Whizzy whizzy bang bang

My title is catchy, no? Say it out loud in your office as you read this. Say it many times, wwbbx20, add a cool reggae beat and nod your your while your boss talks at you. Now you have an idea for a really cool song that I want nothing to do with. People, I have problems. No, you say, how could you have problems? Problems are what Gaddafi (the former president rather than the formerly muslim singer formerly known by the same monicker), the boda guys who got lynched and my tribesmen in Bududa have. You, you have minor inconveniences. These are the things most of the people I try to tell my stuff tell me back. So I am going to tell you my problems in order of magnitude.

1. Writer's block

Were you ever in a situation where you were watching the matrix and then you died? Poor Neo is stuck at a 90 degree angle to the ground. Stuck in the act of dodging agent Smith's bullet. You, you are dead so no one is going to un-pause the One and he'll be stuck there forever. In the meantime, gravity, the nemesis of cool moves like so, is gently exerting 9.8m/s² to the back of his ka head. Disused muscles atrophying in positions they were never meant to, man, movies suffer. This analogy should be applied directly to the drafts sitting in this blogspot account. They have been paused, never to be completed; at least by me. You know that stuff where the point of the point is lost in the analogy supposed to illustrate it. This is one of those situations. Me, I have written! If you have the time to sift through this kasasiro for points, go on and waste your life.

2. Online Currency Trading

Mehn!!! I learnt this word from a younger relative of mine. Apparently, "Man" is old school. I have to agree, look it ->meehhhn<- (I don't know how to punctuate this sentence after the hyphen so I'll just keep typing, I won't even close this bracket. You can't deny the versatility of this word, it's like a one size fits all version of that old school word that I'll never use again. It's simultaneously singular and plural; Mehhhn=a flock of God. For all intents and purposes, it's the same situation. If I have lost you, you have no business here, vamoose! You silly goose. Kati, this point is also lost, when I find some time to waste on talking about currency trading, I'll squeeze it in somewhere.

3. Rising inflation

I hate the way everyone is blaming inflation for all sorts of things. Man, that kyana ate all my dime. Why? Mbu, inflation! She ate your dime because you wanted to give it to her. The dime, I mean. Do you want to fight inflation? Stop harassing government, I hear walk to work, walk to kitchen, walk to kitchen etc. STOP WASTING MONEY. Here's my investment plan so you never have to suffer this inflation animal again. Buy a cow, grow peas in the parking lot, rice in the bath tub and some apples next to the fridge. You have a toilet so biogas should not be a problem. Problem solved. NO SPENDING=NO INFLATION. This blog has sorted out a problem that the central of many countries have failed to deal with. Power to me.

4. Bad Black

In the beginning, there was the word, and the word was BLACK. Mehhn, that was those days when the word "duck" meant living in your house and it was okay to ask your date where she put up. Nowadays, mbu pink is the new black - now this rubbish has no place in a serious post like this but a meehn gotta keep up with the times...and what's up with this kyana called bad black. If she was so baddd (another old school word), why the hell doesn't she go all the way, call herself evil black or infernal black or eldritch black <- i like this one.

In other news, my daughter (who is very beautiful and sweet - in the fashion of her mother) is ill. Kindly put in a quiet prayer for her before you go to bed tonight, or tomorrow. Y'all stay sawa, meeehhn!

Always,

Mufere

P.s

This post was supposed to examine THE junction as a spot to inebriate your person and socialize with other mindless fans of UBL/EABL/Tyson/Bad Black but I've not been there in a while. Mark might just have thrown a swimming pool and spa somewhere in there. So until I pass by again, you'll hear nothing from me...on the junction only.

Kampala Bars (Boda Boda, Garden City, Kampala)

I qualified my title. Some very confused people might think this post concerns the bars before they open for business. Asylum fodder just! Do you have time? Are you unemployed? If you answered aye to both these questions, me and you are going to get on just fine. I have no time for employed prudes too caught up in their work to read some rubbish I wrote in my free time. Anyway, back to business...

Over the years, I've taken the time to sample a cross section of Kampala's night spots and after incisive analyses of all these joints, I bring you Kampala by Night 101. I hate night clubs so they will not feature much in this paragraphs that follow. What with those hot chicks in their skimpy dresses and their dudes in baggy jeans and large tees with blingey thingies everywhere! I can't be bothered. These joints are described in no particular order. I'll do bar by bar

Boda Boda, Garden City, Kampala
Who wants to drink with strange looking wooden faces with glowing eyes staring at them? Don't raise your hand, stupid! I can understand pouring out libations in your private shrine at home to your wooden face but an upper class bar in Kampala, never. Bloody things are everywhere. Worse still, these voyeuristic bastards are in the girls' "restroom" as well, observing everything quietly with their red eyes. Then you go around saying "if walls could talk", naive child, the walls in Boda can see. They know all your secrets as if ISO. Now most mainstream religions try very hard to emphasize the absence of alcohol from their places of worship (don't even think about Holy Communion). How the hell is a devout witch doctor going to drink in the face of his god(s)? Boda, please take down the masks and put up some Leonardo fakes or nude pictures or something or you will lose good business. Your drinks are probably expensive because you have to pay tithe to your wooden faces.

Conclusion: Boda boda is a nice bar for Christians.

Coming next: Equator, Zone 7 or wait for it...The JUNCTION.

Rich men, poor men and kyanas

Hello there, you’ve probably seen me on the cover of various romance novels over the years. As if a handsome muzungu kanyama who’s an heir to a massive conglomerate and then I fall in love with this poor kyana who came in as my personal assistant; you know the story, then my dad finds another blue blooded kyana from a family which is rich like ours for me to marry, then the ka PA kyana pisses me off and I first sleep with the rich kyana, then eventually I leave the rich kyana and marry the poor kyana who never has to work again. Moral: Work hard and get rich so your son can sleep with women. Don’t you ever wonder why no one ever writes romantic stories about poor people?

Exercise for writers: Begin your new novel with the following words, “Then he lifted her in his clay caked sinewy arms and carried her to his muzigo.” Please do not attempt to sell your book, you will not succeed, no one wants to know how slum dog types perpetrate their romances. Don’t argue! How many times have you asked your boda boda chap how his kyana is? See? This is all for the best anyway, we really don’t want to know. Of course, the hypocrites will deny but we all know the truth, don’t we? Now, I realize my tone might be offensive to certain people, which is really disturbing because I’ve not even started tackling the real issues. Are you uncomfortable with truth in any of its forms, perhaps you should skip over to the Big Brother update, plenty of lies there.

With great power, comes a great urge to sleep with as many women as possible. The mathematics is simple, Money=Power, ergo rich people are generally more randy than poor people. While we serfs are loitering the streets of Kampala hustling for our buck, the bagaga are looking for the next great encounter. Bagaga are like terminator robots(the old model of Schwarzenegger not mercury man*) , they have scan vision during the day. At night, they have that thermal stuff as if Predator. The interesting thing about this sophisticated vision is it only detects women, they never see us chaps. How many times has your boss walked by your desk and not said hi yet even the female cleaner got a hug? See? I am telling the truth so the next time your boss walks by you, say his name loud, grab him by the shoulders and look him straight in the eye for at least 5 minutes. If he starts crying, he’s gay – don’t fear this type. If his left eye starts turning red, clear out your desk quickly. Hunters abhor contact with species outside their food chain. You are neither a fellow hunter nor prey, hence there is no conceivable condition that should result in physical contact with you. If you can't eat them, hate them! This is valid biological theory. *Mercury man is the bad guy from Terminator 2.