Posts Tagged ‘attempted humour’

Pretty little liars

A man died and went to Heaven, where he met St. Peter at the Pearly Gates. However, as he looked around amazed by the beauty of Heaven, he soon spotted a large wall with millions of clocks on it and curious, he asked, “Excuse me sir, but what are all those clocks?”

St. Peter looked at him and replied, “Those are the Lie Clocks. Everyone on earth has a Lie Clock and every time you lie, the hands on your clock will move.”

“Oh,” he continued, “And whose clock is that?” St. Peter replied, “That belongs to Jesus. The hands have never moved, indicating he never told a lie.”

“And whose is that?” he asked, amazed. “That one belongs to Abraham Lincoln. The hands have only moved twice, indicating he only told two lies his entire life.”

“And where is my clock?” he asked, clearly excited. St. Peter grinned and said, “Oh, yours is in my office. I am currently using it as a fan.”

Sadly, whether that man went to heaven or not, I have no idea. He was Kikuyu unfortunately and from what I hear, they have been banned from hell after they once put out the fire and tried to sell Lucifer a matchbox. Heaven too; there they falsified documents for their loved ones back on earth. More seriously though, I used that man symbolically to represent the women living in our midst. Shocked? Probably not. If you’re a woman and you’re still reading this post, please stop; i am out to expose you.

Oh, well, I guess you can’t follow instructions either. And you ask why I do not trust any woman other than my mother. Moving on. I compiled a list of the worst lies women hide beneath at the expense of unsuspecting men. To my fellow men, I kindly ask you to take a seat, this might get ugly:

Dating

You have been duped, and you’ve fallen flat on your face. Remember that one time she told you, “Hey honey, I am sorry I couldn’t come to see you. I was hanging out with my friends and I thought it would have been awkward for you.” or that time she said she couldn’t tell you she loved you back because she was at a meeting or with her parents? Or worse, how she told you she already had a boyfriend or that time she said she’d just come out of a difficult relationship but she insisted you can be friends? Of course you do. She broke your heart. Not to add to your misery, but she probably thought you are one ugly nigger.

May be she tricked you into carrying her handbag only for you to find out you’d been friend zoned? I am sorry to break your heart further; she probably didn’t want you from the start. She loves you, granted, but just as much as she loves the tents and sufurias in her massive handbag. You’re her accessory. Not to worry, I have the perfect solution for you; walk away. If you’re the one that fell for the ‘I couldn’t tell you I love you’ excuse, I have an even better solution, find a shot gun and find the man that’s been banging her behind your back. Also, if she said you’re her third lover, double that and add 3.

Her Language

All women lie. Period. That includes her body language for your information. Give it up, you can’t read the signs. You told her, “Is it okay if the boys and I go to a strip club? It’s Ken’s birthday,” And she replied, “It’s okay dear. Go have fun.” Never mind the fact that you found her waiting for you at the said strip club- you hadn’t even told her which- with a strange illness that somehow disappeared when you agreed to take her to the hospital. Lying is an art women have perfected. She’ll tell you one thing when she means the exact opposite.

“The sex was great.”

Yeah, she was embarrassed to ask whether it was in. In fact, she wished she’d told you that you are better at turning on phones and other electronics. My advice, do not try to understand her; Always have more songs for their ads- enough to release an album- than the knowledge men have about women.

Her Appearance

This is how far this conspiracy goes. It’s in her makeup, her boobs and her ass and of course, in her hair. It’s in everything she wears. A friend of mine confessed how he dumped his girlfriend without a shred of emotion when the doctor ordered her head shaved so he’d treat her. As you may already have guessed, it was nothing like he’d ever seen or imagined. Numerous corners only matched by one Vincent Kompany, the Martian. If you never see her without tons of makeup, be afraid. How many more horses have to lose their hair to make weaves, I don’t know.

Then there is the fake ass and boobs. Ladies, please, if you do not have as much money as Nicki Minaj, we will always remember how flat your chest was. The only problem with this lie is that most men never see past it. God gave men two heads and unfortunately just enough blood to run one of them at any given time, not both. You decide which head wins each time. My advice, this one you can go along with; enjoy it while it lasts but don’t yank your hand off.

Children

Every man’s dream is to one day have a little kid calling him daddy, hugging him; a child that recognizes he is Superman, even when the world thinks he is two-timing brainless idiot (Read Eden Hazard). It is this card that women build marriages on and effectively, tie down unsuspecting men. There is this couple that had been making love when by accident the woman switched on the lights, only to discover that the man was calmly reading a novel while using a dildo on her. The woman demanded for an explanation to which the man replied,

“Sure, but only if you will explain our three kids.”

If you’re a man and you suspect your kid looks more like your neighbor than you, you’re probably not his father. They say Chuck Norris doesn’t flush the toilet, he scares the shit out of it; that’s how scared shitless you’ll be when she plays the “I’m pregnant” card on you. Sadly, there are no mandatory paternity tests. My advice, women bank on the fact that what you don’t know can’t hurt you, so unless the real father was Jack Bauer and the kid suddenly starts beating you up, if the cat isn’t out of the bag yet, don’t let it out. If it is, walk out on her, not the kids. It wasn’t their fault their mother slept with China.

Leornado Dicaprio in the world he created in the 2010 sci-fi film Inception

“It all over, Chelsea are the new European Champions!”

That statement was what got me to church on Sunday. Chelsea had the last laugh. And oh my, was it sweet. I am not a Chelsea fan, but I had a lot banking on that game. For a start, Ksh. 3850 on bets was on the line. Yes, it was that serious; to me, the unexpected is expected, because I have come to expect the unexpected in football. And I had promised God that should the wife grabbers win the match, the very first thing I’d do on Sunday was to go to church. Ok, not really, I first had to sleep as the match ended way after Sunday started, then I had to wake up, shower, take breakfast and walk to church. It was the very first time I kept a promise to God.

I know, it sounds immoral; the fact that I needed financial motivation to go the House of God. It isn’t. We all have our reasons why we go to church; many to find potential spouses that are ‘born again.’ Or as a Luhya would say, “Porn Again”; God loves porn again people after all. Others go to church because they bought expensive new heels that only they can afford and do not want to miss a golden opportunity to show them off to multitudes of people that have gathered gladly for the show. Very few, I repeat, very few people, go to church to pray. Finally, there are the few like me, who believe God is the benefactor of everything including life and money.

So I found myself tagging alongside my mum, who frankly, was astounded that I was even awake at 9.00 am, leave alone accompanying her to church. Needless to say, we parted ways the moment we entered that gate- somehow I have never understood why churches have doors and gates, you’d think the House of God would be the most secure place on earth. I headed over to the corner, as far away from the watchful, painfully reproachful eye of my mother, just in case the need to post a tweet on twitter should arise. And it did.

The pastor started off the sermon with “I am just from Nigeria in case you are wondering why I am dressed like I am.” In my head it sounded something like “I have been to Nigeria. See my heels and my elegant skirt, you’re damn right they are not from your pathetic country so shut the hell up and listen to me.” I was willing to overlook the fact that I had just been stepped on by a woman I had never seen before, except she proceeded, “and I am here to cast out demons.”

Much to my bewilderment, people were applauding. Some people, the show offs, took this opportunity to throw money on her feet. I am not saying I thought it was pointless, I found it amusing actually as it looked similar to the same fashion the Catholic Church lost its money fighting lawsuits they couldn’t win; lawsuits of child molestation. Pointless on the other hand is why they sterilize needles for lethal injections.

All religion-related activity in my brain ceased. For the first time, I noticed the people I seated next to; I was more confused than an infant in a topless bar. I found myself looking around just in case I spotted a demon, or worse, Lucifer seated like a boss at one corner, laughing quietly, scheming his next move. Nothing. I looked back at her in frustration, willing every nerve in body to stop the mutiny that was going on in my head and which was about to conquer my mouth next. I took out my phone to prevent myself from shouting back,

“Excuse me little miss sunshine from Nigeria, I have looked around and I can see no demons. Please be kind enough to point them out for me.”

Instead, I tweeted my thoughts.

Not that I don’t believe demons exist; like the suicidal blonde that killed her twin sister by mistake, it is stupid to believe that God exists when you don’t believe there is a Devil. But the thing is all the demons I have come across are people. People with troubled minds who look to the church as validation that they are not insane; that they are in fact possessed.

I have a hard time trying to convince myself that the man who bombed a church some time back in Ngara was possessed. Or that the guy that raped a 6 year old girl was in cahoots with the devil. Or worse, that that the man who first his wife to death, then set his house ablaze so he and his entire family would burn to death, including the two young girls that were fast asleep in their bedroom, was led to do it by the little red devil perched on his shoulder.

I believe that there is a God and there is a Devil and likewise, that there is good and there is evil; two things each man must decide which to be. Like two sides of a coin, you cannot be both at the same time, but you can have both. It all boils down to which face is up but unlike the coin that needs to be tossed and cannot choose for itself, everyman has it in him to pick one and fight the other. Then there is the third side of the coin that nobody ever considers significant.

If you’ve watched the movie The Adjustment Bureau then you know how much power mere chance has in reality; chance is responsible for lots of things. Hitler got into the army by chance; but it was the decisions he made there after that would later prove the platform for his misguided politics and the cause of a six year war that would leave in its wake 60 million people dead including him.

My point being, we are our own worst enemies; we create the world we live in and likewise the demons that haunt us as portrayed in the thriller, Inception. A few misguided words of advice here and there, a few moments of weakness, a few moments of rage, hate and jealous glances; those are the downfalls of man. And the question is what type of person are you and what side of the coin are you on? Are you the good guy, the bad guy or do you leave it all to chance before you can decide. As far as I am concerned, everybody seems normal until you get to know them

***FACT: If you take the first letters of the first names of the main characters of Inception, you get the word DREAMS; Dom, Robert, Eames, Arthur, Mallorie, and Saito.***

Yes, bad TV will do this to you.

One of the most touching stories I ever read went something like this if my memory serves me right:

An old man was sitting with his 25 years old son in a train, which was about to leave the station. As the train started the young man, who was seated next to the window, was filled with joy and curiosity. He put his hand out of the window to feel the passing wind and he shouted, “Papa see all the trees are moving past us.” The old man smiled and acknowledged his son’s feelings. A couple seated beside the young man, listened to the conversations between the father and son. They felt a little awkward with the child-like behavior of the 25-year old man.

Again the young man shouted, “Papa, see the pond and animals. Clouds are moving with the train”. The couple again felt embarrassed with the young man’s behavior. It started to rain and the rain drops touched the young man’s hand. He was filled with joy and he closed his eyes. He shouted again, “Papa it’s raining, water is touching me.” The couple couldn’t help themselves and asked the old man, “Why don’t you visit the doctor and get your son treated.” The old man replied, “Yes, we just came from the hospital. Today my son got his eyes for the first time in his life.”

Most of you will agree with me, I know; it is a powerful story, the moral of which is supposed to be ‘not everything appears as it is on face value’. But no, I am not a motivational speaker no will I ever be. Rather, the story got me thinking. Imagine if the poor fellow opened his eyes and the first thing he saw in 25 years was a typical Kenyan television show. The shock and dismay he would get equals that if he regained his eyesight and the first thing he saw was Chelsea beating Barcelona courtesy of a Torres goal after Messi messed a pelanty.

So, I compiled a list of the top five worst things ever to be aired on Kenyan TV, so without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, drum rolls….

5. Naija Movies

I really do not want to sound cliché. Nigerian movies to say the least are tedious and unending. The plots of all movies are basically the same and I suspect they have one national script writer, much like our very own Naomi Kamau who came up with the once brilliant likes of Tahidi High and Mother in Law. It unnerves me that every sentence for some reason has to start and end with “oh”, more or less like Kenyan TV anchors tend to think every sentence in an interview has to start with “now”. They have badly choreographed cinematography which involves the all too familiar scene where the killer begs for permission to kill his victim beforehand just before you hear “Afro-Cinema continues shortly”. On the plus side they do have impressive 4D effects; Disturbing, Disgusting, Depressing and Disappointing.

4. Papa Shirandula / Inspekta Mwala / Tahidi Highs

I couldn’t decide which is worse. These shows have a palpable similarity. Badly suited actors, bad sound quality, forced humor and usually, non-existent story lines. I do not know whether the actors sign an “act like a kid” contract because I find it really hard to believe that most of them are capable of behaving like adults. In my honest opinion, Machachari is a way better show because at least the childishness depicted is at least acted out by children. These three shows have adamantly refused to end despite being long overdue and the worst bit is, they have no seasonal breaks and the actors look like they crammed their lines on the spot, if any exist that is. God knows even Mike Sonko with his missing brain would do a better job.

3. Weather forecasts

Some of you will dispute why this is ranked third on my list. But if you can answer this question for me I will gladly take it off the list. So here goes, if it’s zero degrees outside today and it’s supposed to be twice as cold tomorrow, how cold is it going to be? Wipe that sneer off your face. I’m glad you now see what I mean. The point is, nobody- not even the weather men- can predict the future. I can assure you the only way to not get rained on in town is to avoid anyone called Wambua, Wambura or Nyambura but just in case it does rain na unyeshewe, I hope you remembered to carry Always with you and or condom shoes. And an umbrella.

2. #TheTrend

NTV’s The Trend. What trend? The only thing I see trending when it airs is boredom which is unfortunate since the show is presented by one James Smart. The sad irony is that James Smart isn’t even well dressed to start with. His questions are lame and un-smart and he picks topics on events that happened decades ago, for instance bringing Robert Alai on the show. I do not refute that he probably saved mankind with his famous scream that reportedly rebuffed an Alien invasion; or that the US thought the self-proclaimed ’22 year old’ was the human version of Power Puff Girls, who also have a cute but formidable Super Sonic scream. But why bring back something that happened and trended months ago? I will forgive anything, except typos and backward people. The trend is the latter and the fact of the matter is #TheTrend is a tragic imitation of Aljazeera’s #TheStream.

1. Q TV

The biggest washout on Kenyan TV is undoubtedly Q TV. For once, a TV channel other than **KBC managed to irritate people. I tried giving Q TV the benefit of doubt because I thought they had one or two watchable shows. Nothing. Nada. Niente. Nulla. Let me try Swahili, HAKUNA. The entire channel is unwatchable. I agree with whoever said that Q TV is the fifth horseman of the apocalypse, because the fact of the matter is, Q TV is enough to make anyone commit suicide. Even a cat with its nine lives wouldn’t survive it. In fact, I heard the government is working on a deal that will allow in-mates in Kamiti to swap their Jail Time for Q TV. Yeah, it is that serious. Someone joked on twitter that they are ISO certified; they are eye-sore certified that is.

**Please note that for the purposes of accurate and fair ratings, just like tax, KBC was excluded on basis bankruptcy. Also, should your TV screen break, please do not try to fix it with video TAPE. It doesn’t work, trust me, I have tried and failed miserably. Have a good week people.

Ngamia 1 well in Turkana, Kenya, where British company Tullow struck oil

Kids, this is the crazy story of how I met your mother. The year is 2014. The place is in a night club known as Pavements in Westlands, Nairobi.*cue for audience to laugh* I am really drunk- and I think high- and there is this chic giving me weird looks, like a chicken that wants to grow horns; oh wait, I think she’s horny. I know a woman is horny when I start seeing cute little horns growing on her head. Anyway, she is and really drunk and that is my cue to take advantage of her. End of story. Okay, well no. I actually have a condom on. *audience laughs again* Later on I will get to the part where I was paid by the government to have kids about eight seasons or so from now. Hah! Jokes.

This is the sad story of how an archaeologist in the year 2030 decides to excavate an unnamed location in Kenya and he is digging away unmercilessly when he strikes gold. He has come across a cute pile of bones that he will later on discover in shock belonged to Mike Sonko. You see, there is no space for a brain in the skull he has found. Almost as shocking as the skull he found a little while earlier on belonging to Eugene Wamalwa that had three nostrils instead of two. He will care less about the shocking find because as a bonus, he will have found the greatest oil reserve the world ever has seen. He will later on be declared a national hero by the then ruling Army General, who toppled the government a few years back and has since established himself as the new Furor.

Okay, where exactly I am going with this I have no idea either, but that was how I always hoped oil would be discovered in Kenya. Shock on me. Kenya finally struck black gold. I have been dying to make a joke on our oil but no, it would be too crude. You see, I’m neither a pessimist nor am I an optimist. I am like the guy who found the glass half full and instead of whining about how half full or half empty it was, he simply emptied it into a smaller glass and it was full. Two sides of the same coin. I am actually thrilled we have oil, but when I think critically about it, all it means is that enough people finally died and decomposed enough to form oil. Oh, come on. Don’t pretend you had no idea oil is nature’s way of recycling the carbon in our bodies. Think about it, it’s why Arab countries – where so many people died in various wars throughout the centuries – have so much oil.

Now, I know it seems like I am already biased towards our oil reserve but being realistic is also important. I am skeptical that this find will actually be of any use to the people of Turkana. Well, I could spend hours trying to convince people that it is Karma’s way of getting back at Turkana for standing by as the rest of Kenya was colonized but again, no. I’ll, lay down the facts. When Richard Leakey came to Kenya, he said, “It is virtually impossible to control Northern Kenya, which is populated chiefly by migrant nomads.” I maintain that he couldn’t have been more wrong. Fast forward to the year 2012; Kenya discovers there is oil in Northern Kenya. Suddenly there is a mad rush for this arid, sparsely populated area. Coincidence?

I am not saying they won’t get to benefit from the oil directly; what I’m saying is that the game is rigged. It’s called an oil rig for some reason. Who do you think gets to reap the fruits of our new found oil; the fat cats of this country or the people of Turkana? In a way, it’s like the colonization they never really got to enjoy because gradually, they will be pushed out of their land by the fat cats only this time instead of bibles, they might receive some money- quite unlike how white people tricked the rest of us. When they came they had bibles, we had the land. Then they taught us how to pray with our eyes closed and when we did open our eyes, they had the land and we had the bibles. What these poor people will get in truth will be hard menial jobs on these oil fields. Not the worst of jobs, but I’d rather be a cow. Cows have moo-oo-oovies and all miners have is a boring job. Got it, no? Moving on…

So now I have a decision to make; quit school and become a fat cat or go on with school and end up working for one of those fat cats. I once said I wanted to be somebody and only now have I become specific – the decision is clear in my mind. First thing I’ll do is to visit Njoroge and Sons Co. in River Road and obtain a degree that is complete with a university seal and genuine signatures. They can do it, trust me. Then, I will take a loan and become a politician to steal some more money from public coffers and when I have stolen enough, I will look for a willing accomplice, preferably a Kikuyu like me. Together, we will start a company known as Mwangi and ‘somebody’ Company. And no, we will not use vegetables to make vegetable oil or use babies to make baby oil or worse, become miners; we will head over to Turkana and invest in some poor nomad’s land that we will have stolen.

You see like the kid that was asked by a pastor what eats grass, goes moo and gives us milk and he answered, “I suppose the answer is Jesus but it sounds like a cow to me” I know oil is supposed to be the answer, but you got to think outside the box. The oil is only there to facilitate development of Turkana and that is where the money is going to be. I am going to be one rich bastard, all thanks to women who did not use their heads, literally, which caused the population explosion in our country that finally brought us oil. To those same women, DIAPERS is REPAID backwards without ‘s’… Think about it… Also, oil money doesn’t buy everything. Manchester City please take note.

Expensive handshakes are the order of the day in Kenya.

On Friday my friends and I decided it was about time we went out, drinking indoors wasn’t quite working out. Let me mention in advance that this was, as usual, an alcohol motivated decision that was largely influenced in part by absence of female company. Being in absolutely no state to drive, we decided to travel to town by public means, though that may also have been due to failure to secure a car earlier on, a story I will recap once I am over the trauma caused by Mr. Malenje’s dogs.

The journey was uneventful, although we almost got thrown out for singing. According to the conductor, we were scaring all the would-be female passengers away. Nobody moved an inch. Not even Elvis, who soon befriended the conductor when he generously offered him a couple of gulps of the concoction we had been consuming… Don’t worry; nobody lost their sight… yet.

Anyway, one hour later we reach Thika, our preferred destination for our drinking spree having paid nothing for the trip. We conclude the conductor is either really drunk or he knows not to bite the hand that feeds him. We get to the club and there is some ‘big star’ performing so the entrance fee had sky rocketed. This we did not mind until we realized the conductor did charge us but he didn’t return any change and we forgot to ask. Conniving bastard drank our Ksh. 2000 alcohol didn’t return change! Now, if you’ve been with a drunk, you will know that reasoning is at a minimum, especially if another drunk is with him. In this case, we were four of us. It was unanimously decided our drinking spree could wait; we needed to find this conductor, fast.

We hit the streets once more but he is nowhere in sight. At this point somebody comes up with the brilliant idea of reporting the idiot to the police. We agree they will help us best. Somehow on our way to the station one of my pals notices a Pesa Point ATM machine and like sheep in the big city, we follow. After all, more money can only do us more good in alcohol terms once we have accomplished our quest for justice. We are almost done when a police Land Rover passes by. Somehow in our stupidity, we decide to yell that they should come back. We were on our way to see them in any case and now that they found us, it would mean we wouldn’t have to walk to the station. A good omen!

What we didn’t realize is that the police are sinister people. In fact, if a man ever steals your wife, don’t tell them; to them, there is no better punishment than to let him keep her. The police happily drive back to where we are standing yelling after them. Two of them jump out of the back and from where we are standing; I notice that the back of the truck is loaded beyond capacity. It’s barely been one month since Michuki left and the police themselves are flaunting the same rules he fought so hard for. Anyway, I decide the people in the back are idiots for getting caught. By this time the two men are with us.

“Vijana mnafikiria nyinyi ni nani kusumbua watu usiku?”

“Afande tunahitaji usaidizi wenu….”

“Nyang’au nani amekuuliza!? Jibu maswali na majibu sio vitisho!”

“Apana, si vitisho…”

“Kwanza mnafanya nini nje ya bank usiku?”

“Hawa wanapanga kuiba!”

At this point we start protesting in earnest because it now occurs they think we are the criminals. We decide to proceed to the station to see their boss. These idiots clearly don’t understand we are the victims here and we need a man who poses grave danger to society apprehended.

“Kama unaeza kimbia haraka kuliko bunduki toroka!”

We stop dead in our tracks, not quite believing what is unfolding and alcoholic levels in my bloodstream have suddenly fallen enough for me to vaguely understand what is going on. You see, in Kenya, the police assume everybody is guilty of something until proven otherwise. Here you can be charged for anything including ‘Loitering with intention of murder’, ‘Looking at government buildings suspiciously’, ‘Smoking with violence’, ‘Soliciting for sexual favours from unwilling female customers’ and ‘Smiling like a terrorist.’ I found myself panicking but the worst was yet to come. We were ordered into the truck which was almost as depressing as the man that was arrested for indecent exposure then released for “INSUFFICIENT evidence”.

I need not describe our state at the back of the truck. Two armed policemen at the far end, people on the floor and those that did manage to find a seat were seated in twos- one on top of the other- even PK doesn’t have it that rough. The journey wasn’t really long, but when all you can smell are people’s armpits and feet, it is unbearable. It wasn’t uneventful either; a fat woman was fighting with a boda boda guy for ruining his bike. Apparently she was so big the bike literally, got smashed, ‘ilibondeka’. The police didn’t want to know whose fault it was- they were both dumped into the back with the rest of us and told ‘The issue will be sorted out at the station.’

I think I may be the only person who still knew the whereabouts of his phone by the time we got to the station. Anyway, we try to explain ourselves to the police once more but they hear none of it. According to them, we were going to be booked for standing outside the bank with intention for pulling off a heist in addition to being drunk and disorderly, but we could be let free if we knew what language paper talked. It didn’t take very long for four drunks to pay up. Quite literally, fools were soon partying with their money, just not the way we had hoped. It was the same case with everyone else except the poor girl accused of prostitution. I hoped her freedom wouldn’t have to be purchased along the lines of what I was already thinking.

We did eventually have our drinking spree; it was to end with me in hospital with severe alcohol poisoning characterized by loss of vision for a full day thanks to the same ATM machine that got us arrested in the first place. The difference is that we were accompanied by our new body guards, the police, whom we learnt are a kind lot once you are fluent with this language of paper. They even offered to catch the conductor and inform us the moment they did. We also learnt two things; never get arrested in front of an ATM machine, and if you do get caught, don’t panic and cause headlines by turning into a goat like the Nigerian man back in 2009; there is a language spoken by paper that you should be fluent in – bribes. It has no rules, no grammar ninjas, nothing. Oh, and if you don’t drink and drive, don’t drink to die either.

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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Abortion is an expression of free will, but it is murder.

Today I feel special; special enough actually to not whine about how women make life difficult for men. I actually feel like I am one in a million. Of course I know how invalid this argument would be if I were in China, where one in a million translates into roughly three thousand other ‘one in a million people’ exactly like you, but what the hell. This is Africa; Kenya to be specific, where everything is either made in China or made in Kenya- by the Chinese. I feel special not because i finally got laid by Julie Gichuru, but because for the first time in my life, I feel I made a difference in someone’s life. In fact, if anyone cares, I feel I deserve a Nobel Prize.

As you all very well know, I now realize my days to fill the Earth are numbered courtesy of the woman that scared me half to death at Kenya Cinema the yesterday. Quite frankly, I understand what the Calendar in my living room feels to have her days numbered- yes it is a she. Don’t ask why, just know it has something to do with the photo on her that I realized is the ultimate icebreaker when I bring a chic home and has consequently gotten me laid a number of times. So anyway, since my near death experience, I decided to make my remaining days on Earth count. I just didn’t know how yet. However, the more I thought about it, the more I came to the conclusion that I first had to accept the fact that everyone is entitled to their opinion and that I had to figure out how to accept people’s opinions without compromising my own. You see, opinion, like an asshole, is one of those things that everyone has. No matter how big or small or how stinky or fresh they are, at the end of the day, everyone has an opinion. It means that you are accommodative enough, but it is up to you to convince people why they should go with your opinion. It was this decision that got me to the events of today and consequently, this post.

It all started yesterday in the morning when Ken, a pal of mine and a colleague at work, told me he needed to find an excuse to skip work; somehow for the next hour, it led to a serious brain-storming session as we tried to figure out the perfect excuse that was guaranteed to work. To cut the story short, we decided to tell ‘his highness’ that my colleague’s girlfriend was pregnant and that she had just called from the hospital saying that her water broke. You see, the beauty of it was that we had been making jokes in the office about who was going to be a father before the other and my boss is one of those people who just cannot avoid listening into conversations- his secretary too, although I tend to overlook this fact because she is totally bangable. And we knew he is the sort of person that takes things a little too seriously, hence it was undoubtedly going to work. True, it worked like a charm. He fell flat for the lie and at that point, we were convinced the pair of us would have made the best defense lawyers in the land. I really have nothing against lawyers, except I always warn people, be wary when dealing with one. Many lawyers are genuinely good people… it is the other 99% of them that give the rest a bad name.

By this point, I know you must wonder how Ken skipping work turned from being a solo project to project “WE skip work” I am sure. The simple reason is that I take my friendships quite seriously. I am the sort of friend that will be beside you in jail when you get caught committing murder because I was caught as I tried to help you conceal the evidence. So in this particular instance, I wasn’t going to let Ken enjoy his freedom alone. The sad thing about karma is that it always has a way of getting back at you… it is like misfortune, which never misses either. And it did strike us when we least needed it. Murphy’s Law dictates that bad things always happen when they are least needed or expected.

The instant we got out of that office, we knew we had a whole day to ourselves to party and simply spoil ourselves. We had made a list of people to call in advance- people that were jobless enough to turn up no matter what. We were happy; happier than my friend Elvis when he discovered he could actually delete Windows to create more space for porn in his computer hard drive, and then use a Linux Ubuntu Live CD to boot the computer and access the stash. No more creating folders and subfolders like ‘Office/Documents/Important/Backup/New folder/etc…/’. (It works by the way, this is not made up.) He is way past that age now, or so he tells us. Anyway, we had just left town and we were on our way to Ken’s place when his girlfriend, Anita, called.

That single phone call changed our day. Karma. Turns out she had missed her period and she actually thought she was pregnant. It gets worse. She was just from the clinic and they confirmed it. And she wanted to keep the baby. Her father is a senior man in one of the current government’s offices. And she’s still in school. Ken wanted an abortion done as soon as possible and he had somehow convinced her it was the best way forward. I would have been okay, except, I did not agree with them. In my honest opinion as I told him, Anita’s initial decision was the right one. It was finally time for him to take responsibility for his actions and I demanded they keep the baby. This baby was the product of a sperm that had fought so hard to beat the rest of the pack to the jackpot and only God knows whether it might have been the one with the DNA of the next president of this country… Okay, on second thought, maybe even the Antichrist, but hey, just like you and me, it deserved its right to life and to see the light of day. Human life is precious, it doesn’t matter how tiny. Besides, if WE did go through with the abortion, how the hell were we supposed to drink away OUR sorrows with no money?

To cut the story short, after I had successfully sold my opinion to Ken, we spent most of the day trying to convince Anita to keep the baby and then, she spent the remaining hours trying to convince us that the best step to take was to inform Ken’s parents as well as hers. In the end, neither party’s parents have been informed yet… We are in fact nursing hangovers and I don’t see either of us making it to work or school tomorrow in Anita’s case. What does matter though is that I feel proud of myself because today I saved a life. The moral of my story or rather, what I learnt from my experience is that not all babies are made as a result of alcohol and two, that alcohol does save lives at times. I believe God finally found a use for my alcoholic tendencies. I may have been selfishly trying to save money for alcohol by preventing Ken from going through with the abortion but it has to count for something that because of me, Kenya’s population expects to increase by one, or God forbid more, in the next nine months. Now, sadly, I have to say bye. My boss is calling I know to ask why I am not in for work and I am off to apply for my Nobel Prize.

 

WALKING HALF DEAD

Posted: March 20, 2012 by ketihapa in Death, Ugly, Women
Tags: , , , , , ,

Shock-vendorYesterday, I posted a piece on the blog about how I believe the end of the world will be caused by a woman. As expected, I ended up trying to convince people how I am not gay and how I have no personal grudges towards women. What I really should have said is that I have no grudges and neither do I have any resentment either, just a conviction that is firmly rooted in my subconscious that women are not to be trusted. But that is a story for another day when the dust has settled. The real significance of the events of Yesterday is that everything and everyone is trying to prove me wrong- that women can be trusted. And I was on my way to healing and rehabilitation that I could indeed trust a woman for most part of today, except I nearly died in the process.

So I am waiting for a niece of mine in town, specifically at Kenya Cinema because I cannot condone people who tell me to wait for them at Ambassadeur or worse, “Niko kwa hii building ndefu ya white karibu na Tea room…”, phone in my hand and wary of everyone passing by just in case Linda Ogutu happens to pass by. Lord knows I have made enough fun of her side effects in the recent weeks. I log on to twitter to post a funny thought that just came to my mind but I stop midway in disbelief. Shock registers next and before I know it, I am gasping for air. I know I am now on my bus ride to hell. Let’s face it, no way in hell I of all people I’m going to Heaven. Isn’t my fault really, but what am I supposed to do? I am claustrophobic and since my Pastor did mention that road to Heaven is quite narrow so being realistic, I know I just… I can’t. The only good thing is I know I am going to collapse and die peacefully in my sleep like my grandpa, unlike the passengers in his car who died kicking and screaming.

In front of me, two women pass by. The first one is pretty and I’m tempted to think it is the love of my life, Julie Gichuru, except I know she doesn’t wear condom shoes. I make a mental note- or rather, I do quick calculations with one of my heads- I leave you to decide which- and decide she isn’t worth the sweat. It is the second one that almost does irreparable damage to my eyes and consequently my nervous system. The woman is dressed in things I cannot begin to describe as clothes. Shoot me dead before I concede they even resemble clothes. But that’s not all; she looks like a scene from the last episode of Spartacus. Not bloody, just unbelievable. Okay, and maybe a little bloody too. She literally has every color on the visible spectrum of light, which my learned friend Fabian believes is what Torres uses to confuse his enemies- apparently he kicks the ball so fast that the ball goes beyond the speed of light, meaning it is not visible as it goes into the net and we only think he missed the goal because we see the ball outside the net after it has slowed down.

Anyway, back to this woman. She has on her every imaginable color if you consider that her face is black as well- note, I said black not dark. Dark is beautiful. She is hideous. In fact, the only thing that looks okay is her mascara, whose color matches with her top. I know it is okay to be ugly, but she seems to be overdoing it. My heart initially goes out to her, filled with deep felt sympathy and pity. At this point I blame God for how she looks because he is the creator after all… But that is short lived because she stops when she sees me. I panic, but not enough to make me run away. She starts smiling and from this point I know I am not safe. She starts walking towards me, but my back is already pressed to the wall at this point. I can’t run away. “Victor…,” she starts and I freeze. She knows my name. I feel a sweat make its way down my spine and I imagine what the lad I trained a few weeks back how to get the hot women would say. I could pray for a bus to hit her at this point, but there are no buses in sight. So I start wishing that I could die. Then IT happens.

I don’t really remember what happened next but I can conclusively tell you that I almost died. Or so my niece tells me. Apparently I got so scared to death I fainted. Okay, in this case half to death because I didn’t really die. I call it my near death experience but now I am worried that the next time I get scared half to death again I will surely die if the algebra I learnt in school wasn’t a fallacy. My point being, because of a woman, I am now literally walking half dead. I am just glad the woman in question wasn’t around when I came to because you wouldn’t be reading this post. Also, don’t look around for any CCTV cameras in that area to see her. I took the liberty of pulling them off to spare your lives- and my dignity. I know realize that life is too short to not think carefully about what you wish for.

The Apocalypse

Posted: March 19, 2012 by ketihapa in Women
Tags: , , , ,

THIS POST IS AS IT APPEARED ON MY FACEBOOK PAGE: http://www.facebook.com/vmwask

Scene of the Apocalypse from the movie: Constantine, starring Keanu Reeves.

I never thought I’d say this, but a series of unfortunate events in the past few days have since convinced me otherwise. I despise women… No, in fact, I hate women! There! I said it! Now, before you start asking what the hell I’m yapping endlessly about, let me just say that all my misfortunes currently are directly attributable to these XX chromosome- bearing human beings. What more, I have also had a divine revelation that the end of the world as we know it will be caused by none other than these repugnant people.
Women are not just the beautiful creatures created by God meant to be our companions. Do not be fooled! Beneath those skins they endeavor so much to beautify with all sorts of toxic chemicals, self mutilations in the name of plastic surgery and nowadays not only herbs but also excrement from animals (one more reason for me to hate marriage, which I’ve never really understood in whatever context nor grasped it’s concepts), they are in fact hideous creatures sent by the devil himself to lure man into destruction.
Let me illustrate my point. You know about the Armageddon, don’t you? Of course, sure you do. The common theories put forward are that the Earth will be destroyed by a huge asteroid in the year God knows when, or that the Sun will blow up and blow the Earth along with it (??? Absurd!! You tell me!), and most recently, that our world will end in the year 2012 according to the Mayan calendar, even before I have had an opportunity to fill the Earth as God commanded me to do! I once heard that a large Alien force from a distant planet in search of greener pastures will in future wage war against mankind and will prevail, wiping out all mankind! Hahaha, I think Americans are some of the dumbest human beings on God’s green Earth! It is one thing to make a movie on aliens and to actually expect anyone in their sane mind to believe such gibberish! Besides, don’t you think it is a little funny how aliens are only sighted in America, never in Africa?
Anyway, that’s beside my point. We were talking about women being weapons of mass destruction. My theory is that the end of the world will be caused by a woman. Hush! Hush! First listen before you start discrediting my theory. Now, how will a woman cause the end of the world? Simple! A woman will make some blunder that will trigger the Third World War, which as you may have guessed by now will be nuclear in nature, effectively causing a nuclear apocalypse! Need I say more? The Earth will be wiped out of existence from the universe, along with the nine or so planets in the solar system. All that will remain will be the star commonly known as the Sun and there will not be a single speck of dust left to suggest that the Earth once existed.
Now, I know my theory has a few loose ends, but not to worry. I will try to tighten these up by explaining a few facts for you. Firstly, the Holy Bible does say that at the end of the world, there will be a great war fought by man, one that will be greater than any other that has ever been witnessed by men since the inception of time. My priest would probably punch me if he read this, but then the truth has to be said without fear if people are to be informed. And my main goal is to enlighten you, my dear friends. Or, doesn’t the Bible say, “My people perish out of ignorance!” Although the Bible does not say who or what will cause this disastrous war, it is safe to assume that a woman will be the culprit. Why? It is common sense that there are more women compared to men on Earth, and by simple arithmetic calculations, the probability that a woman will trigger the war is 7:1. For all I know, the much anticipated Antichrist might even be a woman! You know, the one that will allegedly cause MAN much suffering, force us to get grotesque tattoos on our hands and foreheads reading ‘666’ and eventually rule the entire world! God! This is even scarier to imagine than I thought!
Three of my very good friends have time and again branded me a sore chauvinist, and they will probably do it again and again, especially after reading this note, but I want to assure you that I am not. FYI, most of my role models are in fact women. I’m just doing what I think is right; sharing my knowledge so that you will be prepared for the end of days as I am. Now, my fellow men, should this revelation turn out to be in deed true, please don’t panic. Calmly prevent the end of the world by doing the right thing, impregnate all women at the same time. Trust me, it will work, our forefathers once used the same trick. However, on the other hand, should it not come to pass, please do not brand me a false prophet of doom. Rather, acknowledge the fact that this revelation came to me in my sleep and hence, it could very easily have been one of my many dreams that rival Steven Spielberg’s blockbusters. Till then, peace!

Disclaimer: the views herein expressed and explained do not necessarily reflect the true feelings of the author.