaders, ignited unprecedented passion and terminated numerous promising romances. Today, we will be discussing the–

Yes. The only thing you think of at this time of the month.

Damned Salary.

You see, soon as a person regrettably leaves the twin fun houses of home and school, and gets employed in another person‚Äôs establishment, his (and even more often, her) life begins to revolve around the Salary. As a typical salary earner in a metropolis, your life is doomed to waking up at 5am and if you’re lucky, sleeping at 11pm.

Accept it. You will never be able to do this again.

Sleep, which you always mistreated as a teenager, is the first to take a walk out of the door. And if you want it back, you had better behave well. No more late nights parties on weekdays, no more reading novels till 4 in the morning, no more catching up on your daily dose of 24. No more sex till daybreak. All that time is now needed to sleep and generate the energy needed to produce the Salary. Suddenly, you begin to use the phrase “no time”–and you freaking mean it.

“Don’t even think of inviting me to your nephew’s birthday party.”

Whether you agree or not, the Salary becomes the the real Mammon, the¬†master, the motivator, the challenger.¬†Those species of humans referred to as “self employed” may take their pleasures in counting profit and losses, but for us earners, the “Certainty of the Salary” is to be¬†worshiped¬†above all other gods. Thou shalt not joke with the Salary, for every cent counts.

Especially when you are literally paid cents.

Children and teenagers don’t give the Salary much thought, its not¬†strictly¬†their life concern. I was also a typical child and a typical teenager. I didn’t understand the dynamics of the Salary and always thought my parents were unfair tyrants who wouldn’t spare some small change. Until I got out of school and got employed myself.

Now I know what you mean when, in the middle of the month, you used to say “I don’t want you children to get spoilt”.

Job interviews and recruitment process could be less tedious if everybody just said the truth. I don’t know why people get all “great organisation”, “excellent team spirit’, “positive blah blah” during job interviews. All those lectures by motivational speakers on how to handle interviews is pure boolsheet. The interviewer knows what you want, and you also know it. Like sex between your parents, even if you ignore it, you still know that’s the only reason you’re here in the first place.

“Dude, just admit it. Its the salary. You applied because you heard that the pay is ¬†fucking great. Ehn?”

And once you land that salary spinner you’re after, you begin to tick on each passing day that draws you nearer to that golden 31st when you get the cheerful ‚ÄúAccount Credited!‚ÄĚ from the bank and not the usual ‚ÄúDebit Notification‚ÄĚ. The worst month is a 5 week month. Never mind that its still the same 30 or 31days, it will always seem so long and so slow until you just want to shoot the calendar. But hopefully, just before your colleagues begin to smell your hunger, the ever welcome bank alert will pop in and you forget can forget your worries for a few more weeks.

“Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. Oh, thank you, sweet Jesus”

Those self-employed folks may not look forward to the end of every month with orgasmic anticipation like the rest of us, but at least they have one particular consolation.


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