They don’t call him Nutty T for nothing

1

A sadistic lot they are, these LDF soldiers.
At least that is what the dreadlocked young man at the local watering hole would like us to believe.
Nutty T, as Teboho the Rastafarian likes to call himself, is an angry man.
Two weeks ago, Nutty T caught wind of a party being held at house close to his, in honour of the child of a senior LDF officer. Apparently the child had graduated with one degree or the other. Nutty T does not really pay mind to these academic things.
Anyway, Nutty T decided to help the military man and his family celebrate this momentous occasion, even though the post office seemed to have misplaced his official invite. 
Upon arriving, the Rasta man claims he was given a warm reception. They gave him a plate full of papa and vegetables, since his religion does not allow him to touch any meat. Soon enough the drinks started flowing and everything was going cook and curry, as the Jamaicans would say.
The trouble started when Nutty T laid eyes on a beautiful young thing who was dancing in the crowd. She had beautiful eyes, a skin as smooth as velvet and her striking silhouette had an angelic aura under those night lights. He knew he had to go for her.
The dreadlocked playboy excused himself from where he was seated and, with a shake of his shoulder-length locks and a stretch of his arms, stepped out to where the fine damsel was.
Nutty T asked for a dance and a dance he got. However, at some point he must have fancied himself the new Patrick Swayze and began dabbling in some dirty dancing.
This did not go down well with the owner of the house who, it turned out, was miffed by the sight of his daughter getting down like this in full view of his workmates.
The military man made only one request. I have no problems with you taking my daughter, he told Nutty T. But any son-in-law of mine must have presentable hair. With that he gave Nutty T an afro comb and asked him to disentangle his locks into a nice afro.
Those who were there say Nutty T took the Afro and actually tried to comb his hair before fleeing, but the Rasta man says he did no such thing and instead told those army goons to take their comb back to their barracks.
Anyway, today he sits besides Bacchus, dreadlocks intact. They do not call him Nutty T for nothing.

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