Real Men Go To Kinyozis Not Barbershops

Real Men Go To Kinyozis Not Barbershops
Siloma

Siloma

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There is a breed of men in this Kanairo that need their butts whipped severely. They have stewpid nick names like Jay, Whizz, Bry and talk in that ka ‘you guy my guy‘ lingo. Forget akina Brayos and Kevos, this new breed of men slap other mens’ shoulders gyrating their vocal cords in silly laughter.

These men shower thrice a day, file their nails, go for facials, manicure and pedicures and carry wet wipes. You should find them in barbershops enjoying head massage. They sink their heads in those eyebrow starved ladies bosoms like HipHop youngins testing some new Beats By Dre headphones.

I cannot go to a barbershop. I only get my hair cut in a kinyozi. A kinyozi and Barbershop are two different things. A kinyozi plays one type of music; ze music wiz ze miessage! Great artists like Gregory Waithaka, Alpha Blondy, Eric Donaldson fill the ears of kinyozi clients.

A kinyozi has stickers of roots and reggae artists adorned with rasta colors. A kinyozi has got only male attendants. Attendants who ensure that hair is well disposed of because you will get migraines if a bird makes its nest off your hair. A barbershop has a fancy interior design and is full of women carrying multi-colored basins.

A barbershop has those things that look like bodaboda helmets where pink mambas download gossip. This new breed of men who plait their hair put their heads in there to get updates of the latest Barbie software.

In barbershops, they put around you a priestly white neckband to make you feel holier than thou. They then use some noisy blowers to blow hair off you. In a kinyozi, they slap your balloon head with the tail of a dead cow leaving you scratching your itchy neck.

I see microwaves in these barbershops where clean-white satanized face towels are warmed to sterilize the germs in your new downloaded head. Those tu-ladies who shrub in some language I cannot reveal pamper your head gently whispering to your ears, “Is it hot?”

You cannot find such stupidity in a kinyozi. Do not trust a white non-torn face towel in a kinyozi. The towel should at least look creamy-greyish and should have some punched holes. The water in a kinyozi is usually heated by ze devil himself.

There are no fancy things like Dettol or satanizers there. They believe in the power of casting the devil with fire; they literally take what their primary school motivational speakers taught them, ‘By fire by tonder!’ Dawa ya moto ni moto.

They first dangle the steaming hot 1000 degree centigrade towel on the tips of their fingers and quickly cover your head with it. That’s the greatest feeling on earth. It reminds you of all the heartbreaks you have ever had and in great anguish your spirit cries, ‘Eloi Eloi lama sabachthani.’

And that’s the apex of the kinyozi experience, the fire! A real man should persevere. Actually, real men like us do not go to kinyozis that have got no burning sulfur; mwanaume ni kuchomwa buana. And that brimstone takes care of silly things like bumps, dandruff, etc. Your head is left breathing off the methylated spirit that it was anointed in.

After they are done with you in a kinyozi, they give you amazing aftersale services. In barbershops, they give you coffee or juice and send you away. Kinyozi management allocates you a position on a long bench where together with your fellow men, you rhythmically nod your heads to the beat as you make stories of world domination.

And that’s how to become a man. Can a man who goes to such a place carry wet wipes? Can such a man be manipulated to buy expensive lunch at Kempinski? You see, the methylated spirit infused in his head decontaminates such lousy decisions. And because they are used to listening to ‘Salam Aleikum’ they can always translate that to ‘Aliekum Salaam.’

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Real Men Go To Kinyozis Not Barbershops

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Barbershops are for softies who love their heads caressed with eyebrow-deprived female attendants. I only get my hair cut in a Kinyozi. A place where the tail of a dead cow does its magic.

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