Much more interesting on a screen than in person. Aren't we all a bit like that?
DM for promo
Joined July 2023
- Tweets26.2K
- Following1.2K
- Followers3.5K
- Likes60.6K
𝙄𝙘𝙮 ⛓ retweeted
No matter how close two brothers are, they can never share one wife, but two sisters can share one husband.
𝙄𝙘𝙮 ⛓ retweeted
Soon as these niggas pop pills they be swearing they a killer, nigga sit your mf bitch high ass down 😭 😭
𝙄𝙘𝙮 ⛓ retweeted
People with spouses from a different tribe...how do you even quarrel? There's that kind of anger that requires mother tongue.
𝙄𝙘𝙮 ⛓ retweeted
I have been trying to warn these people, telling them this is a scam but they’re long gone. 😭😂
@JumiaGhana @Jumia_Group
@JumiaGhana @Jumia_Group I don't know if you're aware of this but people are using your brand and name to scam.
A number (UK number) called me yesterday telling me to contact them on WhatsApp. When I did, she introduced herself as Kaline (probably a fake name) and said she's a promoter from Jumia.
She sent me a product link and asked me to like the product on that page and send a screenshot. I did. She then sent me a Telegram handle to chat and gave me a random invite number to use, which I also did.
The Telegram handle asked me to join a group, took my number, and sent me GH¢20 as a registration bonus. They said the actual work would begin the next day, which was today.
I knew it was a scam from the start but I wanted to see how far they'd go and what they were actually after.
Today the tasks began. The first three tasks in the group, spaced 10 minutes apart, were simple: click the product link (which takes you to Jumia's website), like the product, then send a screenshot to the group. Each task was supposed to earn GH¢10.
The fourth task was the catch I was waiting for. They ask you to send money to purchase a product, and claim they'll "buy it back" from you, refunding your money plus a commission and payment for the previous tasks.
They've already refunded people who sent money, along with the commissions. I believe this is purely to build trust before the bigger scam comes in.
I privately reached out to some members of the group to warn them, but it seems many are already in too deep. The scammers already earned their trust with that first refund.
I can give details, numbers and handles involved if you want.
(This graphic is from the group)
𝙄𝙘𝙮 ⛓ retweeted
Spent most of today posting and commenting in Cantonese. Here’s my feeling:
- Surprisingly the translation did a good job, most of the audience understood
- But when it gets more conversational, it drops… still doesn’t turn into something weird though
- Sometimes I keep feeling rude when someone talks to me in English and I reply in Cantonese…
- It’s so easy to get misunderstood for those slang and short phrases in Cantonese 🫠
I can’t do this anymore but you guys feel free to come by and drop Chinese comments anytime, I’d definitely reply in Chinese.
AND Elon Musk should just hire me as a Cantonese AI trainer. @Grok Please tell your boss.
𝙄𝙘𝙮 ⛓ retweeted
WHEN REJECTION TURNS INTO A NIGHTMARE: SHE SCREAMED FOR HELP. I RAN IN. NOW I'M THE ACCUSED
At 11:43 p.m., I heard my female neighbour screaming for help.
I didn't think twice.
I rushed out of my apartment and ran towards her door. It was slightly open.
"Please! Somebody help me!"
I pushed it open.
And froze.
She was on the floor, completely naked, crying and trembling. Her clothes were scattered across the room. She looked terrified.
"Who did this to you?" I asked.
She looked straight at me.
Then she screamed.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!"
I stumbled backwards, confused.
"I heard you screaming. I came to help!"
She grabbed a pillow, covered herself and began crying even louder.
Within minutes, neighbours rushed out of their apartments. Someone called the police.
I tried explaining what had happened, but nobody seemed interested in listening.
Then she pointed at me with a trembling finger.
"He came into my room!"
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"He forced his way inside!"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
This was the same woman who had been flirting with me for months.
The same woman whose advances I had rejected repeatedly because I wasn't interested in a relationship with her.
Three weeks earlier, she'd cornered me near the staircase.
"Why do you keep avoiding me?" she'd asked.
"I'm not avoiding you. I'm simply not interested."
Her smile disappeared.
"One day, you'll regret making me feel this way."
I'd dismissed it as anger.
Now, standing in front of my neighbours, watching her accuse me of something I hadn't done, those words returned like a warning I should never have ignored.
The police arrived.
I explained that I'd heard her scream and entered to help.
They asked why I'd gone inside without permission.
"Because she was screaming for help!"
One officer looked at me coldly.
"And you expect us to believe that?"
They took me to the station.
As I sat in the interrogation room, I kept replaying the scene in my head.
Why had she screamed at me when I entered?
Who had been in that apartment before me?
And why did she seem more determined to destroy me than to explain what had happened?
At 2:17 a.m., an officer entered with a file.
"You're being formally charged."
My mouth went dry.
Then he added something that made my entire body go cold.
"Your neighbour says this wasn't the first time you've entered her apartment."
I had never entered her apartment before that night.
Someone was lying.
And I was the one paying for it.
By morning, the story had spread through our apartment complex.
Some neighbours avoided eye contact.
Others stared at me as though my guilt had already been established.
My employer called.
My older brother called.
Even people who barely knew me were asking questions.
𝙄𝙘𝙮 ⛓ retweeted
my coworker told me to double check that i was muted before i started venting about our manager on the team call.
i said i've been working from home in denver for 3 years and i know how a mute button works. i said it with a very smug little shrug, like a woman who has never made a mistake.
i opened my laptop in my robe, with a mug of coffee and a fuzzy blanket over my knees. the meeting hadn't started yet, so i began a full speech to my cat about "the way he says 'circle back' like it's a personality." i even did the voice. i was really proud of the voice...
𝙄𝙘𝙮 ⛓ retweeted
He made the stage look effortless even at full scale. In the stadium shot he’s leaning into the mic under the night lights, black jacket and silver stripe cutting through the glow while thousands sit behind him, and he still holds the frame like the crowd is secondary. The body is angled over the edge of the stage, white socks and black shoes visible above the row of yellow lights.
The lean is the one people still copy. He’s tilted hard in the white pinstripe suit and fedora, one hand extended, the mic stand beside him under the blue lights, the full angle of the pose clean from the shoes up against the dark background. The sequined jacket shot is earlier and tighter white glove on one hand, legs wide, mic in the other and the energy is already there under the warmer lights, audience visible in the foreground.
What stands out across all two is the control. The body stays precise whether he’s on the edge of a massive outdoor stage, locked into that extreme lean, or working a smaller concert setup. The outfits change, the lighting changes, the crowd size changes, but the movement stays sharp and the mic stays close. He turned the performance itself into the main event, and these frames still show why people watched.
𝙄𝙘𝙮 ⛓ retweeted
I've driven the number 7 tram in Vilnius for eighteen years. I mostly watch the road, but the mirror above my head shows me the whole carriage.
Every weekday at 7:50, a woman in a green scarf got on at the university stop. She'd sit by the window with a worn paperback and read it out loud. Not loudly, just softly enough for the people nearby to hear.
Most passengers found it odd. A few moved seats. She never noticed, or pretended not to.
Three weeks in, a man in a grey work jacket started boarding at the same stop. He sat directly opposite her, took out a thin children's book from his pocket, and held it open without turning a single page.
He never looked at her. He just watched her lips, very carefully, for the whole ride.
On a snowy Thursday, I saw her stop mid-sentence, close the book and look straight at him. I held my breath at the red light...
𝙄𝙘𝙮 ⛓ retweeted
My mother left my wedding reception after my husband’s grandmother asked her a question nobody expected.
“How long are you going to keep pretending you don’t know who your daughter really is?”
The music stopped.
My mother dropped her glass.
And my husband, who had been smiling moments earlier, suddenly looked terrified.
My name is Elena Brooks, and I grew up believing my father had died when I was three years old.
My mother raised me alone in a small house in Ohio. She worked as a nurse, often taking extra shifts to pay my school fees.
Whenever I asked about my father, she told me he had been a good man who died in an accident.
I never questioned her.
When I met Christopher, I finally felt as though my life was falling into place. He was kind, patient, and came from a family that welcomed me warmly.
His grandmother, Margaret, was particularly affectionate.
She would sometimes stare at me for a long time before saying, “You have your mother’s eyes.”
I assumed she meant my eye color.
Three months before our wedding, Christopher introduced me to his grandmother properly.
The moment she saw my mother, her face went pale.
She asked where we had lived when I was a child, then excused herself before dinner ended.
I asked Christopher about it afterward.
He said his grandmother had been unwell lately.
I accepted his explanation.
Then came our wedding day.
Everything was beautiful until Margaret approached my mother during the reception.
She looked at her for several seconds before asking that question.
My mother began trembling.
Christopher stepped between them.
“Grandma, please don’t do this here.”
I turned toward him.
“Do what? What is going on?”
Neither answered.
Then Margaret looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“Elena, your father didn’t die in an accident.”
My entire world seemed to stop.