Posts Tagged ‘AIDS’

After all is said and done, Hitler was a monster to say the least

First and foremost, I want to vehemently state that my blog is not gutter press unlike most other blogs today out there. I will not point fingers either for that reason. At, we do not wear over-sized blue grandma sweaters either that bring out the best of our nostrils and underline your social. We do not say who is fucking who, and who is who’s sweaterheart. Wait, what?

Never mind.

The real reason I wrote this blog is because I miss you fellas. It’s been a while since I wrote anything that’s relevant to Twitter as I have recently re-discovered a talent I had long forgotten I had; creative writing. However, a few things have caught my attention that require to be addressed urgently and which require your opinion. Not that I care about your opinions, but I do appreciate it because it keeps my blog going.

The biggest of those issues is the still to be solved death of a fallen hero of the Kenyan law and constitution, Mr. Mutula Kilonzo, whom, as it is now emerging, was a champion in the bedroom with a little help from another learned friend called Viagra. Yes, it was obvious Mr. Mutula, may he RIP, was with a woman the morning he died. However, I will not even begin to describe my shock and dismay after it emerged that the woman in question was in fact another champion; a champion of plagiarism.

Her name is Caroline Mutoko. After all, we all know she doesn’t date people with mediocre minds like the rest of us. We’re numbskulls, remember?

So, to put this in perspective, if it is proven she was indeed the said woman, she preaches water on how people to be faithful, when she’s in fact, drinking wine. Issorait. Carol, as someone pointed out, if this is true, this will be a big Blow to your Job. Never mind, KOT can be crafty with words. Point is, you have a daughter and you’re dating Radio Africa’s Patrick Quarco. The irony of it all being the speed at which you rebuke cheating partners. You’re a fucking cheetah.

But then again, as I said, all this is if it’s proven true. I am not ready for a defamation lawsuit. You can read the original post unmasking her here:

Then there’s the small matter of the bedbugs in Kenyatta University hostels. Well, it’s not like we’re really shocked; at least now we know who, ok, for purposes of this post, what taught the ladies at KU to be really good at sucking. Full pun intended. Dating a KU chic is hard, and reasonably so. First, she will suck your money, because granted, she will not be stealing side mirrors from motorists when you’re around.

Then, you finally think you’ve caught a break and that you’ll get laid; wapi? So she invites you over, and knowing how difficult men find it to reject sex, you’ll rush over.. Forgetting there are bedbugs that will see your erection as a thankful of blood. And guess what my friend, you cannot exile them. Hell, they call their friends over to enjoy the feast at hand.

To make matters worse, as if we haven’t had a bad enough past couple of weeks already, Jaguar released yet another music video from his recently launched ‘eh eh eh’ genre of music; you know the type of music where the words ‘eh’ feature after every three words to produce rhyming effect because the song doesn’t make sense.

I wouldn’t say it was a bad video considering he spent his fortune making it, featuring a convertible Bentley. Pause. And a plane, albeit a small, joke of a plane, but hey, a plane is a plane, so LANES people. He even got to throw a bash that featured Mugoya and Nick Mutuma.

Sadly, Jaguar has to learn that an expensive video doesn’t make the music sound good, especially when Vee Baiby is not in it. As some idiot on Twitter said last week, if Bamzigi and Jaguar were to fall off a cliff, it is Kenyan Music that would survive.

Finally, the condoms. I still do not get why Catholic priests are still against these life savers. I’m very sure none of you would be theoretically against it if altar boys were to theoretically get pregnant. Plus, you contradict yourselves. You preach the body is the temple of the Lord, yet you encourage people to kill the Lord’s temples with HIV/AIDS by not using condoms.

Do you sleep at night knowing because of you some people might never live their lives to their fullest? That some of them are right now considering committing suicide because they had unprotected sex following your advice and contracted HIV? Does it make you feel more significant contradicting scientific facts just because you don’t believe in it? Guess what, it only makes you sound ignorant and worse murderers than Hitler because, guess what again, you’re almost at the halfway mark of the total people that died due to his actions.

Anyway, that is just my opinion, but as I said, I’d love to hear what you guys have to say, especially on the condom issue. In the meantime, I’ll go back to picking up the scattered pieces of my broken heart because Grace Msalame called these two idiots @iDaywa and @mSale_ ‘babie’ on my TL.

*leaves holding onions to disguise the tears*

The ultimate symbol of undying love in modern marriage is a ring

Dear wife,

I don’t know who you are and you don’t know me either. If it were up to me, this is how it would remain. In the event that we do meet (sadly, as we will eventually do), I want you to know that I will do my best to love you and be there for you. However, in order for that to happen, you will have to observe a few guidelines that I have take the liberty of coming up with.

First and foremost, if, God forbid, we do at some point in time discover that I am impotent, please do not panic. I have been saving up my sperm in an undisclosed sperm bank for an undisclosed fee. I am fully aware that many marriages break because of the absence of children to hold them together; however, you have Beyonce and Rihanna to thank as that is not going to be the case, thanks to the saved sperm. I refuse to elaborate further on this issue for moral reasons. Unilever Company, the company that makes Vaseline, wouldn’t be too amused either if I revealed the exact nature of our transactions.

And speaking of children, if our first child is a girl, I will name her Beyonce or Rihanna in gratitude to them. Not buts- refer to the previous paragraph above why this must be so, unless you will be okay with Julie Gichuru for our second daughter. If on the other hand it will be son, then, WE will sit down TOGETHER and come up with a good name. Nothing fancy like Ashton or out-dated like Leon or common like Kevin and definitely not, a religious name like Eustace or anything that declares him gay at birth like Bieber.

Another thing, I will expect you to dress up and behave like a lady. To that effect, I ban long dresses, skirts, baggy trousers, mothers’ union panties, condom shoes, weaves, wigs, Equity Bank T shirts or any other beauty product designed to fool my eyes. In fact, the shorter and the scantier the dress, the better. Also, NEVER roll yourself in a bale of flour like Sheila Mwanyigah or even possess her genes if she’s your mother. I expect you to wear see-through night dresses or night gowns or nothing at all and not pajamas. For recommended dressing in my house, please feel free to download Beyonce’s or Rihanna’s photos. They are free on the internet.

In addition, I expect you to fully support Arsenal FC. I therefore declare it the family team. You will attend games with me in proper attire (read an Arsenal jersey) and you will not under whatever circumstances make fun of the family team. It will also be your duty to teach our children to adore support the family team like their parents. If your friends support Manchester United, Barcelona, Chelsea, Manchester City or Tottenham, please ditch them in advance. You can however be friends with people that support Liverpool on grounds of extreme pity, while those that support Real Madrid and Juventus you will honour for their immense talents and or wealth. Please note that I am exempt to the above guideline.

Next, it will be an unforgivable mistake to let me cook my own food or to let me eat food cooked by anyone else but you, and that includes the house-help. I expect you to perform your wifely duties diligently. You will cook and take care of me and in return, I will reward you with the D whenever you ask for it. In addition, you will be expected to know how to prepare Mukimo, which will be our family food, as dictated by Kikuyu custom and tradition. (I doubt my mother will give me her blessing if I marry a woman who can’t prepare Mukimo). In the event I do marry you and you don’t know how to cook Mukimo, I will expect you to learn how to do it within the first six months of our marriage. During this period, I will eat food that is not prepared by you and that will include Chips Funga(s) and or Chips Mwitu(s).

It is also, in my opinion, very important that we should have adequate time for each other if we are to form a strong family bond. As such, we will spend as much time as possible having sex. At least two times a day should suffice. Nevertheless, no one is perfect and neither will we. We will therefore allow a sex expert of the female gender to join us and evaluate our sex-life. This should be at least once every three months. You can call it whatever the hell you want, but I personally prefer the term ‘three-some’. Remember, AT LEAST once every three months.

Moreover, you will be a church-going woman. You will thus have to attend church every Sunday in order to pray for our family, as well as to pray for me so that I succeed- I am the breadwinner of this family after all, right? My success, as you already know, will determine how well I am able to take care of you and our kids. I therefore urge you fast at least once a month (just before pay day) so that I will have enough money for you and the kids after I drink, party and go wild. You are welcome to tag along whenever I go out drinking, but make prior arrangements for someone to take care of the kids. Also, if we go out, I cannot promise that I will not pick up any Chips Funga(s) or Chips Mwitu(s). I will however allow you to attend one or two parties every four months because I do not plan to be a selfish husband.

Finally, you will respect my friends and more importantly, my mother as well as the above guidelines. In return, I will love you till the day I take my last breath and I will support you, respect you and make you the queen of my heart.

Yours faithfully,


P.S.- For a successful marriage, Chips Funga and Chips Mwitu are exclusively to be eaten by one of us; in this case, me. Chips Mwitu refers to any woman I will pick up on the street, not a prostitute. I will not give you AIDS.

P.S.S.- Failure to observe any of the above will be grounds for an immediate divorce.

Sam Childers, the real Machine Gun Preacher, whose character is played by Gerard Butler in the 2011 film, The Machine Gun Preacher.

The baby wasn’t so ugly that both his parents feared to show up for his birth. He wasn’t deformed either. With every fiber of her being, the new mother lifted up her newborn baby and said a quick thank you to her God for the boy before she passed out from exhaustion. In the years that followed, the young boy was perceived as a blessing; he truly had a bright future laid out for him. Both his father and mother were farmers in the little Ugandan village of Odek, but that didn’t stop him from dreaming of great heights. He wasn’t the typical classroom genius per se; in fact, he was more popular for his humor and excellent dancing skills. And his dark side.

The boy slowly gained a reputation as a violent but charismatic person, who could use his tongue to sway the masses. Sooner or later, he expressed his desire to be a leader and the easiest way to do that would entail a little more training. He enrolled as an apprentice for a witch doctor and his mentor was none other than his brother. Then disaster struck when his fellow tribesman was ousted from the presidency by an aspiring Ugandan called Museveni and his aunt Alice Auma a.k.a. Lakwena , who led an occult neo-political movement known as the Holy Spirit Movement, was killed in a protest against the new government.

His life was never the same. He soon declared himself a prophet of his people and he built upon his aunt’s former movement to come up with his own in a bid to regain control of a world that was fast spinning away. Once a naïve boy and now a full grown man, he found himself the center of attention and it wasn’t long before his movement was outlawed when he started hitting back at the government. He turned against his people and began raiding them when he realized the declining state of the resources at his disposal. His people, the Acholi, turned against him in bitter and equal response.

A few months later, he claimed the Spirit of the Lord spoke to him in his dreams and ordered him to kill people and marry 88 wives. Yes, kill people who stand in your way, including those that eat and rear pork. Also, rape the women and force them into prostitution. If you can’t convince them, confuse them; he brainwashed people with his ideals and they followed him. He started raiding villages on a large scale, the beautiful women he took for his own, while the ugly ones were shit out of luck. Those were either killed or forced to be his prostitutes. The kids, he had other plans for. The girls were sold off as sex slaves while the boys, he handed Kalashnikovs, rather, AK 47s. His newly recruited soldiers, the young boys, he sprinkled holy water on to convince them of divine protection from bullets.

That man, if you still have no idea who I’m talking about, is Joseph Rao Kony, one of the ICC’s most wanted criminals responsible for abduction of 104,000 children, displacement of over 2,000,000 people and the cold murder of about 1000 people per week. He is the outlaw the USA has used to invade Uganda on the premise of humanitarian aid. And the movement he formed is now the terror group known to many as the Lord’s Resistance Army. Most importantly, he is villain in the movie, the Machine Gun Preacher, a movie based on true events that tells the story of a criminal who is turned into a preacher who devotes his life to protecting and rescuing young African kids from people like Kony.

A long, fairly intense movie if you ask me, although  the Machine Gun Preacher doesn’t contain lots of computer enhanced grotesque images like its counterparts ‘Hotel Rwanda’ and the original ‘The Exorcist’- the one shot in Kenya. No, it builds its plot from empathizing with kids who have lost everything who look up to a former convict for hope in a land where chances of dying from a land mine explosion are higher than chances of dying from AIDS. It is in fact based on the true story of Sam Childers, a man who fought Kony without ever actually having met him. For me, the kid that had to kill his mother to save his little brother before being abducted to serve as a child soldier did it for me.

For those that haven’t watched it, I’d hate to be a party pooper so I will not ruin it for you. That is hardly my style. On the whole, the movie tells of a man who is released from prison and is faced with the daunting task of rebuilding his family; he is married to Lynn, a former stripper, with whom he has a young daughter but his care-free thug life and drug addiction are his biggest challenges. All this changes when he coldly murders a man, no, slaughters a man and he finds himself pulled closer to God courtesy of his conscience. On a voluntary trip to South Sudan, he encounters pain and terror first hand, especially when he witnesses a young boy blown to bits by a land mine. On realizing his calling is here, he starts a church back home and an orphanage in war-torn Sudan for the kids he intends to rescue from Kony’s grip with the help of a handful Army Officers on his payroll. It earns him a visit by the late Dr. John Garang and eventually, a handsome bounty on his head offered by Kony.

This isn’t deja moo; no you haven’t heard this bull before. I may not envy fatherhood, but that movie made me realize I love kids; it depresses me to watch kids suffer or know that they will never get the same opportunities afforded to me by God through my parents. Sometimes I’ll walk through the streets and see a kid in dirty, badly stitched remnants of clothes with a bottle of glue on his mouth and it will take every fiber of my being not to do anything. Deep down, I want to walk over, lift him up, get him cleaned him up, buy him food, take him for a medical checkup then put him in school so as to give him a decent chance of making something of his life; but I don’t. I hope somebody who sees the situation as I do and has the resources to do it does what I cannot do.

The real question is what can or have you done to make a difference? For my part, I will devote a day per month to visit a children’s home and anyone of you reading this is and wants to tag along, please feel free. No matter how much the cost of living goes up, life will always remain popular, even to those kids that struggle to make it through life without the support or guardianship of an adult. The least we can do is making it a worthwhile experience for them. I have accrued enough bad experiences arising from multiple bad judgments to know that for once, I will be doing the right thing. To those that think it is a waste of time, please support bacteria; I fear it may be the only culture people like you and Kony have.

(Watch Video below on Sam Childers)

Africa's beauty is best illustrated by this beautiful photo

Few of you know I am an avid reader, I love reading anything that doesn’t lead to exams. Anyway, one day I’m reading some journal and I stumble upon a piece on insecurity in the US. It went on to describe how three lads who were out in the city were attacked by a mugger, who demanded they give him all their valuables or he would inject them with AIDS. Two of the lads immediately gave up their money and everything else they had, but the third, man the third made my day. He refused to give up anything on him and told the mugger to fuck off. The mugger injected him and ran. So the first two lads look at him in dismay and ask, “Are you crazy? Now you have AIDS because you wouldn’t part with a few coins!” This third guy smiles confidently and says, “No, no, it’s alright, I’m wearing a condom.” PAUSE. I should leave you to guess whether or not I was banned from the library by the Librarian on grounds of gross disturbance of peace and violation of a million other rules I think he made up on the spot.

Now, my point was not to illustrate that some people only gargled from the fountain of knowledge. No, that story got me thinking, and I came to the conclusion that in Africa, that story wouldn’t have ended as it did. We all know how that script would have read had the same mugger attacked three black people. One of them would claim he already has AIDS and he isn’t scared, which would give the rest an opportunity to jump the mugger. They would proceed to beat him senseless then, to teach him a lesson, they would share among themselves what the mugger made that day. A crowd would have formed by now; someone would already have nicked a tyre from any car parked close by. Another would produce petrol while another from the same crowd would have a matchbox ready. The mugger would be dead before the police arrived at the scene while people would go home like nothing happened; after all, he wouldn’t be the first mob justice victim, right?

Wrong. The above is a white man’s perception of Africa.

Someone once mentioned to me that Africa will never reach any level of development minutely close to that of the first world countries; he was wrong. According to him, we strive hard to get to where the developed countries are, forgetting that by the time we are able to use nuclear energy, they will have discovered and started using another source of energy, perhaps sand? That by the time an African country manages to build a car, the West will have moved on to something more convenient, teleporting may be? He went as far as to say he was convinced the West would develop wings for mankind. Had it not been for non-existence of eye-hand coordination courtesy of my dear friend Alcohol, I would have given this fellow a beating. I opted instead to give him a piece of my mind, that he was wrong.

I know we may be the only place on earth where it is okay to rig elections, organize post-election skirmishes, then resolve the whole issue like it never happened through a power-sharing deal constituting 42 ministers in one ‘grand coalition.’ True, I still think African presidency is the biggest conspiracy since the ‘Americans landed on the moon conspiracy.’ I also acknowledge that my opinions do not matter to the Kenyan government because they would just form another of the 10 million named committees of experts to look into the matter. But hey, life gives you lemons. You make lemonade and if you don’t know how, you eat it. Either way it ends up in the stomach. That is the African spirit. I simply do not care that we will be rebuilding railways every five years after general elections because some idiot in Kibera thought the absence of the railway hurts Kenya more than the citizens of its landlocked neighbors, Uganda and Rongai. My point being, it is what makes us Kenyans and thus, Africans.

I am also fully aware, as you should, that Africa is the only place on the face of the earth where a 14-seater matatu will carry double that number of people and somehow everyone will find a place to sit. The Luhya people can bear me witness that 15 of them, including the driver will fit into a 5-seater Pro-pox (for the record I still don’t buy that they think Pro-pox is some variant of chicken pox or that Mascara is the plural of the Swahili word sigara.) In Africa, we have our own way of doing things. We will even act pornography in local dialects and we won’t be embarrassed when the star of the show decides halfway to tell her fellow actor “Mastyro perekea bibi yako“. In fact, we are so religious that the ratio of churches to available brethren is 20:1. Hell, it is illegal to take alcohol regardless that you are over 18 years of age or not thanks to one Mututho. And if you didn’t already know, everyone here is a businessman- we all know the quickest way to double your money is to fold it in half and put it back in your pocket; plus you can’t make good money if you sell SHAMpoo. In Africa we have REALpoo.

That same Anti-Africa friend of mine also thinks that the 2010 FIFA World Cup tournament held in South Africa was the worst football disaster ever witnessed, far more grave than Arsenal’s recent grass 8-ting competition. It is 2 sad my eyes had to witness it. Anyway, my friend was yet again wrong. I believe South Africa organized the best World Cup tournament ever witnessed, because they managed to creatively blend football with a colourful concert… the Vuvuzela Concert. Sure they have a clown for a president, who happens to think AIDS can be washed away with a cold shower, but I have to give credit where it is due. The event captured the true African spirit. In fact, the only reason an African country did not win the World Cup is because of our good hospitality. We let our guests pick the best food before we can pick some ourselves. Charity begins at home after all. I would say Africa and Liverpoop are solely to blame for the death of our trusted match-fixer, Paul the Octopus. Poor thing laughed so hard when he heard Africa actually hoped to win the tournament he died.

To the West we may be barbaric, backward, uneducated and primitive but truth is, most of them are so narrow minded they can see through a keyhole with both eyes. They came in the name of Christ, looted our land and our wives and all we got to show for it was a damn bible. That we couldn’t even read mind you because it was written in their damn language! As far as I’m concerned we have the best weed on earth and our women don’t need Silicone implants in their breasts to look beautiful. The scenery is simply exhilarating. Besides, money is not really an issue because if we need more we’ll just print it (ask Mugabe); and the people are great. The people man! Africa is best defined by its people, and I love them no homo. Long live Africa.

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22 year old Brenda Wairimu who acts the role of Dala in season 2 of MTV's Shuga

I will never forget the day my father gave me my first sex talk. My mum had sent me to tell him that supper would be ready in two secs… Now, being eight years old, my vocabulary of abbreviations was quite limited, so in my hunger for knowledge, I asked, “Dad, what does secs mean?” Only God knows how my father heard sex- I have recently come to the conclusion he was just horny from the porn he had been watching because when I entered the room he quickly turned off the TV. Anyway, he looks at me dumbfounded and then for some reason, he decides to go all out and tell me what sex is. He got as far as telling me that “when a man and a woman love each other….” story where the man and the woman, and I quote, “Do what you saw the cows doing the other day”. It was at this point that he realized that he realized I had been looking at him with a rather peculiar face. So he asked, “Why do you want to know anyway?” “Mum said to tell you supper will be ready in two secs.” The look on his face was priceless.

That brings me to the reason for this post. SEX. I have your attention now, no? Jokes, this is not the Penthouse Magazine. A few months ago, a pal of mine broke up with his girlfriend. He was okay, until the dry spell started and there were no visible signs of a downpour. Then he realized how people in Turkana feel when some tourist spends an hour in the toilet when they cannot even remember the last time they were there themselves. So we’re drinking at my place and coincidentally, the show on TV is none other than Shuga, or as it has been rebranded by Kenyans on Twitter, Sguga. We have had quite enough to drink already but the sad thing about alcohol is that the more you get drunk, the more you want to take more. So it gets to the point where Nick Mutuma falls in love with Avril and is confused between whether to choose her or to stick with his girlfriend, the lovely miss Brenda (please, like that was a difficult choice!). Brian goes like, “Man, I miss Angie…” PAUSE. I try to get up on my feet but whoever told me alcohol would get me fat clearly lied. All alcohol does is make you lean… on chairs and tables and ugly people. In this case, there was nothing to lean on.

I convince myself that it’s probably better to remain seated (read Nick and Avril are making out on Sguga). So I tell Brian that it was probably an alcohol induced moment of weakness, that he wants to get back with her because he feels guilty. Now, if you’ve been in a relationship that didn’t work and you had to break up with the person you once told you’d walk a mile for them, you know it almost always never works out if you do manage to get back together. Please note I did not say a thousand miles- it is important to be realistic; it’s why we have vehicles nowadays. Also, I used the term vehicle because I was clueless as to where to classify the Vitz. I honestly believe it is a genetically modified version of a wheelbarrow. Anyway, Brian hears none of it. He picks his phone and calls her. Thankfully, she doesn’t pick up and Brian puts the phone down, depressed. Now I am genuinely worried. The last time he got this emotional when drunk he disappeared the entire night and never breathed a word of his whereabouts. I was later told by a friend of a friend that he was spotted somewhere on Koinange Street. I quickly hide the key to the door.

It could only mean one of two things; either my pal genuinely missed his ex and wanted her back, or he was in desperate need of getting laid without having to pay for it. I knew it wasn’t the former because he already had a new girlfriend, but the problem was he still wasn’t getting any… You see, sex is like air. You realize it’s important when you stop getting it. I was right. He even forgot her number when his new girlfriend finally got him laid. What I’m really trying to say, take it or leave it, is that sex has become an important aspect of modern relationships. Hell, the only reason most people nowadays get into relationships is because they are assured of sex at least once a week. I highly doubt Bruno Mars would have been so willing to catch that grenade if he wasn’t getting any… Why get blown to bits of meat and bone for someone that wasn’t even willing to blow you herself in the first place? I would though, but not for the reason you think; but that is a story for another day.

Personally, I value virginity but I happen to think that once you’ve started having sex, it is advisable to have sex regularly. It makes no sense to blame your wife or girlfriend of infidelity when she bears a kid with brown hair just because your hair is black and so is hers. Nigger, if you have sex with her only five times in a year then clearly you’re the one that’s getting rusty- you need to think out of the box. It’s why your penis has a hole in it so you can think with an open mind. I know, I know. It sounds absurd; that’s because it is. Actually, I don’t buy it either. Picture this; Arap Sang’s wife bears a child taller than Sang. My point being, the last miracle to happen on Earth is clearly documented in the Bible. If you suspect foul play, it probably is…  It’s like a psychic asking for your name- they should know people, literally.

And when I say regularly I don’t mean you go fuck eight women who all happen to be friends for that matter and brag about it. Have a faithful sex partner who you trust wont sleep around and who won’t bring you the brown-haired baby… We all know AIDS and pregnancy are a reality so you got to protect yourself. Use a condom and make sure you’re using contraceptives. Don’t endeavor to be an uncle at an early age like me courtesy of Ken and Anita; it isn’t funny shopping for maternity dresses and pampers. In Sguga, everyone eventually catches AIDS; you don’t have to make that script a reality.