My Secondary School Stories PT 1

Hey guys. I know I know. “Where the fuck have you been”, “OMG we’ve been missing you” ,” OMG hottie where have you been” all these thoughts are probably running through your minds now or even worse, probably “where has this fag been”. Yeah I owe y’all an apology. Mehn school has not been a tad easy and I’m a lazy human being I must confess. I’ve missed y’all though. Again I’m sorry. I’m back to my boring life so y’all expect more posts along the line as the lord touches his servant o:) .I’ll try to write up every day.
For y’all who are just reading for the first time or probably can’t remember me. The name’s Pietro but most people just call me Theo, yeah I know “such a lovely name”.

Sha for yall that don’t know. I’m the rider of 10,000 unicorns, The African Mike Ross , The only nigga that woke up under a New Bugatti and yeah I’m a Salvatore for y’all that dont know as well.
Lets flyyyyyy to todays post. I think you’ll need a handkerchief though.
Was pondering and pondering bout what to blog about, and the idea just hit me. “BITCH WHY NOT TALK ABOUT SECONDARY SCHOOL” . Yeah I adore my alter ego a lot.
For y’all that don’t know. I didn’t have it easy at alllllllllll. My school was a military school to begin with. While y’all were in a Rolls Royce Ghost cruising to BIS, LHBIS, Greensprings amongst others, what y’all can call “the Ivy-league secondary schools in Nigeria”, I was in one car mourning my way to Ogun State. Yeah I attended Nigerian Navy Secondary School, Abeokuta, Ogun State.
First of all, I don’t know how I offended my parents, or why I shouldn’t hunt down my uncle that suggested the school and went the extra mile to buy the form for me, and kill him. I can’t believe I turned down a couple of schools for this though, Anyways my thoughts were like “Nigggur its Navy, seals and co. Underwater exploration, Call of duty shits, etcetera” only to face the reality that it was totallllllllly off. I can’t even believe how I graduated and I’m still fresh.

We Vrooom’d into the compound with me feeling like “Fuck it, home sweet home, yall bitches suck my cock :’)” . It felt like


I jumped out of the car with my small stature and fair ass skin back then and went to the registration stand. Then a military personnel was like “Ahoy, Navy boy, Come here and pack this boys things to his hostel.” . Omo in my mind I was like “yeah bitchessssss.”


Little did I know that it was those Jss3 boys packing my bags that would kill me eventually.
After registering and all. I was given my house wear and uniform. The clothings were so big asiiiiiiin, they were ‘AGBADA’S’ . My dad now took the clothes, brought out the ‘All powerful indelible permanent’ marker and murdered my name on the clothes in a manner that said “I want to tell the world about you, so they can be jealous *Future’s voice*”, Lmaooooo, not knowing that there were people that would still steal your clothes even if you wore them to bed and would still go the extra mile of defying the laws of nature by completely erasing any name or sign you had on it, They would wear it beside you and you would never know, you be thinking #SomeWhereInThisHostel My name is still on the shirt. Anyways I beared my cross and went to the hostel, I was shown to my room of about 20 random people that didn’t know the kind of Gobe they had entered . As I just dropped my mattress on the bunk, a wave of sorrow just swept me over. I burst into tears prolly because it was my first time away from home, Sha my random roomates at that time came to do the normal “ah sorry ehn. Ndo” , doing like noooooo we were not in this together -_____- . Sha my bunkmate was Femi Lawal, one fiiiiiiine boy (No homo), We looked alike so we were taken as brothers. Too bad he had to leave a year later. I finally settled to arranging my stuff in one tiny locker that looked like loudspeaker.
The bell was rung by about 6:30 for food, Still fresh out tha runway; we were reluctant to go , but we were forced anyways.
I got to the galley (Dining hall) only to find out they were serving Éfor abi Èkor , the yoruba’s should know it, one stuff that looks like solidified pap.I passed it on people that were more than happy to eat it and I left the galley feeling like “Badman dont eat èfor , if badman aint getting noodles and stuff, badman aint eating. Where’s my fucking room service? ” . In weeks to come , we niggas could kill for èfor or anything that had to do with food.


We turned into creatures closer to dogs than humans :’).

Anyway guyssssss. I think we would have to continue tomorrw. Where I jump to where the beatings started :’) “The sweetest parts”. Dont forget to follow @Pietrosparks on twitter . And please dont forget to share, RT those links. Read on and stay blessed. Dont forget to drop your comments yeah.

8 thoughts on “My Secondary School Stories PT 1

  1. The power combination of words and the intellectual state of wellbbein was well explored.i really love this.but we were in it all together

  2. Dude dah was mad bro… me laffin thru-out tho…..smh init we all passed thru d life n I guess twas fun anyways

  3. Pingback: Secondary School Stories PT 2 | Pietro Talks shitt

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