The Hitchhiker's Guide to Absolute Zero

Truth 1: It is impossible to keep your cool. 

Turning 21, yay! cue existentialist issues - the meaninglessness of existence, the pointless marking of time and the realisation that only an infinitesimal fraction of the human population which represents and even smaller speck of dust on the back of a flea in the vastness that is the universe cares that you were born today. Dark thoughts to wake up to, but that was why man invented beer. That of course is some people’s opinion. Take beer goggles for example, At the bottom of the fifth shot glass of tequila, you really begin to see the image of God in your fellow man. That 2 you wouldn’t touch with a tractor beam all of a sudden becomes the love of your night. Add in the sudden jollity and copious amount of speech, courage and suavity and I dare any man to refute this statement: The road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but standing on a stack of Jack and Johnny bottles elevates us to knock on heaven’s door.

Yes, so much to do. Party Mode - scratch that.. Party setting mode. Two very different things there. The second lacks the gaiety of the first. The sheer amount of frustrations and annoyances which can crop up is astounding. It’s like throwing a party is universe-speak for “introduce me to Murphy’s law”. Things go wrong and not in the cute laughable sitcom ways. Here are 13 rules to keep:

- Never, ever rely on PHCN, they will fail, it says so in the manual.

- Never do beer runs hungry or sober, that is just sad and dehumanizing.

- 40% of the people who RSVP will not show up… and they will be the girls. This is the perfect time to subject you to cruel and inhuman begging practices, don’t drag it ..they simply cannot hide their nature.

- The amount of uninvited guys at a party always increases until the  stable-state entropy threshold is reached, then one of two things happen : a sausage-fest or a fight. The best parties are kept secret.

- Even the sworn abstainer will drink kegfuls with the right music.. if you think you don’t have enough, buy.  If you think you do, buy more.

- Your music is not loud enough until people cannot hear each other speak. Then they resort to more natural forms of communication. Tactile conversations under alcohol influence probably resulted in the creation of 2 in 7 humans.

- A little weed keeps boys happy. Allowing a vent for their bad guy delusions makes them calmer and less likely to start fights and harass girls.

 - It is your role as host to be both concierge and brothel madam. Accidents of the 9 month later kind are not    funny, provide protection.

- Absolutely no pictures, that lap dance or keg stand could be what stand between someone and a governorship post someday.

- Girls at rest tend to remain so until set in motion. You will to seed the mixture need a few friends of the questionable morals variety to set things going.

- Make sleeping arrangements for overnight guests. Nothing is more awkward than playing room roulette with six tired girls at 3 am.

- Make allowances for set P. If she decides to go home with him, make sure she isn’t too drunk to decide and he’s a gentleman. 

- An after party snack will be required. Only winshes and ogbanje sell food at 3 am, plan accordingly.

- Being host means giving up your resources to enable friends to set P. Provide what ever is required no questions asked. It’s in the bro code.

All in all was fun. Walk of shame at 6:30 included. Off to bed now, have the mother and father of hangovers. Redd out..

Smug lil’ F#ckers

There’s something annoying about overly happy people. Something offending, irritating even about their wide smiles, loud laughter and quick bursts of speech. I’m sitting in church as the choir sings. Would have had more fun hanging out with Torquemada. At least the old sop was good at his job, even if he was a bit off his rocker and genocidal. The head chic is doing some vaguely salsa like dance. Vaguely alike in the way a parrot resembles a goat… which is to say, not very much. She moves with the grace of an epileptic giraffe and is just as gangly with a face only a mother could love. I guess the church really doesn’t discriminate even if you are terrible at what you intend to do. There’s terrible and there’s terrible. It often takes a genius to find that sweet spot between bad and good - so bad it’s genius.. sadly, genius she is not. However, somehow, in this holocaust on the art of dancing, she seems to be happy, enraptured even. As though her state of mind somehow translates the dance routine from “retarded antelope learning to walk” to”“graceful swan ballet”. Quite unlikely but I must admit I am not up to date on the latest developments in neuro-psychology. Her smugness however does create in me a need to smack her upside the head, repeatedly if necessary. Maybe I’m in a bad mood today. I will however resist the urge as I am a gentleman and a libertarian. Such are the grave trials I have to face.. tsk tsk..

The decline of Masculinity

Man - A male human…

Male - A member of a species of the masculine gender

Masculine - Pertaining to the male gender.

We are a generation of sorry almost-men. A line of homosapiens standing at the door of destiny, too timid to knock, too cowardly to enter. Weak willed, taciturn, indecisive, unaturally modest and shy. We are not the higher level sapiens more fit for survial than Neanthertals or home erectus, no, such blood has long since left our veins. Blubbering dithering approval junkies driven by fear of pain and shame and the lure of cheap and safe pleasures. We dream but our dreams do not make us great, or even drive us. Rather, they serve to rob us of the sweetness of our lives; showing us the paltry nature of our cheap successes. A man is great because he is able to feed and provide for his family? Bah, a joke. What happened to the race of men who dug into the hearts of mountains, diverted and dammed the courses of rivers, tamed wild nature and stood against sickness and even old death himself? Men who grabbed lady luck by her hair and made their own fortunes? We are lost.

We grew up with fairytales. Every girl is a princess, and every boy a prince. Only to be forced, once we are old enough into the great press of reality, which squeezes out and kills all dreams, and into the long lines to the grave called the labour force. Some of the old men still live among us. Business magnates, Rock stars, Artists, Leaders who still know the old ways. Who know how to truly live, and they would have us slave for them. 

We are the husk, the chaff, we are what remains, cowardly pussies or abominable dicks. Too cowardly to lead or too insecure to follow. Seeking approval and direction, following any one who seems to know the way. Maladjusted malcontents, unsatisfied with their lots and unable to tell why. Forced to realise that we are the turbines of society, cursed to forever toil and turn. So much motion, neither foward nor backward, we turn in place and provide power to retain the status quo.

Take the job seeker, quivering before the panel, possesing skills and capabiities beyond the job he seeks, yet unable to confidently request adequate compensation. Even as I wrote that line, my heart beat faster at the thought of the loss of the job due to such seeming arrogance. I am truly lost. The job seeker dares not speak because he has been told all his life that this is all there is.. 9-5, five days a week of the best years of his life in exchange for a monthly pittance, a guranteed sum to retire to, and the chance to raise his head a little higher than his fellow slaves. Imagine how many Einsteins, Teslas, Da Vincis and Faradays have been lost this way.

A father makes a decision, his son asks why. He scowls and turns to put the foolish young one in his place with a harsh word. “Because I say so” he says. In his haste he fails to see the opportunity to pass sound decision making techniques to his son. This must stop. The old techniques of command and obey apply no longer.

They violate the laws of learning and logic. Curiosity is in. Authoritarianism is out.

Fault too lies with the men of old. They went off leading wars, discovering continents, going on crusades, solving problems and so forth and left their women behind to raise children by themselves. Such children grew lacking as did the women the skills of leadership and making choices, but for different reasons. The Women did not lead because they chose not to, choosing in love to abdicate these responsibilities to their husbands as it does not become two captains to lead the same ship. The child-men on the other hand did not lead because they knew not how to. Listless and subservient, unable to seize life by the throat, ever looking out for who to follow. Someone to praise if things go right, but more importantly, someone to blame if things go wrong as they so often do. 

They feel out of touch with their women, choosing to gain their favours by gifts or deceit.

The women prefering men to be confident, masterful and daring. Joie de vivre comes, not of watching life, but of living it. Take the word “advances” for example. A man makes “advances” to a woman. The word speaks of bold steps foward  down the desired path. Men now make “passes”. He merely hints at what he wants and stands there dumbly waiting for her to act first. He “passes” all control of the interaction to the woman. Poor fool. He must learn. 

However, this is not a rapist’s call to arms. To make advances is not to force one’s way upon a woman. That is the path of cowards and fools. One cannot call them retards or animals, it simply offensive to the noble beasts and the unfortunate mentally incapacitated to do so. To conquer in love is to be unafraid to declare one’s intent. To make love known. To keep to one’s purpose, not to annoy and pester the object of one’s affections with half-hearted and insincere amoure. It is often said that a lady may try a man’s love but often she does not refuse it. It is also a man’s place to know when to stop. A serenade is delightful in the moonlight but it begins to pall by lunchtime the next day. Enough said.

Another common abberation these days is the friendzone. The socially inept guy falls for typically the most beautiful girl in his class. It’s almost nollywoodish. He could choose the nice friendly girl who sits next to him in chess club but no, he must have the diva of the class. This is not his crime. Every living organism has a tendency to attempt to live beyond it’s means. Why, the talented author Oscar Wilde was said to call for a glass of champagne on his death bed with the words “I have often lived beyond my means, I suspect I shall have to die beyond them”. His crime is choosing the most foolish and ill advised technique not in the playbook, by becoming her friend. He hangs on her every word, helps out, is nice and polite, and generally shows himself to be a nuisance and ten kinds of an oaf. The tactic here is: if I’m nice enough, maybe I can guilt her into dating me. Poor him, first thing kitty lost after her virginity was her conscience. Even  if she still had it, there is no way she’d date a loser like him. It would simply upset the balance of life in the Universe. So he ends up resentful and hurting in the friendzone. Spineless sucker. A bold move, a charmimg approach and the heart to speak his mind and who knows it could have ended differently.

In the next category comes the players. The ones who hope to get rid of their creeping insecurity by making notches on their dicks. The hope that with enough pubic scalps one might be able to make a boat and sail away from Loserville is quite commonplace. It turns many a sweet young man into a cynic sleazeball who feels all girls are bitches and whores. Which is quite suprising because their morals are never low enough to sleep with him. He blames it on his lack of good looks or cash. Thinking with a lil more cheddar, and bottle popping in the club he could get ‘em gurls. True alcohol does loosen legs, but you can’t get them close enough to offer it to them with your attitude. 

Everybody’s so judgemental these days. A girl has sex with a guy and she’s cheap. What about she just likes fucking? It’s a pretty pleasant experience if done right. Why wouldn’t anybody like it? I salute the girls with the courage to give these idiots the middle finger and do what they want. In Crowley’s words “Do what thou wilt”. That’s right, do what ever you want as long as you don’t hurt anybody, it’s ok.

Hurt is relative. You may dump a girl and hurt her and refuse the advances of another and hurt her too. Society says you are more right in doing the latter than the former. I’ll let society decide that one.. don’t want it on my conscience. 

Basically, don’t be scared to do what you will.. within reason of course.. I’ll leave with you with the paraphrased words of Laurence of Arabia. “The dreamers of the night do dream and wake to find that it was just a dream but the dreamers of the day, those are dangerous men, for they may act out their dreams with impunity.” 

My lady

She asks “Do I move you?. Do I still make you sigh like I once did?

Do you wring your hands when I’m away? and when I return,

do you feel your breath taken away? 

She lies supine, through half closed lids she stares at me. Questions 

hang heavy in the air. I would love her but it’s just not there.

She recalls how I use to stare, a love story in my eyes, a thousand sweet words on 

my lips. Sometimes I’m sad, when she’s taciturn, or acting coy. My nerves

ripped bare, raw, open and bleeding. Each turning away, each unkind word

each time she shuts the door while i’m pleading

I recall when fickle fortune would turn my way, and she’d smile…

Let me describe it.. I will need to go down.. down paths of despair..

only then will you understand… I will liken it to the slave’s last stand,

hungry and weak against a band of theives.. of a maiden’s last pleading 

words in the leering face of a rapist, of a bedouin bastard’s 

rasping suckling upon the breast of an exiled mother,now dead from thirst.. in a cold 

desert, a cold dusk, in a cold world.. night… as these three look, outcast,

downthrodden and forlorn, to the horizon.. It makes itself seen, a ray of light..

bold, and forward.. coming into its own and giving no quarter.. the beauty

of her smile is a harsh master.. it is not gentle, no loving arms or kind embrace.

it grabs your, presses you down, submerges you beneath its waves.. until it passes 

and is gone… then you emerge gasping, choking.. and observe: this is not the world 

you left behind.. you no longer breath free air.. you are in thrall to La Belle Dame sans Merci.

She lays there, only a T-Shirt on.. an old T-shirt.. it says “Love kills slowly”

Its frayed and slack…a story there….. Once upon a time.. on a beach, a party.. a confident young

sharp guy.. lots of guys at this party… lots of girls too.. and skirts.. shorts..

short skirts, long skirts, bum shorts, short shorts.. waists.. tiny waists.. with coloured

belts.. waists moving slowly, leisurely.. in time with the music, like a metronome.. one waist… 

a pair of legs.. feet.. cute tiny feet.. tiny toes, covered in shiny polish.. lots of colours

pink, red, orange, yellow.. small ankles.. long legs..flip flops… my gaze seems to travel miles up them.

up the legs, back to that waist.. the slim belt.. the shoulders.. sloping.. the neck..

long, hellenic, graceful.. the face.. He walks over, swaggering, the look on his face cocky

with a hope and prayer that its enough to hide his savagely pounding heart…

He’s thankful he’s black.. the rush of blood to his face would have given him away.

He talks slowly.. He appears confident.. It’s so he doesn’t stutter..

“You’re lost”,he says… “I beg your pardon?” Her brows furrow, confused

“Heaven is that way” he points upward “Angels like you don’t belong here..”

A tacky line.. if he hadn’t had a spot of luck, it wouldn’t have worked…

a smile.. “You mustn’t tell anyone, We seraphim need to unwind too”..A laugh..

light breezy..friendly..more than he deserves..he feels lucky..poor him..

Wine, dancing, talk. Dancing.. he first notices her scent here.. holding her close… to

the music.. As Lynxx croons “Fine Lady” in the background.. he sniffs.. tentatively at first

and then takes a breath… a lungful of her.. its amazing..he’s pro but here he’s out of his depth

she smells like salt and sunlight.. like dreams.. good dreams.. full of happiness and laughter..

of old hands held together side by side in front of a fireplace…of kittens gifted to grandkids..

 of reading children peter pan stories and putting them to bed.. of rose petals and sex on crisp white silk sheets…

 of diamond and golden rings.. of a life spent together.. she smells dangerous.. a player cannot have such dreams.

They keep dancing, twining together, her friends hover around, anxious to cockblock, pull her away.. but he’s skillful..played these games over and over.. they stand no chance.. one by one they are charmed and disarmed…

they walk together to the beach, water around their ankles… he jokes, she laughs and he falls deeper..

Talk, wine and laughter.. then he stops… a calculated move.. the silence draws… one second…two seconds..

three… she swallows.. unsure of what to do..why is he silent all of a sudden?.. why is he looking at her like that she wonders.. doubts..unsure.. he spots the moment.. as sure as a circling hawk.. a born hunter.. he springs.. dips in for the kiss..her eyes widen.. but she does not pull away.. their lips meet… soft, gentle, sweet… every thing a first kiss should be… loud laughter from the party.. a girl is dancing on the table.. obviously drunk.. Funmi.. he files that information away.. He does not go further.. the first sign of weakness.. he helps her up.. on their way back, they stop at the souvenir shop.. she buys him a pair of glasses with a fake nose.. he looks silly..they take a picture.. he buys her a shirt..”I’ll die for you”, he jokes.. the shirt reads “Love kills slowly”…

He walks her to her room.. she lets him in..they make out.. no longer gentle but quick and rough.. passion and

need make caresses reckless.. takes her top off.. she lets him.. more kissing.. a deft move.. he unhooks the bra..

her arms snap upwards.. covering her breasts.. years of puritan upbringing foiling his plans.. damn.. he should have

given her more vodka.. she puts on the shirt… love does kill slowly.. he’s dying seeing her sitting there…

just out of reach.. the “no” framed in the set of her shoulders.. “Just hold me, please”.. normally he would say no, 

he would leave.. but she’s different.. he holds her close.. rocks her in his arms and kisses the top of her head…

An image flahes into his head.. Funmi, laying in her room, alone, drunk, vulnerable…. he’d had her before..

it would be easy.. no, he shouldn’t… he should stay here…be faithful..”You arent dating, not yet” his defunct conscience whispers.. and he knows he wants it.. He kisses her cheek and says goodnight.. as the door closes.. he just catches a glimpse of her shirt. Love kills slowly.. he checks his wallet.. 2 condoms left.. to work.. Funmi waits..

I say yes.. it isn’t a lie.. I bend over her.. whisper in her ear.. “yes you do”.. and lean in to the task at hand

I’m impatient and pleasures await..

On to the Next One

All things must pass and University is almost done. I guess there’s a few things left; results to check, delayed school fees payments (what? I spent it, ok?), various clearances to perform and stuff. Majorly, that part of life is gone and I guess I’m going to miss it. One can’t really have guilt free partying outside college. It may seem the same; the booze, the girls, the music, but three things have changed:

1) Dancing: Remember all those cool dance moves? The Eti’gi, Azonto, Alanta, Gang Nam style and all… well it’s countdown to 30 now and your twenty five year old butt doesn’t look so good boogeying down any more.

2) Girls: They’ve begun to have expectations now. All those low calorie vampire hookups (: in which the girl doesn’t see the light of day in ur crib) are over now. You’ll be expected to have ONE girl to love, pay bills for, and marry. Doesn’t seem like fun now, does it?

3) Drinking: Remember that one time you drank so much you blacked out and woke up between those calabar twins?(yeah, i loved that one too, bro) NO MORE OF THAT!! YOU ARE AN ADULT! YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER! WHAT IF YOU HAD BEEN ROBBED! OR KIDNAPPED! WHO WOULD HAVE TO PAY THE RANSOM, ENH?! STUPID PIKIN. 

All in all, a few things are gone but things are looking up. My friend, My roomie, My bro is in the running for NIGERIA’S GOT TALENT. A couple of other friends are making it in music, and I’ve got a multimillion naira idea project that’ll enable me to live my dream (play golf at 9 a.m. on a Monday morning, F#ck The Man!).

The going’s good and I’m grateful. Till I can pick up my keyboard next, Stay Cool and Remember:

     Cool KIdz Vote GODWINS

     213 to 33685

Pros and Cons of Life in University.

Exams completed. The ritual of post-exam revelry executed (parties, both thrown and attended, clubs visited, and girls courted), my thoughts now turn to the future. One semester left of University and then I’ll be expected to make like an adult and have to plan my own life. That seems a bit cruel; it’s like handing the death star blueprints to Han Solo’s little kid…sure to be disastrous. Anyway at this point it’s time to list the pros and cons of school life. Cons first because one should always end on a good note.

Cons

• Learnt no actual computer science.
• Lost faith in humanity.
• Lost childlike wonder and innocence.
• Atheistic leanings.
• Mastered Sarcasm.

Pros

• Learning Programming by self.
• Learnt to love art and good music.
• More tolerant of other peoples’s views and religions.
• Mastered Sarcasm.
• Girls ;-)
• Learnt to dance.
• Learnt to dress.
• Learnt to think for self and challenge authoritativeness.
• Less Gullible.
• Fallen in and out of love and learnt how to avoid it.
• Learnt to respect genius and hard work in all fields. 
• Learnt to love poetry and good literature.

All in all the past 4 years haven’t been bad. Still not decided on Costume Day outfit though (anybody know where to find a sweet katana?). 

100 Doors in a Row

techinterview:

Problem: you have 100 doors in a row that are all initially closed. you make 100 passes by the doors starting with the first door every time. the first time through you visit every door and toggle the door (if the door is closed, you open it, if its open, you close it). the second time you only visit every 2nd door (door #2, #4, #6). the third time, every 3rd door (door #3, #6, #9), etc, until you only visit the 100th door.

question: what state are the doors in after the last pass? which are open which are closed?

Read More

Solution in C++

#include <iostream>

using namespace std;

int doorStateCheck(int); // Function Prototype

int multipleCheck(int); // Function Prototype

int main(){    

    int doorsAvail[100];  // Declare Door Array

    for (int i=1;i<101;i++){  //Populate Doors array

        doorsAvail[i] = i;}

    for (int i = 0; i < 101; i++){

        int x = doorStateCheck(i);

        if (x == 1)

        cout « “Door number ” « i « “is closed”« endl;

        else

        cout « “Door Number” « i « “is opened” « endl;

    }

    system(“PAUSE”);

    return 0;

}

    // Function to check number of multiples a given door number has

    int multipleCheck(int x){

        int counter = 1;  // counter to store results

        for (int divisor = 1; divisor < 101; divisor ++){

            float checkVal = x % divisor;

            if (checkVal == 0){ // Test for multiples

               counter++; // increment counter

                          }

        }   

     return counter;

     } 

     int doorStateCheck(int x){

         int doorState;

         int doorVal = multipleCheck(x);

         if (doorVal % 2 == 0){

              doorState = 1; }

         else {

              doorState = 0;

              }

         return doorState;

         }

On Waiting

Patience is a virtue not known to come easily. It’s been 30 minutes and 2 phone calls since she should have been here. I wonder what could be delaying her? Might she be assisting Commander Sheppard in a top secret incursion or helping Don Draper make a pitch? I wish, she’s probably just getting out of the shower or brushing her lovely hair. I should be infuriated but I’m not. It’s part of who she is and I just have to work with what I’m given. This might be the start of some epic story, who knows? When I think about it, waiting is not so bad..

P.S  Note to self: Remember to act pissed when she arrives…