A new level of evil

Over my many years on this glorious earth, I’ve heard things that has prompted me to evaluate the level of evilness among people.  And because of the things I’ve heard, I am on the lookout for a millennial wiz kid to create an app that can be used by holier-than-thou-web-judgers to rate the level of evilness in some people.  I can then sell it to Facebook so when people post tales of evil deeds beset on them, others can rate the evilness level and feel wonderful. 

Everyday people do evil deeds – for example you and a few friends go out to dinner to a nice restaurant to celebrate something – from birthdays to engagement to business launch.  Everyone orders a starter, a main course and later a dessert.  Someone suggests wine to be shared.  Someone else (the evil one), orders the entire menu and after every course promptly removes some Tupperware from their handbag and fills it with left overs.  This person also orders cocktails because they don’t drink red wine because their genetic make-up and wine disagree. When the bill comes, this person is the first one to grab it – you’d be forgiven for thinking they want to treat everyone – instead they suggest the bill be split equally – yet they ate the most and took leftovers to save cooking for ten days.  This level of evil requires Satan’s minions to work overtime.  There are several other types of tightwads on the dinner front, but let’s leave that for another day.


However, that level of evil is nothing compared to the story I’m about to tell you.  If, like most, you are evil-phobic brace yourself…. no desensitise yourself or better still… anaesthetise yourself.

The story has been fictionalised for anonymity purposes; however, the message is real, and it happened to a real human being. People say the devil is a liar and a cheat – he is that and much more – worse of all, he walks among people looking human.  Somewhere in the bible it warns people, “beware wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

There once was a beautiful woman who got a random message from a random man on Facebook.  He told her he thought she was the most beautiful person on earth and that if she was single, he’d like to be friends.  The woman happened to be single and on the prowl.  She liked what she saw – if Facebook is anything to go by.  They started a whirlwind e-romance: they texted, emailed and eventually spoke via messenger which led to exchanging telephone numbers.  They were happy because not only did they like each other, they lived in same city – the greatest city in all the land.  After several weeks of e-dating they decided to meet in person, or rather the man asked her out on a physical date.  He was everything she’d been praying for and more.  He was rich, handsome and normal. 

One thing irritated her though, his constant hints about how much he had: the ready jets, the boats, the apartments in every major city, the Range Rover Vogue that he intended to upgrade and his perfect parents.  She said nothing though.  She would decide after the physical date if she was capable of spending eternity with a man who bragged so much.  She was well aware his bragging was a shameless bid to appear more attractive to the her because she’s African, and that there are some fools who want to believe that African women only like grey men ([new]slang for white men) because they must be rich.  Long story short she accepted the date.  He promised her an evening to remember, and it was, for all the wrong reasons.  

Two days before the date, he sent her an official invitation putting to shame some wedding invitation e-cards I’ve seen over the years.  That ‘trouble’ ticked more boxes for the woman on her version of how-to-tell-a-prefect-man-from-losers.  He was too good to be true.  Her jaw dropped when she saw the location of their long-awaited date – only the freaking Ritz in London my peeps!  She was excited and had to buy a new outfit (keep tags on to return later).  Many might wonder why she would need to buy a new dress to meet a man, but the truth was nothing in her wardrobe was worthy of The Ritz.  She also Ubered there, because getting the jubilee line to The Ritz is like attending a Nigerian wedding in flipflops.  Besides she couldn’t risk some crazy ass woman spotting the tags on the dress and ripping them off (another level of evil) apologetically, “Oh honey you forgot to remove these” and then handing them over to her.  That would spell disaster and a definite stunt in a jail and an appearance on Judge Rinder show (UKs answer to Judge Judy… forgive them oh Lord).

When she got to the hotel, the man was waiting for her in the lobby.  “What a gentleman!” was her first thought.  He kissed her on both cheeks, took her arm and led her to the restaurant – considered the most elegant dining room in the world.  It took her breath away.  His dining etiquettes were straight out of Prince Charles’ handbook.  He sat last after pulling her chair for her and asking if she was ok.  He stood whenever she wanted to leave the table.  He tasted the wine before it was served.  He wouldn’t take a bite unless she did – the whole nine yards.  The food was great.  The wine was exquisite.  The dessert came with its own wine.  The staff were polite.  The live music was soothing to the ears.  The conversation flowed mainly because he listened to her as much as she listened to him.  Fellow diners were the crème de la crème of London’s elite.  She was in heaven.  She knew he wouldn’t have to beg if he wanted to have her there and then.  That never happened.

The man ordered champagne “to celebrate us”, he said.  Once it was served, he gulped half the glass then excused himself for the bathroom.  That surprised her a little.  He kissed her on the lips on his way to the bathroom.  Twenty minutes later her horniness turned into horror.  “What had happened to her prince charming?”  Still she waited…. and waited… eventually the realisation that she was the only person left in the dining room was like a bomb exploding in her tummy.  Before she could think the waiter brought the bill.  It was a whopping £2,546.

“Thanks.” She smiled at the waiter.  “Can I ask a favour please?”

The waiter leaned in as if she was about to reveal the secrets of the universe.

“Could you check the bathrooms, I think something has happened to my date.”

The waiter left and came back ten minutes later. 

“He is not there, here or anywhere in the vicinity madam.”  And then after a long pause… “how would you like to settle the bill?”

This level of evilness is guaranteed to crash my evilness-measure app!

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