Posts Tagged ‘Barcelona’

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,

K.H.

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.

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.

Lighters up, ladies and gentlemen. You are about to be de-lighted

Last week was quite uneventful; except for the slight tremor in Nairobi on Monday morning and the blackout on Wednesday night, there was really nothing much. The tremor never made it to be a news item although Kenyans on Twitter did manage to blow it out of proportion, as usual, and it ended up being a trending topic for most part of the morning exclusively in Nairobi, with people in Rongai having been warned against trying to fit in. The blackout on the other hand did make it to be a news item. Reason, the blackout was in fact a national event, which somehow managed to extend beyond the borders of our beloved country and into the little landlocked country of Rongai, whose citizens as I later learnt, finally got to understand what life in Kenya is as they were plunged into darkness for four days.

But that was beside my point. Wednesday to say the least was one of the most chaotic nights of my life. I had been looking forward to getting home early from work because as it turned out, a team of midgets from Spain with unique diving talents was due to play 11 old people from London that are funded by divorce settlements and a wealthy Russian mafia boss. I’m talking about the Barcelona vs Chelsea game for those of you who haven’t realized who I’m talking about yet. I therefore needed to get drunk as soon as possible so I would have the strength to sit and hurl insults throughout the entire match without necessarily having to watch the game. Needless to say, I was home by seven pm and in the pub by twenty minutes later with my good neighbour Gitonga, who as his name suggests, is a wealthy man with everything except money.

Having secured seats at our favourite corner, beer-shara was soon underway; it didn’t take long for the alcohol to kick in and Gitonga was soon dazzling everybody with his pre-match analysis, that he had researched using my phone mind you. Not that I really cared, he is fun to watch football with and it was in fact the reason I brought him along in the first place. By eight the place was almost full to capacity; nothing brings men together than alcohol coupled with a night of Champions League football and reports of free oil from a fallen oil tanker, confirmed or otherwise. We even placed bets. Then the lights flickered. Once… twice… thrice…. Then it was dark and the place turned chaotic. Somebody told Baba Boi (read the bartender) to keep away bottles of STONEy from anyone who happened to be from Komarock.

Ten minutes later the lights were not yet back so Baba Boi asked for volunteers to go buy diesel for the generator from the nearby petrol station. Gitonga and I volunteered and we left just as Baba Boi went to fetch the generator. Gitonga has this incredible torch that is made is China that has incredible capabilities as a phone too and we used it to find our way to the petrol station and back to the pub in five minutes. We were determined to watch this match but fate had other ideas. As it turns out the generator had not been used in a long time and wouldn’t even start. We embarked on a hunt for another pub that had a working generator. We ended up travelling all the way to Donholm where we endured watching 90 minutes on our feet and I finally learnt how to iron my clothes without electricity. The trick is to get the iron box hot, so you simply place the iron box on a controlled flame and hope it doesn’t burn.

Anyway I have never cursed KPLC more. I cursed them even more the next day when I found out that their excuse for this gross violation of human rights that prevented millions of football lovers countrywide from watching Chelsea’s historic win over Barcelona and even resulted in the death of an innocent woman in a hospital at the coast was “A fault in one of our substations in Juja”. Condescending bastards even went on say that the power failure was a Current event. Okay, that was funny and I hope you get it, but still. Shouldn’t somebody tell them already to plant bulbs if they want proper power plants not the fake ones they currently have? I have a valid point here; just as it is valid to say that KPLC get their electricity from electrons and morality from morons.

Once a pun a time, KPLC used to be up to date because they were to be current specialists… I even used to joke that the lights usually go out because they like each other. Now, honestly they are just a bunch of, literally, dark sadists who are delighted when Kenyans get de-lighted. I understand the rise in cost of production of HEP power because it is true we faced some rather dry spells, but how do you explain paying more for more power outages? And that is why I have made a stand. I am no longer paying for electricity; I am going solar. Hell, Samsung even have a solar powered laptop, which for the record I find really discriminatory considering the device is only sold in Africa like they still think we’re a dark continent. Okay, again, KPLC are proving them right.

To the rest of you, if you do continue paying for power blackouts, know that you’re only making it easier for the fat cats in that damned company to buy more Volts-Wagons, sorry Volkswagens, with your hard earned money. So I will tell you this, if your lights go out, pray. If they are not back in five minutes, read my advice again and if they are not back by the time you finish re-reading, stop whining and pay the damn bill; it was your choice anyway. Anyway there is this wedding I want to attend badly so I am off till next week. Apparently Mr. Ohm is marrying Mrs. Ohm because he could not resistor… Bye till then.