DEAR CUPID

Dear Cupid,

Hello my chubby, little, pot-bellied, young friend. I can see you are still flapping your diminutive wings as you brandish your little bow and arrows. I hope your mother Eros is fine, send her my greetings. Say also “Hi” to my friend Perseus (From whence I borrowed a name). I hope you can read; I mean you are still a toddler. By Jove! You should be able to read, you are a god and the C.E.O. of “Shoot Their Hearts Inc.”

 I do not mean to interrupt your busy schedule of piercing Sir Cupid. I am sure it takes a lot of Corn flakes and mama’s milk to muster the art of shooting arrows through tinkers. So I will be as brief as my ink can.

I have been watching in awe what you have been doing to people. I am really impressed by what your small arrows can do. Your shots at people’s hearts are so neat that I am left envious of your archery mastery. Robin hood must have been your student or my ancestor M’Migwi. (I come from a group of people known for their love of arrows.) I salute you kiddo!

All this is very wonderful Cupid; shooting hearts and all. It’s very noble; if only these hearts didn’t break later due to some unexplained forces from Hades. You see, my friend, breaking hearts could be funny to you but not very interesting if you ask me. I have watched many people that possess these broken hearts and they don’t look good or healthy.

After the heart-shot, they start missing their meals. That can’t be good to my stomach Cupid, I love food! Very very much! In addition, they sleep less. Anyone that attacks my sleep is my foremost enemy. (Starting with the dude called “Alarm Clock” who grabs every un-warranted opportunity to alarm my darling sleep.) Worst of all, stupidity sets in momentarily. I’d rather preserve my IQ’s dignity. So my friend Cupid, for your offer to get my heart shot, five words for you “I am fine, thank you!”

After your shots, the heart will break and what follows is a “melancholic-songs” listening session from the likes of Justin Bieber and Chris Brown, with the accompaniment of tears and more sleepless nights. I prefer my tears in my eyes, as an African man should Cupid. So skip that “arrowing” of my hollowed hallowed heart.

Therefore, Cupid, I will never ask you to shoot my heart. Shoot my leg or eye for all I care, but never my heart. If you do, there will be a series of events that will leave you in a lot of discomfort and pain that Zeus may not smile about.

I should warn you that I am a very dangerous man Cupid. I have killed many things mosquitoes being the least of them. I am more dangerous than a Russian assassin; if only my blood could attest to my heroics, you would take cover under some blade of glass. If you dare even point that small pointed arrow at me Cupid, I will spank that naked butt of yours so hard, that you will not need Olympus’ Slimpossible to get into shape. That will teach you to shoot innocent hearts that all they know is pump some blood! I will do that my friend.

After that, I will pick your weapons of heart destruction and give you a taste of your own medicine. It will not be the Englishman’s “shot on the leg” but the Angryman’s “shot in the heart.” I will then sit back and enjoy watching you have a “soap-opera-moment” as you search for your “Paloma” or some other God-forsaken young goddess in the extremities of the universe. (The story ends with you very thin and still single and lonely)

Cupid, you have been warned! Don’t try me Cupid! If you cherish your plump cheeks and your mother’s apples, this heart is a “NO-GO-ZONE.” Failure to follow my orders, whatever will follow will all be your fault.

Yours Sincerely,

A Man Who Doesn’t Want Your Services (AT ALL!)