Won’t You Pamper Your Life? by Ezioma Kalu was submitted in May 2022 to Challenging The Writers Writing Contest #3 based on the writing prompt: Write a story from the perspective of a villain who is unredeemable and wicked to the core. By the end of the story, has achieved their goal.
Life is an egg. I know this is weird coming from someone who doesn’t care for philosophy or motivational talks, but guy, just believe me when I say life’s an egg.
Do you know why an egg breaks when it falls to the floor? Of course, you do, so I’d spare you the explanation. But my point is fragile things like life and egg, need to be pampered. And by pampering life, I mean enjoying every bit of it, until it eventually breaks or gets rotten.
The core of my existence is enjoyment, and by all means possible I tend to achieve that. Someone might tell you I’m the bad guy; another might say I’m the weird guy… Omo believe them both o, cos I no send anybody papa. But the koko of the matter is that I’m a bad bitch, period! If having fun and enjoying my life makes me the bad person, then it’s cool. Who cares about being the good guy anyway?
My parents named me Barbara Njoku, but if you address me by that barbarous name, I’ll come at you. But if you must, ‘Barbie Jones’ will do just fine. I despise repeating myself, but for the sake of dumbasses like you, I will. The core of my existence is enjoyment. I no just like stress at all; wahala dey pepper my body… I pamper my life and am unapologetic about it. So if it doesn’t sit right with you, kiss my ass… Bitch!
I’d rather dig a grave, than waste my precious time watching dramas or soaps, because why should I, when I am the drama? This is the part I smirk and sip from my glass of red wine. And if I would, then horror movies, intense horror movies; the type where ‘the guy’ slashes those bastards and drinks their blood, would be it. I love watching them wriggle in agony as they fight death like chickens. I enjoy watching their blood pump out like poom! Pop that Hennessy biatch!
What do you think? That’s some fun thing to watch, right? Oh come on, don’t be such a party pooper. I’m not the villain. And mind you, I said ‘the guy,’ and that’s simply what they are. You guys make such sweet souls into something as horrific as the ‘villain.’ Hell, they’re not! They are just like me; they understand that life’s an egg. They only want to pamper theirs, imagonu, live their lives and have fun while at it. Who cares if they enjoy splitting throats, slashing wrists, splattering blood? Whatever happened to that Rihanna’s song, ‘Just be happy?’
Oh, you don’t know the song? I’ll sing it for you.
Just as long as it makes you happy
If it makes you happy
Just be happy…
Okay enough of the chit chats, now let’s get down to business. Nice necklace by the way… Yeah, come closer. I get juicy gist for you. Why are you moving backwards? Do I bite? Well maybe I do, but not to worry, I don’t bite on Tuesdays. Come joor… I just want to pamper my life… I wan dey happy… Now come while I’m asking nicely. I say come here you fucking bitch! You don’t want to get at my bad side, I promise you. Oh, you’re calling me a freak? You’re not scared of me, are you? Wow, you’re feisty huh? I think I like that, I enjoy watching them struggle. Haha! I should go to hell? Touché…But unfortunately, I’m dragging you with me… Wham!!! Don’t scream. Don’t fucking yell!
Today is my first day as a teacher at Brilliant Kids Academy. But hey, before you give me an imaginary pat on the shoulder, and that tacit commendation for being a passionate moulder of the future leaders, just know that I think teaching sucks, and for all I care, the alleged leaders of tomorrow can burn in an inferno.
Talking about infernos, what do you think about bundling your enemies, those nefarious bastards who get in the way of your enjoyment, of pampering life, and dumping them in a large hearth, and then you sit down and clasp one leg over the other like the royalty you are, sipping red wine and watching the beautiful scene unfold? Exhilarating right? Yeah, I know.
Why am I a teacher? Oh, you think I willingly dressed up on a good day, applied my lip-gloss, wore my bitchy ass perfume and strolled to that motherfucker, sorry that headmistress’s office, and said, “Hi, I’m Barbie Jones and I’m passionate about standing for hours, writing on the whiteboard, and dehydrating myself from too many talks and yells?” Come on now, that would be the joke of the century.
So if they told you that if not for this darned NYSC, a hot chick like Barbie Jones would sign up for teaching, you’d agree? Nawa for you o. You dey fall my hands I swear…
Anyway, let’s ask Google what it feels about me being a teacher. So I open Google Chrome, and on the search bar, I type; “Can a bad bitch make a good teacher?” Things these joy killers make me do…
Now, what manner of results are these? I quickly close the page and toss my phone on my bed, but somehow it leaves that cosy goodness and falls on the floor. I pick it up; thankfully, it’s not broken, inhale a relieving breath, return to the page and read the results.
- What should I do if my teacher is being a bitch? – Quora…
- Young M.A – PettyWap Lyrics – Genius…
- 15 Sex tips from Amber Rose’s New Book, “How to be a bad bitch…”
- Bad-bitch videos – XVIDEOS.COM
You see, Google sef knows that the question is pointless, it should never have been asked, and that’s why it’s showing impertinent results. A bad bitch should never be anything else, but a bad bitch. Period! I draw a line across my neck with my right hand and contort my face to give that bitchy look. Yeah, that’s how bad bitches do…
Well, since life just shoved these balls of lemon to my face, I’ll simply squeeze out the juice, and make a sweet bottle of lemonade. Because I’m doomed to spend one year of my life-shaping the so-called leaders of tomorrow, I’ll make the most of it. What’s our motto again? Ahh, you’ve forgotten so soon. Ode! You’re making me, Barbie the motherfucking Jones repeat herself abi? If not for one thing ehhn… Well, I’ll forgive you this once.
Our motto is, “Don’t forget to pamper yourself…”
And with that, I draw one last line on my eyebrow, smack my lips so hard, that I’m tasting the strawberry flavour of the burgundy lipstick I carefully plaster on them, smile at my reflection in the mirror, and whisper, ‘Let’s go teach some ABC’s.’