My Stolen Magic Card

Blind and numb like death dispenser of cudinatis, enemy of the masses of mascara! Made possible by holy wizardry not in white Man's land but within the enclave of black sentiment! golden fleece released by mental ingenuity I fear science! Technology awes me in bewildered extremism! But alas, my magic card is stolen by the nemesis of unfortunate altruism. Two ignoble gentlemen joined in mischief stole my magic card! Peddlers of ungodly trade prodded this ugly cudgel at my brow! oh! lola, noblest of mankind! my miffed lips hardly could utter a word to its detriment! Oh! thanks, heavens! the card lacked hole for unholy propitiation they shall maneuver but the head lies in the birth of the owner except death and forceful recovery can take away the secret number. Alas naija! Alas my brother! The trade mark identity has been stolen. Whence shall I go for reimbursement of the stolen naira or who shall replace the golden wallet? I do not know! This act does not surprise the city of Lagos, the capital of moral impropriety. At the end of this three moons, my loads I shall pack and run to safety where sanctity and truth reign. in the north, similar episode outplayed and the result unexpected. But in this Lagos, theft and perjury escalate. Alas! Alas! My magic card thy holy comfort I shall deeply miss adieu! Sweat rainfall, adieu