Well, he was still my best friend all the same. They used to call him “raunchy Sam.” Funny, isn’t it? Anyway, he was like the coolest person to everyone else. But to me, I knew his whole agenda. He was just a loudmouth. He’d talk about escapades he had read in novels and magazines. Those he had heard from his brother, Mick and Mick’s friends too. He was actually just the type of guy that would faint if he were locked in a room with a naked beauty. But, besides all this, he was still my best friend. Well, you can’t blame me for sticking with him. He got cool before I did, so you tell me who wouldn’t tag along. Even though he’s a lying, back stabbing, bitch, I got popularity off him just as he did off his brother.
Funny enough, though we’re best of friends, I’m the exact opposite. I’m a softie. I actually like girls. I have genuine feelings and emotions towards them. Secret! I’m not a virgin. Raunchy Sam is. I say, “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder.” He says “Beauty is the breast you be holding”. Lame! Sadly, no one else at school agrees with me. They think it’s cool to be raw and nasty. Geez! The aesthetics of love and all that “corny and cheesy” stuff is “less is more.” It’s always been. Can you imagine Mr. Romance with flowers in hand, outfit all swagged out and seductive, walking up to the girl of his dreams and saying,
“Baby, let’s make like jack rabbits and make my bed bounce”?
That’s even a little indirect… what about:
“I’m horny. Let’s have sex. The flowers and clothes are just customary. I hope no offense taken. Anyway, I’m ready, are you?”
I would laugh my ass off if a girl agreed to that. One probably would actually. That’s the perfect definition of desperate. Not saying that I can’t pull it off, if I must say so myself, but a little romance wouldn’t hurt anyone. No, people, that doesn’t make me gay. It just makes me one in every thousand straight guys that actually has feelings and wants to explore them. Did I say one in every thousand? Let me correct that, one in every ten thousand and one. But that’s just beside the case; I was on a rant about myself.
My name’s Brady, by the way. Brady Wusih. Yes! I have heard all the jokes you want to say about my surname a million times before. I can bet a thousand bucks that you can’t think up something I haven’t heard before. I’m Yoruba. I moved from Nigeria with my parents when I was two. My dad works in an oil company, we got cross-posted to Holland, and when it was over, mum and I just stayed back. We’ve been here ever since.
Anyway, let’s get to the real story. It’s all about me, my friends and all the fun stuff that goes on in my school……..
Th3rd Culture 