I’m always angry. You may think I’m using always as a figure of speech. Or that maybe I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. I’m really being honest when I say I’m constantly angry.

On the outside, I’m a very chill human being. I’m that person that buys sweets on the bus and shares with everyone around them. I listen to people whine about their lives and give any type of advice I can afford. I walk away from people who aggravate me and rarely get into confrontations. Especially with idiots. 

“Yes, of course, no problem. WRONG. Big problem. Huge problem. Can’t you tell? I’m seething with rage.

But my anger is pretty justified. I take matatus to school. Both of those things are already anger triggers. So whenever my anger spirals out of control, I notice a pattern in the subsequent reactions.

First of all I don’t physically lash out. Ever. I mean, obviously. I have the physical capabilities of a grasshopper so that’s not really a choice. However, in my head I’m the Queen of Vengeance. I’m The Rock and Mike Tyson on steroids. I’m tougher than a Brooklyn cop with something to hide. I’m the madness that monsters check for under their beds at night. Okay? I’m BAD. 

So Dear David, if you’re like me and can’t fight a chipmunk, read on as I tell you my anger management techniques that will prevent Goliath from smoothening you on the tarmac.


This is the most immediate reaction. When I get mad, I instantly switch languages in my head. I don’t know why my mind does that. I think it’s because things generally sound more menacing in the mother tongue, you know? 

Threatening someone in English doesn’t quite itch the scratch. And Kiswahili just sounds way too polite. So I bust out the little Somali my mother insists I don’t know.

And I rant. And I rave. And I complain. And I whine. To my hearts desire. When my brain calms down and rewires correctly, it switches back to whatever language I was using.

And what are you doing all this time you ask? I plaster on my best poker face and try to reason with the person in a mature, adult way…as adult as they can comprehend anyway. 

Thing is I can be removing your organs in alphabetical order in my head while charming your pants off. I can rearrange said organs so your organs make new friends and make you more friendly, while I smile like a Lillian Muli. It’s a super power really.

So master this power and you’ll find it therapeutic. Just take a deep calming breath, dig into your meagre traditional language supply and just go to town. You can violently throw up the middle finger in your head every so often, just for emphasis…Therapist’s Advice. 


This is the second level to my mental fury. If the ranting in my traditional language doesn’t cut it,  I bring in the juju. I curse the very soil you walk on and every puff of air you inhale.

However, my mind doesn’t seem to favour the normal curses that regular outward-cursing-people tend to gravitate towards. No way. In line with my peculiarities, my curses are as weird as Ed Sheeran singing pop songs. Come on, the world signed up to be serenaded by the Weasley Squib (if you don’t get this reference, get off my page) 

I’m joking, here’s a sample of my curse rants; “I curse you to send M-Pesa to a wrong person. I curse that the said money was your house rent. I curse that the person you sent it to switches off their phone. I curse that the rent money is due that very day. I curse that your landlord really doesn’t like you because clearly you’re a horrible person. And I curse that they demand the money. I curse your eviction to be in the middle of…” You get the pattern.

So practice this ability and you might just end up feeling a lot calmer. Don’t be afraid to mix it up and let your creative side run wild. Cursing in mother tongue is positively entertained, makes this level all the more gratifying. 


In this stage words haven’t helped me calm down, so I take action. I turn into my own personal assassin. In my head, I have a kill list as long as all the seasons of Grey’s Anatomy. I add people to this list for various offences. These may range from mild irritation like shoving me off my path with a handbag the size of a bloated whale, to those that trigger extreme ferocity like telling me to eat so I can gain weight. At this point my mental self control is like a Kardashian with a small butt, it’s non-existent. 

This list is revised every night while I lay in bed. The small time offenders get demoted and move lower on the list. The most recent are the freshest meat so I feel the need to barbecue them immediately. Repeat offenders have a special list of their own, sort of like VIP Hit List.

So start your own list, give it a name and a number limit. You can call it “Akinyi’s Angry Avengings” or “Timmy’s Top Ten” or “Jemo’s Justice Jihad”  Although coming to think of it I’ve never met a weak Jemo. It’s a frightening name, Jemo. Go ahead, say it in a deep voice. Jemo. Sounds like they can snap you in half and use your bones as toothpicks to remove the  obambla from their teeth. Jemo.


I move to this stage only if I made the list, revised it and even drew mental blood splatters on it for effect but I’m still furious. Because even in my head, violence is the last resort. 

This is where it gets gory. The Jemo in me comes out and I go mortal kombat on their ass, ripping them limb for limb. The undertaker takes a seat in awe, only thing he takes is notes. The hulk cowers in a corner, staring at my violence instead of doing hulk things and having hulk smash fests.

All the while I’m just calmly sitting there exuding a calm Buddha would’ve been proud of. You know how they say whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas…well except Syphilis, that comes back with you. Same thing with my mind, all that acrivity is kept under careful control. Camouflaged to assume normal human appearances. Maybe once or twice the revenge will be so sweet I’ll have a shit eating grin and look a bit like a maniac. But these moments of expressed bliss last shorter than Carly Rae Jepsens music career. Then they are masked.

So go ahead try it. Close your eyes and ninja people in your head. It works. Trust me,I have been on the phone with Zuku Customer Care and I wasn’t arrested…so clearly I know what I’m talking about. 

I hope you enjoyed this post and had a laugh at my expense. Comment down below how you express your anger. Even if you don’t comment, it’s fine, I’m not mad.



So I’m legal to vote in this election and it’s a dream. At least I think it is. Whenever I ramble about how I’m looking forward to voting, every person whose been voting for a while just gives me a look. This look manages to quietly say “You wretched, dumb, naïve soul.” Okay maybe it says, “Sure waste your time” or “Of course, why not stand in the sun for eight hours only for the election to be rigged.” But I chose to interpret it as a jibe to my insecurity.

 Obviously, the seasoned Kenyans have  reasons to not be as excited about voting as I am and they probably know what they are talking about, but when has that stopped me? So as usual, in line with my extraordinary ability to give advice on things I have zero experience in, here’s my comprehensive list of why you should vote.  


You know those random days when your politician lets you down. Or you know, everyday? And you feel the need to punch them into the next century?

That is the exact reason why you should vote. Chances are your chosen candidate will let you down, whoever they are, so why not vote them in anyway just so you can complain? Huh? Huh? 

It’s genius really. See politicians are like…. They’ll never do everything right by everyone. Someone must be disappointed. So if that person happens to be you, and you stood in the scorching sun to vote them in, Lord help them from your drunken complaints in a dimly lit Kangemi bar.


You know sometimes people collectively make huge mistakes. Just look at the Canadian currency colours. Or Donald Trump. Or when we all thought it was okay to use the word shmexy. It’s like the whole world was on drugs.

Point is, whenever we make these mistakes, we need to pull an Adele, and start over. We need to get rid of of politians whose intentions are as straight as a roundabout. And there’s no better way to do this than to remove their title, I mean going from Senator StealsAlot to just StealsAlot must hurt. 

Therefore, failing to vote in a candidate is the most sure way to tell them they were about as useful as a matatu driver’s road safety training. Show them that they promised so much but ended up being a sad shell of themselves. A rich sad shell.

I mean I know dethroning politicians in Kenya is as easy as pulling a tooth but don’t let that deter you, heavy is the head that wears the crown. And as a voter that crown is as heavy as a form one student’s box. So don’t take that duty lightly, think of it as retribution…for a job poorly done in half a decade. 


The main point of democracy is to give the citizens a choice of whom they want to govern them. This choice is a great way to bring unity and encourage variety in leadership. Besides there’s always more political candidates than all the characters of Game of Thrones, so no one is lost for choice.

And to be honest, everyone feels like their politician is different. It’s like my situation with beans. Whenever I mention that I don’t like beans, the reply is always along the lines of, “You haven’t tried my mom’s beans” or, “Mombasa has the best beans, they put coconut” and of course the classic, “Come to my place and taste my beans, you’ll change your mind”  This one is especially offensive, not to mention slightly pervy. I mean my mom makes great beans too, I just don’t like beans. 

So voting allows you to cast your ballot supporting your beans, I mean candidate of choice, and that’s powerful. Sure like beans, there’s always a horribly suspicious smell around the concerned party once the deed is done in the form of election discrepancies and BVR drama, but you still wield the power to chose. No one can take that away from you. Well…unless you live in Congo, where the government goes, “We’re broke, no elections.” Kind of like a family holiday trip that Kabila decided to cancel. Also can you imagine the jokes that Kabila would face with a name like that if he was Kenyan, I mean those jokes just crack themselves. 


Remember in 2007 when the country had gone into a dark period marked by death, violence and the Britney Spears meltdown? Remember how sadness prevailed and we just wanted to blot out the sun? Or at least close the curtains? The tear gas smell was strong.

During that terrible time, Kenyans vowed to never allow those horrific events to repeat themselves. To never allow sadistic politicians to pit one tribe against another, neighbour against neighbour. To judge people not by their ethnic background or whether they are Joy Wairumu, Joy Anyango or Joy Juma, but by the goodness of their hearts. And their ability to lend you Empire DVDs and not expect them back. 

Voting is a way to reaffirm this commitment. Standing in line with hundreds of other voters, feeling that liquid fire throbbing through your veins reminding you of the anger and loss, that’s the reason why you should vote. Not to give your tribemate whose vying the opportunity to buy a V8 while you become displaced and seek entry into Tanzania as a refugee. Also Magufuli is no joke.

I hope this post makes you realise that it’s only the names that change, the war still remains the same. Don’t let the 2007 Post Election Violence become the 2017 Post Election Violence. 

Like and Share to spread the message.


humor · imankissa · life


I’ve been away. You may have noticed. Or not noticed. Because you have better things to do. And that’s fine. I’m not that needy. Okay, I may be sobbing you know. But it’s fine. I promise. A promise as true as a politician’s promise to get school kids laptops. It’s a joke Jubilee, don’t hurt me. Let’s get on with the post before Wambui and Kamau unfollow.

Also, I’ve been away because I’m lazy. I really wish I had a better reason like maybe you know, I’m juggling two schools, a job and scholarship applications. But I don’t, so forgive me for being such a crushing failure. On with the post, we’ll make it this time.

So University Students, yeah? You seemed to like my last post of this kind, 5 TYPES OF KENYAN YOUTH, so I decided to make another one. This time about the types of youth at Uni because I am so creative. And as usual I have all the answers, so keep reading as we label people into unoriginal stereotypes.


This kid is the definition of fabulous. From their eyebrows and clothes, to their stationery and even the irrelevant stuff like their earphones, are fabulous. They come to class smelling like citrus and lavender and sage and hold up, sage smells good, right? Clearly I do not belong to this group. They have different hand lotions and face lotions and uvula lotions, all smelling like Candy Crush and a Tuskys Bakery had a baby in their purse (get your head out of the gutter, uvula is that wierd thing at the back your throat, ya nasty)

But besides destroying the ecosystem, they have the advantage of always having what you need. Like just ask for anything and abra-can-you-dab-bruh? No? Okay back to the treasure chest of wet wipes and flavored water, you name it, Classy Nancy will fancy up your life. Sit. Next. To. Her.


It would be scandalous to name types of uni kids without adding the corner stone. Get it? Stoner, corner stone. What’s the matter with me today? See this group is easy to spot or impossible to spot, depending on their skills.

Some are obvious, just follow the smell. That’s all it takes to know they smoke. The smell on their clothes gives them away and seriously it’s two o’clock in the afternoon in a crowded lecture hall, what are you tryna do?

Now the next group is smarter and probably much more experienced or just have really strict parents. So they’ve learnt how to cover up their tracks like a Cartel Drug Lord. But they have a tell, they suddenly become philosophical. I’m talking Yoda and Gandhi chilling in zen. They have all the answers and if you need advice, just sit next to them. But don’t smoke. I heard that a young man called George Clooney, was once a super smart tech guru with a bright future until he ate his friend’s Sukuma Wiki and accidentally chewed the Marijuana and now he sniffs the Bong after he got HIV and the Gay because of a Global Warming. True Story.


Need I explain? This student was what your mother had in mind when your useless self was putting her through labour. That one unit that gives you the sudden urge to slam your small toe against a couch, walk over. Alarm clocks that you wish could plead the fifth, hell they don’t need those. Lecturers you are sure have some demon blood in them, first name basis. They know everything, and that’s the one thing they make sure YOU know.

They are good to have around to help with assignments, even though they will make your stupidity intensify like Amina Mohammed’s awesomeness. So sit next to them, you might get a C.


In life there are some people who walk around like a police search light is on them. They attract trouble. That’s it. It’s not like they do more bad stuff than everyone else, it’s just that they ALWAYS get caught.

They are followed around by a string of bad luck and mishaps that it honestly seems like they are the bullied introvert who saves the day and the universe is  the basic Queen Bee in every american movie since April 6th 1917( it’s a hero complex of some sort) 

Everyone could literally bring a desktop computer to class and copy the answers with neon lights on their desks flashing ‘Look I’m cheating, Im cheating’ during an exam, and the supervisor develops a severe case of Melanoma. But as soon as our little tragedy decides to borrow a pencil, it’s Hallelujah, see in the name of the Holy Spirit!

Here, you have two options you could sit next to this kid and help them give the middle finger to all that is conspired against them, or you could run like basic girls toward Harley Quin Halloween costumes. I suggest the latter, Bolt, stop what Usain and Bolt.


You know that show Sixteen from when we were kids, where all the characters were really cool? Yeah this group is the life sized version of that childhood squad goals. They always know what to say or were to hang out or what new song to listen to.

And their vocabulary, damn they’re just with it. They know which phrases to use, when and how to use them and new ways to say the same things. You go out, they are ouchea. You eat food with friends, they are getting chow with the fam. Cool people don’t say that, do they?

They basically exhale social status, the very top of the human social food chain. They even cross roads in a cool way. I mean who crosses roads properly without that awkward jog-run at the end? 

And as far as sitting next to this kid is concerned, it’s not really up to you. If it is, then you’re the kool kid and can I sit next to you?

Comment down below a friend who matches any group and we’ll have a laugh. And as usual don’t forget to like and subscribe if you enjoyed.

You really read this ridiculously long post that I’m making even longer by stating the obvious and then stating that I’m stating the obvious?



Hi. This is my tenth post on this blog, someone tell my momma I made it. Such high standards I have for myself, huh?

So, with the growth of this blog, I get to interact with you guys online. And it’s great. But these interactions have made me realize that you don’t really know me. And I’m okay with that, but I draw the line when a message starts with “Hey Iman, I think you’re a funny dude. Wanna go out sometime 😉  XO NANCY.”

A solution came in the form of getting tagged in the Liebster Award by an amazing blogger Mutile, whom you should check out. So this tag is basically a bunch of questions, that when answered reveal more information about the blogger and introduce bloggers you think people should check out (at least that’s what I think it’s about)  Keep reading, I eventually get to the point.

1. Who are you?

My name is Iman Bashir. I AM A GIRL. Yeah, so no girls asking me to slide into their DMs. Or boys. Honestly, no one ask me to slide into any DMs. I don’t want to slide into anything, okay!

I come from a LARGE family. If you have a large family, mine’s bigger than yours. Shhh, just…just trust me on this one.

I love the internet. It’s a slight obsession to be honest. But it’s all under control, I’m not shaking uncontrollably or anything. I only shake controllably.


2. What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done?

Okay see this one time I read a book online from an unofficial site, for free. I’m a rebel. A delinquent who can’t be controlled. I do not let myself be tied down by society and its rules. I do what I want, yeah? I even correct autocorrect. I’m despicable.


3. What is the best compliment you’ve ever received?

I don’t know how to answer this question without sounding really egotistic, so I’ll just write whatever comes to mind first. I’ve been told I’m confident. And that always makes my day because it’s something I can credit to my parents. They really made sure that I was comfortable being myself and that things can’t easily bring me down, and for that I’m thankful.


4. Given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you want as a dinner guest?

Just one?

Uh, okay. Stephen King, Bikozulu, Stephen Hawking, Jeffery Archer, Neil Degrasse Tyson, JK Rowling, Bill Maher, Caroline Mutoko.

But you know if I was asked one, which I was, it’d be Ayan Hirsi.


5. If I had to listen to a song to get to know you better, what would it be?

Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na) by My Chemical Romance.

Okay I’m kidding. Its Lazy Song by Bruno Mars. Now I’m only half kidding.

Seriously, it’s Emperor’s New Clothes by Panic At The Disco.


6. What is happiness to you?

World Peace. You might think I’m an idealist, I’m not. But I think  the ultimate happiness is full-bellied kids playing with happy parents without the fear of a war.

Without being hated for being whoever they are, their choices or preferences… Well unless they’re harmful to others, then a padded room it is.

7. If you could travel the world with someone who would it be?

Real or Fictional?

A fictional person would definitely be Sean King from the series by David Baldacci.

In real life it’d would be Morgan Freeman. I mean who wouldn’t want to hear his intelligent commentary in his ridiculous bass while cruising around the world.

“And that there is the Skyluxx Club, where the people congregate to perform their bi-weekly rituals where they drink the holy potion vodka and perform the cultural dance bumping and grinding”

8. What is your biggest fear?

That I’ll be forced to tell what my biggest fear is. Fine you’ve twisted my arm, it’s boarding school Matrons. 

9. What do you think your purpose is in life?

To write. That’s the sincere belief I hold. I love reading and writing, always have for as long as I can remember.That is the one thing I’ve always been certain about…that I like to write.

When I was a kid and went through a tomboy phase, my writing was a constant. In high school, when I thought being my nerdy self wasn’t cool and stopped studying, I still read fiction for fun.

10. Tell us about a time you were most happy.

Twenty minutes ago when I was eating pizza dipped in ketchup. Yes I do that, come fight me.

11. What is your ideal life?

Travelling the world as an accomplished writer, helping suffering children and practicing sarcasm as a career.


Now you know me but I don’t know you and that’s a bit unfair. Comment down below a song title that describes who you are along with your social media or something, I’ll follow.

I now nominate AzadiNabbyLizzMuna and Njuguna.






Twende Rio. 

-Tusker Advertisement 

It’s olympics time! Let’s celebrate. Put down everything. The Olympics are here.

The olympics coming around feels like a new Star Wars movie. It feels like being seventeen and scoring a goal against a team to win a cup(I don’t do football). It brings about a warm feeling in your chest, kind of like the premier of Deadpool. It feels like finding out JK Rowling announced an eighth Harry Potter book. Not just a play – a book. 

I’m excited. Can you tell?

The few people who know me and for some wierd reason decide to hang around me, know I rarely get excited over things. 

I couldn’t care if Beyoncè was serving Lemonade while riding a rare Pokemon, sitting on top of Donald Trump’s wall that seperated a Drake-Rihanna Work performance and a Sportpesa jackpot. 

Okay, maybe I’d care about the jackpot.

Point is, the Olympics are one of  the few things that I get worked up about. I’ve not missed a single opening ceremony for as long as I can remember. It’s a bit of a tradition in our family actually. One that entails booing Ethiopia in long distance races and gawking at the synchronised swimmers and their near obsessive attention to detail. 

Field and track have been part of human tradition dating back thousands of years. Competitions have been held long before suitcases had wheels and people had suitcases. These competitions brought together communities, uniting them in friendly races,  excessive noise making and ridiculous junk food eating (did they have junk food in the olden times? It would explain how Jonah survived in the whale)

And when in 2700AD, The Greeks brought together the entire world with the Olympic Games, the globe celebrated the diversity and of course, Kenya’s obvious superiority. Also this time junk food was consumed. I’m sure.

We paint our flags on our faces and wear our National Colours creating an incredibly colourful rainbow of diversity, acceptance and appreciation. And the Kamba’s ask whose laughing now.

We cheer ouselves hoarse, gearing on our participants to victory, doesn’t matter that we often forget to pay them.

We compete equally (Kenya vs Ethiopia) for the glory that can go to any nation (honestly it’s either Kenya or Ethiopia) that is well prepared (I’m lying).

We run not unlike the Kisii nightrunners,  we jump over things, we throw things(No America, a nuclear weapon is not those kind of things), swim, fight with swords that disappointedly don’t do much, we do backflips on toothpick-thin boards (did i say we? I meant the Chinese. Only the Chinese). We do these activities every four years in a different city. And the country with the most medals takes home the victory. 

We don’t develop ill feelings toward those who defeat us as the competitions have a general positive feel. Seriously, it’s incredible. Even the Jamaican flag is high not due to certain green herbal plants that influence the brain but because of their talented runners who clear a track faster than Willie made advocates out of Kenyans. Too soon? My bad. But #iamwillie. So Willie’s bad? This jokes are Willie terrible.I purply should stop. I law some people’s anger will taxi to dangerous levels. I will have to use authority to Kimani you stop ribbon this. Yes my puns are pun-believable.

Press like if you enjoy sports and comment down below which sport you are crazy about. 




Disclaimer!  This post may contain extreme stereotyping, cases of generalization and savagery which may be offensive.
Content includes butchering of the English Language.
Reader discretion is advised.

As a Kenyan youth there are many categories one may belong to whether intentionally or naturally. So keep reading as I attempt to classify millions of people into just five specific labels.



No, I don’t mean an obstetrician. I mean a hardcore, street-wise, tough guy. Or girl. We like all genders here.
If you pronounced the E at the end you don’t belong to this category.
This group can hold their own in a fight if need be so proceed with caution.
Homeboyz radio is Testament, Gospel and Torah.
If you can fit all your possessions in really tiny bags hoisted high up on your back, go ahead and check into the obe-suite.
If you’d rather scoop out your eyeball with a spoon than watch a One Direction video, your obe-ville membership is pending.
They can carry out conversations in fluent sheng and can sell their souls and maybe a body organ to meet Vybz Cartel.
This category is broadening as time passes to fit even those who don’t hail
from the hood. Of course they’ll tear your sheng apart but this group is mostly welcoming to others.



This particular youth has a Taylor Swift album on replay on their phone.
They keep up with the Kardashians and think Kylie Jenner is “totes adorbs”
They insist on using a very American vocabulary and try to incorporate African American slang with words like “Girl!” If you just said this with the appropriate accent, you probably belong to this group and you give people around you a migraine
This group dreams of living in western countries and thinks Kenya is “so not rad”
They may or may not know Swahili but they most definitely will not speak it.
If they went to public boarding school, they ended every term transferring to a private school only to return with just a new pair of shoes.
A westernized Kenyan youth doesn’t know why Cord is demonstrating but know who Bernie Sanders is.
Membership is dependent on dropping a digit from your IQ.



This kid wants to get rich. Period.
This group is known for being annoying in group chats for posting whatever product they are moving at that moment.
They have “biashara” like clothes, phone-cases, waist trainers, deejaying services and weaves. Their social media accounts are a mix of pictures of products and quotes about hard work with lion backgrounds.
They “grind” and “hustle” apparently never sleeping till they reach their goals. Discriminating against the lazy comes naturally to these youth as they are so focused they don’t understand why people stop to do trivial activities like eat.
But let’s face it we’ll all probably be working for them someday.
Joining this group is based on “understanding the ultimate hustle” and buying a pair of Yeezys from @kenyanhustler.



This group attend every godamn event in the country. This criteria is vital in this type of youth along with drinking flirt vodka, attending rugby games and taking photos with every celebrity they meet.
If they are students, they are magical ones because Harry Potter apparently loaned them his invisibility cloak all semester.
Calling yourself boss or ninja without being an entrepreneur or a martial arts guru is the entry requirement into this category.
They understand perfectly phrases like “turnt” and “thot” and actually use them.
Yes, they say thot out loud.
In public.
Without irony.
Without shame.



Yeah, I went there.
These are a new age brand of Kenyan youth who consider themselves enlightened. They think they see the bigger picture and think they are better than the those who do not.
They won’t actually say it but I’m better than you.
I’m not saying I’m better than you because I am but that’s not the point. The point is I’m better than you but I’m not saying it out loud.
Do you understand?
See now this group is not just for youth who own blogs, it is so much wider than that. It includes those who wear their hair natural, follow “woke” accounts on social media and take pride in their roots. They relate to Lupita Nyongo on a religuous level and idolize Elani.
They don’t understand people who aren’t as smart and annoy the hell out of them. Telling them to take out their weaves and learn their heritage.
They may take their “educating” a bit too far and piss off a few people but at least they are better than you.

I hope you can relate to at least one of these categories. Comment down below telling me which sounds like you or someone you know.





Since I started university, I have come out of the cocoon my parents had built to protect me. The limited number of people I met before enabled me to be comfortable in my day to day interactions. However as is human nature, I wanted to be independent and curve my own path, which in turn led to the uncomfortable situations I mentioned above.

So many I’s.

I promise I’m getting to the point. Maybe an example will help.

Just today I bought a soda in school. Naturally, my lack of upper body strength was evident when I struggled to open it.
Naturally, a friend asked to open it for me.
Naturally, I got mad.
Naturally, I smacked them on the head repeatedly with the bottle of soda.
Okay maybe that’s not natural, but I’ll explain why.

Unwarranted help more often than not causes more harm than it does good (clichèville). Case in point, the colonization of Kenya. The British felt it their duty to “show us the right way” and now they have metro trains they built with our coffee. When people feel the need to force their help on others without being sure they want it, it is no longer helpful.

Now, every day forceful soda openers will argue, ” But Iman, how will we help and we know you’re too weak to open the soda? ” To which I will answer, ” I’m I in a position to ask for help? ” And comes the reply, ” I mean yeah you’re not choking on the soda because you can’t actually open it…but- ” To which I will rudely interrupt, ” If I can ask for help and I’m not asking for it, it probably means I DON’T need it.”

Also, what is your opinion on homosexuality. It has nothing to do with what I’m talking about, I just want to know. And I wander off-topic a lot.

Back to my point, if someone needs help from you, can ask for help from you, and they do ask for help from you, then by all means go right ahead.
If the person needs help from you, but they are not in a position to ask for help from you, then you need to step in and help.
If a person needs help from you, can ask for help from you, but chooses NOT to, then you need to take a few steps back, move a little to the right, take a seat with the other soda openers and this is a ridiculously long sentence.

But then again this is my opinion, which is subject to change if I’m presented with valid evidence and sounds arguments(clichèmenistan).
So leave a comment down below letting me know if you agree with me or not and why.

I suddenly want a soda.