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Archive for June, 2014

Saving Dapo Director’s Cut: Snippets #1


As promised, here’s the first good look at what ‘Saving Dapo: Director’s Cut‘ will be like. Apart from the extra exclusive stuff (read poster below for details please), there’s also a lot more to read.


For instance:



Teaser Poster

Teaser Poster




Now enjoy the snippet below and share your thoughts in the comments section please!




“So…what exactly is it that strategists do?”



Yemisi sucked on her ice cream spoon, moaning softly as the delicious cold ran down her throat. “I’m not talking to you o, I’m not. I am enjoying being massaged by this ice cream from the inside.”



Remi almost dropped the box he was carrying. “Seriously? ‘Massaged from the inside’ by ice cream?”



She looked at him from under lowered lids. “You don’t think it’s possible?”



There seemed to be something in his throat that made it hard to speak but he swallowed past it. “It’s a one-kind picture. I can’t help but see a hand forcing itself down my throat or up my behind to massage my insides…”



Yemisi’s guffaw bathed Remi’s entire right hand side and most of his face with ice-cream mixed with the other contents the mouth carries while eating. He stopped walking in the middle of the aisle, staring back at the people staring at him while Yemisi put an embarrassed hand to her mouth. And then she quickly took the serviette paper she was holding and gently wiped his face.



“Oh…I’m so sorry…”



She wiped the side of his face gently – and then she lifted her hand to wipe his mouth.



Unfortunately, she chose that moment to look in his eyes.



There was a look in them that made her limbs like fresh made pap. It was as though he could see down down into the deepest most private corner of her heart – he could see things she kept hidden; even from herself.



She couldn’t move.



That’s crazy; she thought.



Remi gently took the serviette paper from her and finished cleaning his face while Yemisi averted her face to hide her embarrassment. He nodded as he slowly cleaned his face and the front of his shirt best as he could, and then threw the paper in the waste container. And then, taking Yemisi’s hand in his and keeping the white box in the other, he walked towards the exit.



“You could have just asked to make me up, you know. I’m not too averse to a little ‘cross-dressing’.”



Yemisi smiled up at him. “It’s still too early to be getting that intimate, but I’ll keep it in mind for later.”



They walked past the Adidas store and Remi paused. “Now we’ve gotten all the ice out of the way; pun intended,” he grinned at his companion. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”



Yemisi giggled.




“Basically what we do is account planning.” Yemisi began.



“Excuse me?” Remi responded.



“I am answering your question – you know, what do strategists do?”



He nodded. “I remember. Go on.”



Yemisi drank from her Chapman glass. “We look at a product or brand, understand and analyze it, and then we create the most effective ways for it to achieve its goals.”



Remi frowned. “I didn’t think there was any sort of planning behind a product release,” he said.



Yemisi laughed. “Okay, so you wouldn’t find it odd if you saw an advert for a product like Capri-Zonne in the middle of a movie like Sin City?”



He nodded. “Now that you mention it…”



“Advertising cannot afford to be random, else the brand would be spending a lot of money sending the right message to the wrong audience.”



“Sounds like you really enjoy what you do,” he commented.



Yemisi sighed. “It’s complicated somewhat,” she said, softly putting down her fork.



Toying with his Coke, Remi eyed her from across the table. “I’m not in a hurry. Are you?”



“Okay – can we just finish eating first?”





So what do you think? Are you looking forward to Saving Dapo: Director’s Cut? Why? Why not?


Thank you and please have a wonderful week!


Swift Scribbles: Romance She Wrote V


So my plot worked initially; I think.



“It’s too early to gloat,” she says from over my shoulder. “Read some more.”



My throat’s suddenly dry for no good reason. “Can I please have another drink?”



She smiles and walks away. I continue reading.




I have reached for the phone four times in the past thirty minutes. For some reason, I am hesitating.

Maybe because this is inconsistent with what I know of this guy. Someone who has never made so much as a move to touch the back of my hand is suddenly sending me lingerie.

That isn’t right.

I’ll leave calling Mina for a bit and maybe I’ll be able to make more sense of this.

Left the office early. There wasn’t much to do and I am tired. Something’s been on the edge of my mind since I left the house – something I forgot to do. It is not till I am settling down to watch Tinsel that it hits me.

I left the parcel in the trash.

Quickly I call the office boy and ask him to leave my office untouched. Fortunately, he isn’t there yet.

I’ll think about what to do tom…




Her writing faded off into a muddled scribble.



“I fell asleep writing that,” she says, handing me a cold glass of something La Casera-ish in color. “What’s this?” I ask, raising the glass to my lips.



“It’s not poison, if that’s really what you’re asking. And I’m wondering – aren’t you hungry yet?”



I nod. I actually am.



She stands and takes my hand, gently pulling me after her. I let the journal fall on the chair and, still holding my sweaty glass allow her lead me.



The journal can wait.



Review: Son Of Batman Animated Movie


Good morning! This here’s a little something for my comic-reading, cartoon loving family! The geeks!


What happens when the much-vaunted bachelor Bruce Wayne or rather his world famous alter-ego Batman suddenly finds out he has a son – and not just another boy but a barely-teenage psychopathic sociopathic homicidal maniac?



Son of Batman sheds some light on the matter.




Son of Batman is an animated cartoon produced by Warner Premiere/Warner Bros Animation/DC Entertainment on April 22 2014 and distributed by Warner Home Video. It was adopted from the Grant Morrison/Andy Kubert 2006 story Batman and Son.



The plot is simple. Someone tries to take over the League of Assassins created by dreaded Ra’s Al Ghul – in fact, as appearances go, the old man who has lived for over five hundred years is done in. Killed. Exterminated by Deathstroke, who apparently for the sake of this continuity has been retconned as Ra’s protégé.





And according to his daughter Talia Ghul, he’s so cooked (literally) his greatest invention, The Lazarus Pit cannot bring him back. But then, to truly take over the League, Talia and her son Damian (Ra’s daughter and grandson respectively) have to be killed. Seeking revenge, Talia hides Damian with his father – the Dark Knight. Batman.





Then begins a clash of values and ethics as Batman strives to go between loner and father in less than a day. Damian is self-important, arrogant, rude, obnoxious – in fact the boy barely has a single redeeming quality. His solution to every problem is one-dimensional – kill. And even his grandfather Ra’s didn’t sound so bloodthirsty.



Alfred, as is with the case of a lot of Batman’s portrayals in other media provides the wit and emotional core of the movie. In a delightful scene, Damian is the very image of pompous spoilt idiot. After some back and forth about tea, Damian says, “Watch yourself Pennyworth. I’m not so young that I don’t understand sarcasm.”


And Alfred, with his characteristic calm replies, “Well I, am much too old to care.”





I for one think it’s about time Nightwing had his own animated movie to himself. I mean, he’s been holding Bats down for quite some time (check him out in Batman: Under The Red Hood). Though Damian’s analysis of his fighting was on-point, I think he has age and experience on his side.



A winning combination.





While the movie as a whole is an entertaining, too many absurdities reveal themselves quite early. Having Damian blind Deathstroke, one of the world’s (at least DCU’s) strongest armed/unarmed combatants is just dumb. In fact, Deathstroke’s whole characterization is just wrong. He flees from a ten-year old, and then asks said ten-year old to fight him. The Deathstroke in this movie is skill-less, tactless and basically a bull in a china shop – breaking everything in his way.




Let’s not even talk about Ubu’s betrayal, Ubu who has been Ra’s right-hand for a while. Ubu would NEVER betray Ra’s – and yet he does for no other reason than to have a threesome in a presidential suite. Ha.



The League of Assassins is easily the most feared criminal organization in the world – and, according to the movie, stuck in time. Their stronghold is breached and the most they have to offer in terms of defense are arrows and stone-launchers?! Talia is presented as an easy-to-be-rid of damsel in distress here; not the equally-capable villainess groomed to lead the League in her father’s stead – the Talia we saw in Hush for example. And the moment Nightwing meets Damian for the first time, stopping his death slash in midair?



Downright laughable.



In his fight scenes, Damian does not look disadvantaged at all. In fact, he could very well be Batman for all the difference his height and age made. He fought Ubu who is quite the hulking giant – fought him to the point where Ubu is afraid and runs for his life.





And at what point did Damian adopt Batman’s ‘no kill’ philosophy? Note: at the Gotham Coliseum as they ran from the Man-Bats, Batman brings the roof down on them. There would have at least been one fatality in there – ONE. How does Bats – or in this case DC – get away with that?



Again, why exactly did Damien spare Deathstroke? And at what point did Damian bond with his father so much he would spurn the mother he swam fifty miles to save to stay with his absentee father? And then, in spite of being stabbed through both arms and having one broken (something that conveniently disappeared in all the following chaos), how did Damian still manage to thoroughly kick Deathstroke’s ass? And check this: Damian hacks the Batcomputer and breaks into Bruce Wayne’s office, and when asked he says “I hacked into NORAD (North American Aerospace Defense Command) when I was six” and “this office has the security of a chicken coop” respectively.






And then Batman throws a shuriken at his son – and is surprised when the boy actually catches it. What if he didn’t catch it? What did Bats think would happen?



In my opinion, Kevin Conroy is still the best Batman voiceover artist ever, but Jason O’Mara who voices the Dark Knight here and as well as in Justice League: War (get Comicpanel Magazine to read my review on that) is running a close second.


Though his Batman hardly ever gets emotional, his composed Batman is the ish. Damian voiced by Stuart Allan sounds just right too, but Talia (Morena Baccarin) sounds like a bored housewife. Deathstroke (Thomas Gibson) is also so wrong for no reason I can quite put a finger on. He had the lines – but he sounded like he was reading for a recital. In fact, the entire voice-casting sounded like the artists came into the studio individually to record their lines – there was hardly any emotion between character dialogue. The fight scenes were cool – except for where Ra’s is deflecting bullets from guns that surround him.


All in all, Son of Batman is not so bad – but if you’re looking for pulse-racing adrenaline pumping action featuring Batman, you stand a better chance watching Batman: Under The Red Hood again.





And You Think You Have Problems.



And you think you have problems.



I woke up at exactly 4:32 that morning. I know because the first thing I saw was the glowing face of my bedside clock – it said 4:32 am. And it was always correct.



I woke up feeling really good. I had not felt like that in a long while – and it was an unusual feeling. If you drove a Major General around the streets of Lagos too you would feel the way I feel. It was a strange feeling…one I wasn’t used to; but I wasn’t going to knock it by questioning it.



I’m a staff sergeant in the Nigerian Army, a detail attached to Major Momoh Abubakkar. I was loyal to him; because not only was it standard military practice and therefore expected, but he had earned my loyalty. He was a good man. We also had a lot in common; our zest for life and living, we both enjoyed a cold bottle of Harp and a big plate of fish pepper soup…usually after work. But we differed greatly on personal values.



For instance, he believed in Nigeria. He harbored the opinion that in the right hands, the country will flourish. I shared the same beliefs, but with the exception that I strongly believed that the right hands did not exist. And so we would argue back and forth, never reaching a conclusion.



He also believed a man should have a family. A son to carry on his name, to make him proud and so on. He was married to a beautiful woman named Shadiat and they had a boy, a brilliant energy bundle of four named David. He thought I should be married too, had hooked me up with enough officers’ daughters and cousins and nieces till everyone in the army started to look related to me. Still, I did not think a woman was for settling with.



Of course, I did not share this sentiment with him.



I strongly believed women were created for pleasure and pleasure only. Take what you will of their bodies, and allow them go be another man’s problem. A philosophy I happily indulged in.



But I never let Major in on my indiscretions. I was always very careful. It’s not as though I was afraid of him or anything – I just felt it would be wrong of me to rub my promiscuous nature in he and his family’s faces. So I kept it as discrete as possible.



I lived with him in Ikoyi, somewhere off Bourdillon Road. I had half of the boys quarters to myself, a mini-flat. The next flat was occupied by the cook and gateman – but I did not mix with them and they did not mix with me. We were polite to each other and that was it.



I drove my boss around and I was also his official bodyguard. It was my job to protect him; with my life if need be. I didn’t think it would ever come to that, but we had been in some pretty tight spots together. So I walked and drove around with him, never relaxing, always alert.



Yesterday I drove him to the airport to take a flight to Abuja where he had a meeting with some of the top ogas – I mean the top top ones. I thought I was going with him so I had packed a small bag filled with the barest necessities. As I left my small room carrying the bag, he was already standing outside holding his wife.



“No o, you’re not coming. You’re only taking me as far as the airport,” he said as I walked up. His wife gave a small scream and clung to him fiercely. “No darling,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m not going to allow you go on your own! How am I to know you’ll be safe?”



He smiled at her. “How you wan take know say I no go safe?” he said, smiling condescendingly at her fears. I stood on the sidelines and watched, feeling a bit of disgust. That’s why I didn’t like women – at least not to the point of keeping them home. Women are clingy. They slow you down.



They shared some more tender moments – and then he signaled that we should leave. I opened the door for him and got into the car myself. I drove him to the airport and watched him leave. No long thing.



For most of the day, I lazed around watching David play in the courtyard. Around four, oga called to tell us he was fine and he had landed well and everything was safe. He said for me to come get him at the airport in two days. Ah, I felt relief. I really care about my oga o.



Around six in the evening, I headed for the mammy market off Awolowo Road for a couple of drinks and to hang out with other soldiers. It was one of the spots I frequented with my oga, and so I just blended in and had a nice evening. When it was around eight, I left there and went home. I checked on madam and David – they were fine. So I just went into my apartment and slept.



I woke up at 4:32 that morning, feeling on top of the world. I didn’t know – I couldn’t tell exactly why I was feeling that way, but it was an amazing feeling. I felt really good.



Maybe it had something to do with the dream I’d had.



There had been a woman with me. A woman so beautiful it could only have been in a dream. She was like wine; smooth and all too willing to indulge and accommodate me. It was as though we had been walking that road since forever; she felt so familiar and yet so unknown. She pleased me so much…and one would expect that I would wake and feel disappointed to have returned to reality.



Not so. I felt good.



So I sat up in bed and stretched; yawning –



And touched something warm in the bed beside me.



I froze.



The light bulb was turned off, but lights from the main house streamed through the windows and I could see the outline of a body, a woman’s body.



I sat still, heart in my mouth. I didn’t bring anyone home from the bar yesterday, and no woman had my keys. She couldn’t have entered if I didn’t open the door for her and I hadn’t. I suppose it would have been a simple matter to look at her face, but I was too busy trying to figure out how she had gotten into my room, who she was…



“Good morning Sanni,” the woman in bed spoke as she stirred.



I knew that voice but I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t possible.



I turned to look at her and it was. The woman in bed with me was my oga’s wife, Shadiat.










Thank you! Have an amazing week!


Swift Scribbles: Romance She Wrote IV


Read ‘Swift Scribbles: Romance She Wrote III here‘.



She stands up. “Continue reading.”



I turn the page.




Its interesting the way things have turned out. I feel…this guy makes me feel wanton like I’m some man-chasing girl. I think I’m just going to let him alone. I don’t need this kind of stress jare.




December 2

Mommy called again today. I’ve missed her so much. I apologized for not coming to see her since. She said it was okay but I hear the alones in her voice. I hate it.




This is – uncomfortable. I look up to ask her if I should keep reading or skip. She’s nowhere in sight.



I continue reading.




Sometimes I want to hate daddy for dying. For leaving. But I know it wasn’t his choice, I know he would have wanted to stay too. Mommy is lonely. I should go see her but I’m afraid of the questions. Questions I cannot answer.

I need a drink.




There are some more paragraphs but I skip them. Somehow I know those are more intimate than the average so I stay away. I skim through till I see something about lingerie…




…package from Konga came in today. I didn’t order anything so it was well, surprising. Initially I tot it was one of the clients but imagine my surprise when I opened it and found his name on it.

Lingerie?! From him?!

I am insulted. What does he take me for – a whore?!

I throw it in the trash and sit behind my desk, fuming. This is so humiliating.

I should call Mina.


Uh oh.

Saving Dapo: Director’s Cut.



Thank you so much for following the Saving Dapo series.



If you didn’t, click here.


Without further ado…






‘Nuff Said!!!!!!

Daughter Dating Service II


Read ‘Daughter Dating Service I’ here.



I swear. Moments like that make me wonder why I quit drinking!



As it was, I pushed the ice cream away, sat there and stared at my daughter. If she had exploded and in her place, Gollum was sitting I wouldn’t have been more amazed. Honestly, if she had brought home Shekarau and told me he was her boyfriend – I couldn’t have been more amazed.



“Baby, that’s not funny. You’re embarrassing your teacher,” I gently chided her.



She looked at me calmly. “Of course I’m not.” And then as cool as Hit Girl under fire she turns to her left and asks Ms. Tinuola “Aunty, are you embarrassed?”



Ms. Tinuola smiled. “Of course not, darling. Your father is a very attractive man and I would like to be his girlfriend.”



My little girl looked at me. And I thought you knew everything; her eyes seemed to say. “I want to use the rest room,” she said.



I stood up quickly – maybe too quickly. “Okay, let me – “



But the little horror I had somehow mistaken for my daughter ignored me completely and walked to the security guard. “Excuse me sir, could you please take me to the rest room? My daddy and mother just found each other again and they have so much to talk about,” she said loudly.



Oh. My. God.



Did I actually father this child or was she built in a test tube in one secret facility and passed off as mine? Slowly I sank into my chair as my legs refused to support me any longer, aware of the smiling patrons and blushing girls. I gripped the serviette in shaking hands and watched her and the grinning security guard went around the corner. And then my confusion slowly turned to something else – something white hot that threatened to choke me if I did not spit it out or punch something.



How dare her – !



“She talks about you all the time.”



The voice sounded far away – sounded like it was coming down a long tunnel or like it does when the network’s poor. My hand trembled and I looked at it strangely – it felt as though it was not a part of me. It was holding the serviette, shaking in fury and I told it to let go. Slowly, ever so slowly I got through to it. My fingers unclasped and the sudden rush of blood into them made my hand tingle.



My palm was red.



“Excuse me?” I said to the suddenly-very-ugly woman sitting across from me. She smiled and looked like Patience Okafor playing witch. I grimaced and turned my face slightly to the side.



“Your daughter. She talks about you all the time.”



I was intrigued in spite of myself. “She does?”



Ms. Tinuola pushed the plate in front of her off to one side and leaned towards me. “That’s the first thing we have in common,” she said. “Love for that angel.”



Angel? Have in common?


Wait first. You and who?!


I leaned away and reconsidered my stance concerning staying for the sake of my little girl. Speaking of which –



“Excuse me,” I said to the teacher and darted away from the table. As I neared the stairway, raking my fingers through my fresh-cut hair I heard her voice. “…so I decided to bring her to meet him so they can talk and go home together.”



“There’s no ‘going home together’. I don’t take strange women home.” I interrupted, nodding at the smiling security guy with relief and grabbing her hand. “Who is the person filling your head with all these things?”



“Is that not what people do when they like each other – follow themselves up and down and everywhere?”



I thumped her lightly on the behind. “No! People have work to do and things to take care of. How am I supposed to make money if all I do is follow somebody around all day?”



“Money must really be important to you daddy,” she says in her little girl whisper.



I was flummoxed. And ashamed.



She pulled her hand away from my unresisting one and sat herself on her stool, looking as though there was nothing wrong. Slowly, I made my way back to my seat, sat down and looked everywhere but at her.



‘Is everything alright?”



I was suddenly weary of everything, particularly Ms. Tinuola. “Look, I want to thank you for looking after her and being so kind enough to come here Ms. – “



“Tinu. You can just call me Tinu,” she interrupted me.



“Ms.” I reiterated firmly. “If you don’t mind, I would like to spend some time with my daughter. Alone.”



“But daddy – she is your soul mate!”



Oh. My. God. Soul mate?!



Ms. Tinuola was glaring at me as though I just set her Brazilian weave ablaze. She stood up in a huff, thighs knocking the table backwards. I had to move quickly to catch the ice cream cup before it spilled all over me.



“What – “ I began.



“This is clearly not going to work. Thank you – but consider yourself dumped!” She whirled around and stomped out of there, once again making me and my girl the cynosure of all eyes within a 50-meter radius.



I sighed and buried my head on my arms. That was one crazy woman.



“Daddy, are you okay?”



Her voice came from beside me.



I looked up and at her; this test-tube product who was me raised to power 100. There was a small crease in between her eyes; a depression that told me she was worried. I swallowed all the angry words I intended to say, put my hand softly on her head and said; “I’m okay, baby. What was that about?”



Very primly, looking like that kid who touched President Obama’s head that one time, she held the hand I’d placed on her head, lifted herself into my lap and replaced the hand. “Don’t you like women anymore?”



Here we go.



“I’ve told you – “



“You’re still not happy. Grandma’s gone and there’s no one to take care of you. Mummy’s getting married again soon – what’s going to happen to you?”



And just like that, all my arguments flew out the window. I looked at the little girl on my knee and years of excuses and half-truths stared me in the face. I had failed her, failed her more times than any man had the right to fail any woman – not to talk of a man in my position to a woman in hers.



“Is your mother at home?” I asked, my voice sounding gravelly with all the roughness of emotion it was carrying.



“She said she wasn’t going out – that she wanted to be home when you brought me back.”



I cocked my head. “You mean when you come home?”



She smiled mischievously and stroked my beard. “No, she said ‘I want to be home when daddy brings you back’.”



Am I being scammed again?



I inhaled deeply. “Okay. Let’s go see your mother.”



I gathered her in my arms and stood up. She put small arms around my neck and nuzzled my neck.



“I love you, daddy.”



I started to respond. “I love – “ but she didn’t allow me finish. “Daddy, Ms. Tinuola looked pretty shebi?”



Wisely, I choose not to answer. But she did not give up.



“It is possible for someone to have two soul mates at once is it not?”




“You know, I think it’s about time we changed your school.”


She chuckled and kissed my cheek. “I love you daddy!”


I grinned in her face. “Bribe?” I asked.


Shaking her head slowly, she became serious. “Truth.”


“In that case…”


“But daddy, are we not watching X-Men again?”


I stopped and held her in front of my face, my arms screaming in pain. “What do you want – for me to go see your mother now or for us to watch – ”


“Daddy, let’s go home. Now.”


And so we went.