Livin' La Vida Mocha

Hola peeps. Julio here. Que tal? Moi? Muy mal. Not glad ‘cos I’ve got no ‘official’ position at Femi’s wedding. Did that punk Tunde tell y’all he’s actually Femi’s best man? The damn ass-kisser. The guy virtually campaigned for that position. He chauffeured Femi and his fiancée around for a month, mowed their lawn and bought Femi lunch for a week. U see I keep it real that’s why the happy married couple-to-be don’t wanna gimme any positions of responsibility. I can’t even serve guests for goodness sake! I don’t blame them though. Lately, I’ve been having a recurring dream where I kidnap the DJ and play a medley of my favorite songs. I made a mixtape of these songs when I was dating this Russian stripper, sorry exotic dancer, called Tatjana. The songs include: Roxanne by The Police, Perfect Gentleman by Wyclef Jean, Private Dancer by Tina Turner, I’m Ur Baby Tonite by Whitney Houston and She Works Hard 4 The Money by Donna Summer. Not all women appreciate Julio’s romantic gestures though. Strange to believe, huh? For instance, Katya, Tatjana’s twin sister, wasn’t at all pleased when I gave her the same mixtape on Valentine’s Day. How was I to know that twin sisters have dissimilar tastes?

Anyways, I saw the England v Japan football game last nite. Sven-Goran Eriksson, u need help. Read my lips: U really, really need help. Paul Scholes is a diver, Wayne Rooney is a thug, Gary Neville’s only in the team cos he plays for Man Utd and David Beckham’s now more celebrated as a walking billboard for tattoo parlours than he is for his football. The only way u can beat France is if Desailly plays the same way he plays for Chelsea. It’s amazing the way the guy’s calcified in front of our eyes.

Chat to y’all tomorrow. I’m off to straddle a pole in front of drooling old ladies with cataracts. Man, things I do for money! How do I cope, u ask? Can u spell W-E-E-D?