out of joints

eh? kazi kuendelea tu.? domo domo...

2007-11-27T00:09:00.002+03:00

The bastards

Bastard number one
I have just seeen Kabogo moonlighting as a fucking comedian on my TV!! What the fuck??!?! A few loose millions monthly, government cars and twelve mboches are not enough?!?!

Kabogo AKA Chapelle

Bastard number two
So i switch channels, looking for some respite, i switch over to our favourite (and only) twenty four hour music tv channel and what do i come across?!? yet another two faced crafty ass individual making a loose buck at the expense of the motherland! hiding behind shiny conductive teeth, giant earrings with a refractive index of like 2 million and large cap.. we know your ways.. this, this.. this, they're just riding dirty...(i'm sorry, i just couldn't resist that..)

goddammit..

huyu ni nani?

My two cents worth

2007-08-27T20:33:00.001+03:00

never ever wash your frying pan, and voila! a free, automatic spicer. no need to add chili or salt or that strange herb that looks like soil.
i can't taste spices worth shit... i think spices are like those colours that only chicks know. u know, like mauve, and biege, and rose. which sort of negates point A above. so i wash my frying pan anyway.
KNOW YOUR MBOCH. this is very important. i can not stress how important this is. ignore it, and come home early one day and find your best pair of jeans wrapped so tightly around her fat ass you can see individual threads weeping and gnashing teeth for deliverance or death..
Chandarana supermarket is your friend. Instant fish, instant meat balls, tomato paste, row after row of canned, microwaveable whateverthefucks, fresh fruit juices at eye-poppingly low prices. its amazing. its just that they give you a hand woven kiondo to carry your stuff in. and not just any loose kiondo-the thing's big enough to carry a fridge.
Beer goes with everything. it goes especially well with more beer.
When throwing a bash, ship all your breakable stuff upcountry. a week in advance. take out your carpet cover every existing surface of your house in cling-on wrap.
if you see one cockroach in your house, call your exterminator. if you see two, leave everything behind-even the clothes on your back and leave the country for a few months.
ladies have this territorial thing, don't know if its some sort of gland- you check into the loo for a minute and she rubs herself on stuff-i have no clue how it works ... if a chick has been in your house, any other chick WILL know within ten minutes of checking in. its unnerving and creepy in equal proportions. sometimes its creepy and unnerving.
you can die of the flu.no really, you CAN DIE of the flu. A violent, hacking phlegmy death.
really, buy more cutlery. one sufuria, one spoon, one fork and one knife do not constitute a kitchen ensemble.

Gotta get me this doggy

Quagmire

2007-08-16T11:40:00.000+03:00

Hi my name is Nesta and i've been engaging in secondary virginity. through no fault of my own, i am girlfriendless, CFAless and inflatable rubber sextoyless. Secondary virginity under duress.

i need to pick up some pointers from the extraordinary el_diab. the man's like a walking pheromone generator, or the energizer bunny, only his batteries have been put in in reverse, so he keeps coming and coming and coming....

my katiaring skills went the same way as that short fat bird that was eaten into extinction. but hell, i think i just don't have the - drive. the impetus.

this is terrible. my gonads, they need some form of relief.

although, in my defence, there's this one time i vibed some mama, and it traumatised me. she looked at me with such revulsion, i immediately went home and took a scalding hot shower with dettol and jik. like she shat diamond pellets out of a platinum ass, and urinated 500 year old whisky.

then there's this other time, i met this really beautiful lady - she's like a pearl. really hot.

but.

ah, the but. the accursed but. may the but burn in hell for all eternity and then some.

i think she thinks i'm one of those guys who have fourteen girlfriends in four different parts of the city. like i'm some sort of polygamous sex fiend. which, of course, i'm not. but for the life of me, i can't convince her otherwise. its some sort of catch 22 situation. i can't get some, because i look like i have some, although i actually have squat.

curse my dashing good looks, biting wit, manly facial hair and giant penis.

How to argue effectively

2007-08-14T21:14:00.000+03:00

This article was so helpful to me, i copied it verbatim. Don't know who originally authored it though.

I argue very well. Ask any of my remaining friends. I can win an argument on any topic, against any opponent. People know this and steer clear of me at parties. Often, as a sign of their great respect, they don't even invite me. You too can win arguments. Simply follow these rules:

Drink liquor.

Suppose you are at a party and some hotshot intellectual is expounding on the economy of Peru, a subject you know nothing about.

If you're drinking some health-fanatic drink like grapefruit juice, you'll hang back, afraid to display your ignorance, while the hotshot enthralls your date.

But if you drink several large martinis, you'll discover you have STRONG VIEWS about the Peruvian economy. You'll be a WEALTH of information. You'll argue forcefully, offering searing insights and possibly upsetting furniture. People will be impressed. Some may leave the room.

Make things up.

Suppose, in the Peruvian economy argument, you are trying to prove that Peruvians are underpaid, a position you base solely on the fact that YOU are underpaid, and you'll be damned if you're going to let a bunch of Peruvians be better off. DON'T say: "I think Peruvians are underpaid." Say instead: "The average Peruvian's salary in 1981 dollars adjusted for the revised tax base is $1,452.81 per annum, which is $836.07 before the mean gross poverty level."

NOTE: Always make up exact figures.

If an opponent asks you where you got your information, make THAT up too. Say: "This information comes from Dr. Hovel T. Moon's study for the Buford Commission published on May 9, 1982. Didn't you read it?" Say this in the same tone of voice you would use to say, "You left your soiled underwear in my bathroom."

Use meaningless but weighty-sounding words and phrases.

Memorize this list:

* Let me put it this way
* In terms of
* Vis-a-vis
* Per se
* As it were
* Qua
* So to speak

You should also memorize some Latin abbreviations such as "Q.E.D.", "e.g.", and "i.e." These are all short for "I speak Latin, and you don't."

Here's how to use these words and phrases. Suppose you want to say, "Peruvians would like to order appetizers more often, but they don't have enough money." You never win arguments talking like that. But you WILL win if you say, "Let me put it this way. In terms of appetizers vis-a-vis Peruvians qua Peruvians, they would like to order them more often, so to speak, but they do not have enough money per se, as it were. Q.E.D."

Only a fool would challenge that statement.

Use snappy and irrelevant comebacks.

You need an arsenal of all-purpose irrelevant phrases to fire back at your opponents when they make valid points. The best are:

* You're begging the question.
* You're being defensive.
* Don't compare apples to oranges.
* What are your parameters?

This last one is especially valuable. Nobody (other than engineers and policy wonks) has the vaguest idea what "parameters" means. Don't forget the classic: YOU'RE SO LINEAR.

Here's how to use your comebacks:

You say: As Abraham Lincoln said in 1873...
Your opponent says: Lincoln died in 1865.
You say: You're begging the question.

You say: Liberians, like most Asians...
Your opponent says: Liberia is in Africa.
You say: You're being defensive.

Compare your opponent to Adolf Hitler.

This is your heavy artillery, for when your opponent is obviously right and you are spectacularly wrong. Bring Hitler up subtly. Say, "That sounds suspiciously like something Adolf Hitler might say," or "You certainly do remind me of Adolf Hitler."

Joint venture

2007-06-13T22:08:00.000+03:00

Show me the mulah, erm, mullah?, no? mulla? mul..yeah, you know what? fuck it..

some time ago i came across a really interesting website, which, before i could say 'fuck, this website needs to be bookmarked', lights had ducked and my computer went off without so much as a bleep from my trusty UPS. luckily, i'd copied the contents of said website and distributed generously said contents to very many people.

what contents were these? i hear you ask, brow furrowed, nose crinkled. well, dear reader, this website had tons and tons of recipes. but not just any old recipes, special recipes. recipes that could make you touch the sky.

yes my friend, how to add cannabis to your everyday cooking experience.

and they had the shit. from canabutter (which is green butter with a kick) to weed brownies (as opposed to hash brownies mr. miscreant..). at this point, i feel it wise to add a disclaimer. please do not feel inspired and prepare said menus for ur folks-in-law, saved relatives, pastors, priests or imams. each meal should come with a 'ministry of health' warning.

so, after dudes had read up on said menus, a brave and noble idea was borne... 'you know what we should do?..', one enterprising lady suggested innocently enough, 'we should have a cookoff.. see who can make the most potent shit'.

freeze frame.

that right there, my friends, was a moment.

so, of course that idea caught on rather fast. and after much discussion, online and otherwise, a certain herb was found to be in short supply. and everyone turned to me.

even a blind guy can see this is a business opportunity.

now the problem is, i don't grow the shit. which essentially means i have to get it through really dangerous means involving coffins, undercarriages and turbans.

which means, brethren, that the cost will go UP.

step right up.

ps: anyone know a place i can get a cheap hookah? i won't tell, i promise.

and alright, alright i shall endeavour to blog more regularly. more than 3 people read my blog.. imagine my surprise.

oh and did i mention? my good old weed guy is back with a vengeance? praise be.. no more twigs and sawdust. the real green deal.

An exercise in digression

2007-05-29T23:55:00.003+03:00

anyone find that new gillete shaver ad disturbing? no? no one? you know, that shaver with twin blades, contoured edge and... herbs? i find it a mite strange. my chapped, newly hairless chin needs herbs on a razor. who'd have guessed? not me, definitely. i'm still not past the whole 'hair food thing'. proteins, amino acids and essential vitamins for healthy hair with bounce. does that mean if shit came to fuck i could eat shampoo? probably not. what if you had a really poor diet but had really expensive hair food. would some of that hair food seep into your weak, emaciated body and nutrify you?

so its started raining again. kenyans are an effervescent people. we react violently to water. two, three drops and people are bouncing off walls like little electrons infused with a substantial dose of extra energy. one thing about the rains, though.. they always bring to clean, shiny focus how played we get by road contractors. what with cars getting swept away and all.

and we always act so surprised. everyone's like, 'oh my, what a deluge. look at all these seasonal rivers we usually operate as roads'. didn't someone tell them? the road contractors? didn't someone tell them? those magical kerb repairing fairies in our grandparents' tall tales don't exist? just like father christmas? or the one eyed, one legged witch who hops around like a pogo stick and is two hundred some odd yers old on some island on lake Victoria?

G.V., remember G.V.? that blue liquid that your old lady applied with flair and abandon on whatever skin lesion, abrasion or attrition accompanied your sorry arse home after a hard day's playing? G.V. is also known as tincture of iodine. it is a mixture of 2,7 or 10% iodine and ethanol. among its varied uses, like sterilizing wounds and preventing goitre, iodine is also capable of sterilizing water of suspect origin.

imagine that.

dettol's got shit on G.V. you'd probably die if you drank dettol treated water. or mutate into some twelve legged, cockroach headed, like a third human thing and eat your neighbour with your snappy new mandibles.

so there's this dance/trance/house party happening at club liquid this thurday. i might get to deejay. or not. i need to get a rat's arse. so that i can, you know, give it. get it? give a rat's.. tch. forget it. i'll bet omnipresent will shall be there. he's got like strange party powers. he can be in like six bashes simultaneously. maybe he's one of those 'heroes' dudes.. only his power requires half the alcohol in a mid sized cosmopolitan city.

whatever.

if i said i'm lying. am i telling the truth? or am i lying?

why were so many people trying to screw in a lightbulb? whose business is it if the chicken decided to jaywalk? would you call a chicken jaywalking a jaywalking chicken or an arbitrary mammal name? now that a chicken and a jay are both birds? like molewalking, or freshianwalking now that jay is a species of bird?

i think i'd better stop, before some loose dude declares a jihad on me for wasting internet real estate.

Disgruntled

2007-05-18T18:20:00.000+03:00

So a while ago i'd left a client's late and needed alcohol like an african leader needs impossible amounts of cash and unlimited power.i got to the city and jumped into the first bar i saw. i think i've been in this bar a total of two times and both times were the day it was opened and the day after, after which i realized it is basically a hang out joint for individuals under the age of twelve.

checking in, i see two violent-looking men dressed in tiny little handkerchiefs and bras. i contemplated that for all of two seconds, dismissed it and pulled a bar stool. i ordered a super cold drink and took a long, refreshing swallow. my wits distractedly sauntered back about me. then it hit me...

where the bleeding blazes am i having a drink?!? did i just see two men purporting to be stripper chicks in scant attire attempting to look sexy? ah well, fuck it.. i'll inhale this beer and be on my... hold on.. i spotted a really fly mama sitting far away in the corner. with her fly friend.. shortly she gets up and comes over to me, 'hi, i know u don't remember me but i remember you'... in my head i'm like how in the hell can i forget a mama this fly? clearly, from the blank look on my face, she inferred that she was right. 'remember some day you were walking in westi then you met nani, and you checked in, we were doing a video and.....' that light with angels singing in the background. if anything, she was looking flyer than she was looking then. and she was looking quite fly then... 'you want to join us?' mos def.

drinks, nonsense conversation, the two oboho mamas get onto the makeshift stage and start nut cracking with their asses, while discussing the advantages of kimbo over cowboy. bent over, asses facing the crowd and ass muscles relaxing and contracting with purpose.

i have never ever seen anything so decidedly unsexy in my entire life.

more drinks, more nonsense conversation, more nut cracking asses. the night wears on, the crowd slowly disperses..

my two tumi-chicks say they're going to the loo. i'm like sure, lakini chop chop, time's a-gone. porridge's cold.

ten minutes pass. then twenty.

the staff begin cleaning out the place. putting chairs on tables and shit. my beautiful ladies are nowhere to be observed.

some concerned bouncer walks over tapping his wrist in that universal gesture of get-the-fuck-out-i-live-somewhere-dangerous-and-i-need-to-go-now. 'i'm just chilling for my lady friends and i'm out of here'. 'where they at?','loos','they've been gone awfully long then, haven't they','uh, yeah','i'll be right back'. this conversation of course, takes place in the most interior of shengs.

he strides off towards the loos. jaw set. arms clenched. business. i shrug and empty my bottle.

shortly, he walks back.. alone. with a lost-at-sea look on his face. 'ai, boss...' i look up expectantly. 'i checked into that loo and found only one cubicle occupied.' 'really?'. this sounded vaguely interesting..'yeah.. and the sounds coming out of that loo...' he pauses, with a faraway look on his face. shakes his head and walks away, flabberwhelmed.

two minutes later, the ladies come out.. avoiding eye contact. 'tisk, this chick has had waay too much alcohol, she was throwing up all over the place.' 'right, yes well, we better be leaving.' her jungu chick pal checks in. my pal is like, si we go to the club? we could party and then.. you know..' three pairs of meaningful eyes look at me. although one pair meant to do me grievous bodily harm. the jungi. i think i was putting spanners into works.

i had to go.

office work tomorrow, i need my beauty sleep, its late, my porridge's cold, yada yada fishcake... and jumped into the nearest cab.

The loose plan

2007-04-25T21:37:00.000+03:00

Saturday lunchtime found me untidily sprawled across the couch mentally exercising my magical powers of preparing tea from a distance. the exercise failed. got to get up and make some breakfast... right after this episode of tripping the rift.. no, lets make that the next..

shortly, el_diab strolls in and plants his ass on a sofa..

more tripping the rift..

later, man de vu strolled in.. he posed for a few minutes then decided to go get (angels humming) BAVARIA.. so these bavaria dudes, i'm not sure what their story is.. there's yet another 500ml can that has alcohol content of 8.6% (yeah, you heard me, eight point motherfucking six percent..) that shit is really potent. i'll bet my ass that its not really 8.6%, they just wrote that so it could be called beer. two or three of those cans and you're well on your way to literary genius in the complex discipline of gibbering..

more tripping the rift, interrupted by patches of scattered showers.

then el diab acquired the junkie itch. a month ago, our supplier had suddenly grown a conscience and replaced the herb with the wafer that accompanies the blood.. his supply was the shit-fat, juicy and smooth as an african ass glittering with johnsons and johnsons baby lotion.. we sure didn't see that coming, he shall be sorely missed.. where were we? oh yeah, junkie itch..

'dude, i need a joint dude.. dude, where can i get a joint?' of course, following Rastas' law, one is never more than ten minutes away from the nearest purveyor, we had already acquired a supplier. only thing was, his shit was primarily composed of soggy twigs of dubious origin, seeds that looked suspiciously like simsim and paper that didn't burn. once lit, my house billowed smoke like the exhaust one of those rusty bedfords that had 'mzee ni wewe' written on a rear mudguard that stretched the entire length of the back..

we required another dealer. but dealers seemed to be in super-short supply. especially today. el diab hauled his ass out of the digs, mumbled something about knowing someone in kawangware and he'd be right back.. he was back in like three minutes.. i looked at my beer quizzically.. 'dude, you'll never believe who i bumped into in the mathree'.. 'there's this dude who used to bring the shit in westi while i worked there.. and he lives in kawangware! says i give him an hour and he'll have brought the shit! so i gave him a soc and my phone number, which he committed to memory, seeing as he didn't have a cell..'

this wasn't going to end well. i and man de vu decided to jitumbuiza with a rousing game of chess.. he beat me repeatedly..

two hours later, el diab is wearing a path out on my carpet, demonnah has pitiad looking for alcohol and there's no sign of our friend.

'ah, fuck it... i'll be right back'. he left, itching random parts of his upper body..

shortly, he was back.. ten minutes didn't even pass.. must be mr. soggy-twig-simsim-seed-mixture-purporting-to-be-intoxication joints..

my house still smells like a bush fire. that's a reall bummer.

we left the digs and headed to minimum-staggering-distance bar and restaurant. there, we bumped into the cleaner and friends.. imbibed a number of loose beers, attempted to play pool, bumped into the usual suspects, et al.. nothing to blog.. and anyway by then we were all sufficiently papers to render short term memory suspect.. made a brief stop over in tao, shuttled across to baricho road and hauled our tired asses to digs..

next week, the legend of omnipresent will. or not.

i need a shave.

The Poltergeist

2007-04-11T13:07:00.001+03:00

These nice people have offered to help

So lately there have been all sorts of creepy goings-on in my digs.. there have been signs but i've been too mr. science to notice them.. come to think about it, it seems its been happening from the day i moved in. then i had a soccer pitch for a living room, with a tv (with the biggest remote i've ever seen) and like two sufurias, a spoon, a plate and a cup. but on any given day, you'd spend a minimum of three hours tracking down the remote control, in a very empty digs.

i never really gave it much thought but happenings in the last few months have had me thinking. on one loose week, my comp sputtered, coughed up some foul looking phlegm, keeled over and died a painful, writhing death. nuts. a day later, my tenj went off and never came on again. a day later my digicam started having uncontrollable orgasms (ps: if you're looking for a digicam, do NOT buy the sony dsc w50.. very bad build and a favourable conduit for spiritual activity). so basically, that week i was rather fucked. then there was the mystery of the noises.

dozing off to bed one evening, i heard this tremendous crash. it was so loud that i got up running for the door. disoriented, unfocussed, without my specs so bordering on blind and stark naked i crouched and stealthily knocked down everything in my way as i did a cursory search of the digs.

nothing.

i walked back to the bed, wore my specs and did a more thorough search of the house. nothing. nothing at al... wait, what the..?

my big-ass, heavy-ass wooden chopping board lay on the floor of the kitchen smack in the centre.. what in the world..? the drawer in which it was kept was shut. strange. ah well, gotta get back to sleep. i picked it up, stuffed it in the drawer, said a few harsh words to the poltergeist and went back to sleep.

next evening, midnight, deep asleep, a hear scrunching noises under my bed. get up, turn on the light, look underneath, see absolutely jack shit, (excepting my stash of experimental bongs in a large paper bag), go back to sleep.

by now i was getting really tired of this shit. so i decided to eliminate possibilities. i ensured i closed and locked all doors, windows, drawers et al. nothing was left in the dish rack, bottles were stored away, not loosely left posing.

then some loose night, i hear wailing in the digs...

you know, that wailing for a lost soul trapped in between worlds, knowing how fucked it is, and knowing the devil is coming to get it.. and it got louder and louder. after all the horror movies i've watched i'm beyond screaming incoherent fits of terror cowered in the corner of my bedroom. i dragged my scientific ass out of the bed, calmly wore my specs and trudged to the living room, where, much to my gaping, wide eyed horror, i realized the godawful racket was quite real. and in this room.

a cold chill doesn't run down your spine. who the fuck said a cold chill runs down your spine? its more like you're naked, and a huge slab of frozen beef is thrown at you from behind.

erm... i think i'll finish this blog in the office..

At last, a cause i can be fundamental about

2007-04-02T14:31:00.000+03:00

an oppressed woman watches her life go down the drain as she ponders her future. i'm above making puns about the cat on her back, or that suspicious stain behind the cat

its always baffled me, this fundamentalist thing. this i-need-to-blow-my-ass-up or blow-some-important-ass-up to-make-a-political-stand-point thing. what could possibly affect a guy so fundamentally that he feels the overwhelming urge to snugly wrap himself up in highly explosive substances and nonchalantly end his life in a crater in the middle of a road?

i've always wondered.

until now.

i too have unearthed a worthy cause. a cause worth throwing unwell eggs, tomatoes and other putrefying vegetables of my choice and vile expletives at police in full riot gear at a healthy distance away from me for.

Be top free! Be top free!

The Topfree Equal Rights Association (TERA) helps women who encounter difficulty going without tops in public places in Canada and the USA, and informs the public on this issue.

We need a top free kenya! we need a top free africa! we need a top free world!!

Join us and free women around the world! unshackle them from these heinous and abominable bonds. free the woman. FREE THE WOMAN!

for more information on how to join the worldwide coalition of individuals supporting this humane and charitable mission to free our oppressed women click here. join the movement and be part of something great.

Click here and here to view liberated women overjoyed to the point of asphyxiation.

Re-education

2007-03-27T09:07:00.000+03:00

So this weekend was quite the eye opener. i've come to the sad realisation that i am an intoxicated amoral deviant sexual reprobate person guy. among other things.

Thursday, 7pm, the crib: El diab rocks in with some cans of some strange tall beer. this beer is my new bestest drink (although pilsner is STILL my bestestEST drink). it comes in a 500ml can (how awesome is THAT?!?) AND, has an alcohol content of 7% (is that awesome or what?). so a few loose beers later we decide to look for some nourishment of the solid, non-alcoholic variety. there's this joint that cooks kick-ass dead animals, which is where we sought said nourishment.

three beers and a kg of burned pork later, we decided that there was a distinct shortage of the beautifuler sex at this bar and decided to hit the road. we shot across town to a popular joint in westi and whiled away a beer while listening to the most atrocious renditions of popular songs massacred by a number of highly inebriated individuals. shortly, we noticed the place was getting more and more packed. so another beer was quaffed unceremoniously. and another. and another. this is when i realized that my katiaring skills have drastically deteriorated. my pick up lines have been reduced to any one of the following:

(with a soc in one hand and an arm doing all manner of suggestive motions and a smirk) 'gimmie', '...gimmie', '...GIMMIE!'

(with a soc in one hand and an arm squeezing an arbitrary nether region and a leer) 'on my lap, chop chop'

(with a soc in one hand an my face buried in an arbitrary nether region making motorboat sounds)

we hastily left when we realized it was only a matter of time before we got, uh, helped out..

checked into the digs at five and at 8, i was in the office.

Friday, 7pm, the crib. Bavaria, strip club. bliss.

checked into the digs at six, at 9, i was in the office.

Saturday, 2pm, we found a bavaria sale at a local supermarket. bought KIBAO with the_fiend (my digs now looks like i distribute the shit), we were joined by demonnah with her, uh, escort. her pal, el diab and some ganja.. we dropped the ladies at a local bar, idly wondered where we should go for a few more drinks and the car drove us to strip club.

WTF? Part 1

2007-03-13T17:43:00.000+03:00

What in the hell did the initials OTC (of the bus station somewhere between eastlands and town fame) stand for? you remember otc, i know you do
If i were a man of steel, i don't think i'd be wearing red underwear on top of my tight blue , uh, tights, or a cape. i don't give a fuck what my dad says, i'm a man of steel dammit.

endorsements, baby. nike, reebok, puma, fundi frank. cash'd be pouring out of my ass like diarrhoea. no one can fight the capitalism juggernaut. not even the man of steel.
Why is it necessary to look at the sticky, slimy substance your nail rakes out of your nose? has it ever been anything but semi-solid mucous with a colour range anywhere between sunflower yellow and humus black-green? or to smell your finger when you scratch your ass? and are those two actions related? ever notice the way dudes suddenly pay attention to a dude with a booger on the finger, ready for launch? prepared to duck out of the way.. 'INCOMING!'
is it an evolutionary trait that the diameter of the nose is exactly that of the index finger? or do you just force your nose to adjust accordingly?
Which insane white guy (it had to be a white guy) timed a running hippo? i can understand ostrich. ostrich elicits some form of morbid fascination. the whole eye/brain thing is just out there.. a seven foot bird is bad enough, but a seven foot bird with brains the size of a walnut? i gotta say, that is just fascinating.
I'll bet my ass that Einstein's children were delinquents. and their children, and THEIR children.. he probably created a whole community of misfits and deviants. and they were probably not very clever too.
Who's bright idea was it to build round huts?
Which species of snake exactly lied to Eve? or do they all have some Eve-olutionary devious great grandpa .. and the only thing Adam figured from eating the forbidden fruit was that he was unclothed?!?! tree of knowledge my ass.
How is coca-cola cheaper than water?

Oh crap, i oughta write something responsible on this blog, expounding on some grave socio-political injustice perpetrated by the powers-that-be on the downtrodden shit-out-of-luck proletariat or looking for a new and improved angle on some multi-ethnic quasi-religious argument.

or maybe i should artfully craft a sweeping tale of intrigue, fiery passion, love lost, fast cars, suave bad guys and the dead guy in the river.

Tomorrow.

I promise.

fun and exciting things certain proxies and my weighted phrase can do together

2007-03-09T11:14:00.000+03:00

2 days ago

Access to the pagehttp://outofjoints.blogspot.com/... has been denied for the following
reason:
Weighted phrase limit exceeded.

You are seeing this error because
what you attempted to access appears
to contain, or is labeled as containing,
material that has been deemed
inappropriate.
If you have any queries contact your
ICT Co-ordinator or Network Manager.

here's what i think of said weighted phrase weighted phrase weighted phrase proxies, kiss my black, shiny weighted phrase right after i've taken a long and deeply satisfying weighted phrase . you know, one of those weighted phrase that smell like a terrified skunk crawled up my weighted phrase three days ago and died.

Conundrum AKA The black man is quite fucked

2007-02-20T15:04:00.000+03:00

co·nun·drum (kə-nŭn'drəm)
n.

A riddle in which a fanciful question is answered by a pun.
A paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma

Africans are really special people. I mean, 3000 years ago, the chinese were busy making silk underwear which i'd wager were alot more comfortable than the raw hide, untreated leather thongs we africans used to sport up until oh, i don't know, 200 years ago?

3000 years ago.

goddamn. that is an almost incomprehensibly long time ago.

were there any africans then?

i think that's about the time a meteor hit west africa with a resounding bang and some loose soot-darkened single cell bacteriumoid came into contact with whereverthefuckthestonecamefromptonite and underwent a 2500 year transformation to become the hip, urban black man that we know and love today.

fuck that evolution story.

so a pal of mine broke it down for me.. africans were content. we didn't need shit, we didn't make shit... if mandingo was hungry he'd just sharpen a stone, attach it to a loose piece of stick and with great wit and cunning... ah fuck it, he just ran the damn antelope down, leapt onto its back and stabbed it repeatedly in the neck until it died.. and mandingo didn't need to remember shit with any accuracy, or tell his pals important messages, so writing wasn't really necessary either. i 'd really love to know how those creationist stories we told ourselves with such sincere conviction came from.

the chinese were also masters in many forms of martial art and could heroically overpower a charging tiger with no shirts on and cigarettes dangling from the sides of their mouth.

i think even veggies came with some loose interaction with some arabs or portugese or some shit... if we'd had our way we'd have barbecued the shit out of wild game till the second coming of jesus. in our leather thongs and ostrich feather sun visors.

before y'all start hating on my anti-blackness, consider the facts and forever hate that dude who said 'the further back you look the further forward you see' because the further back into black history you look, the blacker the blackness surrounding the black man blackens.

but we had the egyptians right? and akina queen of sheba. they even make loose appearances in everyone else's annals. and those other mysterious dudes who built some strange fort like buildings in zimbabwe?

all those dudes are rendered null and void by a cursory glance through any day's local paper. we cannot possibly, in any way be related to the people who built pyramids.

and where did they all go, anyway?

for 20% of your intellectual decadence and mental fibre(or lack thereof) class, discuss.

tete a tete

2007-02-14T17:57:00.000+03:00

Ever had one of those situations there's a gut feeling you can't quite explain that tells you 'when shit hits the fan, besides the shit, there'll be marble size bits of shrapnel careening at gale force speeds'?

well me neither but the gut feeling i have comes preeetty close.

i have a situation, of sorts, ish.

i have an ex-girlfriend who lives a floor above me, and another who's moved a few blocks from me and picks buses to the city from the same stage i do. then there's this stunningly beautiful, unhinged to the point of altogether coming apart woman who keeps sending me the most troubling short messages, now that i don't pick her up phones anymore who now works just up the road.

is this a coincidence? is my time here on earth coming to a tragic but oddly satisfying end? or am i just basking in the warm, nutrient filled rays of my bombastic ego?

tune in next week, bla de bla de bla..

another thing, what's the deal with this 'dear' vibe? everyone calling everyone else 'dear'? and any and all variants, 'my dear', 'dearest', 'dear this', 'dear that'. especially with people who've just met me. i find it quite disconcerting. like a lingering, flaccid, wet handshake from a stranger.

can't we just nod heads curtly, or wave, or just altogether ignore each other?

then there's this new sheng that is apparently quite the 'in-thing', of saying bits of a word..

excerpts from a conversation i had.

'..boss, si unihook up na ile chap...'

'excuse me?',

'ile chap, ulisem utanigi... hukumbuk..?'

'dude, what the fuck r u saying?'

'yani uko biha.. hiv..? hii ndio sheng mup..',

'yeah, ok, fuck off...'

i don't exactly get how this can be termed as communication even in the loosest terms possible, and when i mean loosest i mean, oprah convincing a tribe of starving cannibals that she's got nothing to offer seeing as she left her cheque book at in the hotel.

Gym update

2007-02-06T15:26:00.000+03:00

I had a short merry making stint when i realized that my weight gain has FINALLY (hallelujah) stopped and, could it be, is now dropping?! 'beside myself with joy' really doesn't capture the spirit of exultation that coursed hotly through my veins. colours seem more vivid, sounds more melodic, the air sweeter. gladness bursts forth from every fibre of my being

it was about time. my butt was beginning to look like the man-tits on a fat guy in a muscle shirt.

i've seen those. they're astounding. and when the dude's walking, its like they come alive. like king neptune's dolphins valiantly attempting to transport one or two of king neptune's fat relatives.

and things just kept getting better.

on making my triumphant entry into the workout area, i observed the tightly-knit-browed, sweat drenched, heavily breathing vanilla suspects, diligently following instructor instructions. and all cardio-machines taken, except for the stair-climber machine. so i promptly jumped on it and began my workout.

aside: the stair machine is a piece of intricately carved work. if you want to burn calories like a motherfucker, this is the poison for you.

the stair machine doesn't really afford a good view of the gym as its closest to the wall with the muted army of TVs displaying a plethora of mind-numbingly boring local tv listings..or dstv sports, so i didn't see her until i began working on the free weights.

light blue sports bra, matching light blue tight, uh, fitting slacks, made of some flimsy cottony material that adheres to every contour on her body like it was designed by some sadistic gay fashion house.

and the body. oh lord.

i really don't know what sort of exercises she was doing but they involved an inordinately large amount of stretching.

while holding a horizontal pole, she'd throw one leg as far back as possible repeatedly, slowly, while staring determinedly at the mirror facing her. and every time she threw a leg up, there'd be no movement in the entire free weights area of the gym. every one suddenly wanted to work their legs and chests and lift dumb-bells which incidentally all happened to be behind this ..er.. workout.

so of course, a loose instructor had applied himself to her right side as soon as she walked in and was assisting her every which way. i tend to put his motives into question, though, because for the life of me, i have never ever seen some of the exercises she was doing. and they all involved some highly suggestive lower body motion. there's this one exercise she was doing, it involved spreading her legs as far apart as possible while standing, knees slightly bent holding one dumb-bell with both hands at slightly-bent-knee level, and, straight-backed, bending her knees until the dumb-bell almost touched the floor. she'd hold this oh-so-amazing position for a second or two, then straighten her knees.

i will never miss a day of gym again.

her rear end is indelibly impressed upon my retina. if i blink fast enough i can still see the outline of her butt muscles burning away at poor, unfortunate calories.

Fashionista

2007-02-01T15:15:00.000+03:00

it has now become a health hazard idly taking a stroll in nairobi. the many and varied booties you come across can get you

a) prenged by the notorious, perenially reversing cab drivers in the city
b) impaled on one of the numerous metal rods scattered variously across the city - remnants of 'parking meters' i don't believe nairobi ever had
c) killed

having fed my eyes as much candy as they could stomach(eye?), i strolled into loose cyber for some much required respite. any more booty and i'd have ogled to death.

this had the makings of some brave and forward postulations..

i hereby postulate that chicks dress the way they do BECAUSE, somewhere deep down in their collective subconscious, crave the attention. some gland somewhere in the chicks' ..er.. brain, or spine or whereverthefuck, needs that attention like a junkie needs that next score.

so while busy postulating i figured, you know what? dudes should do the same thing that chicks do! highlight important body parts, encase them in some seriously uncomfortable, preferably wire-meshy scandalously tight attire and display them proudly.

yeah

that'd be the shit.

we need to flaunt our balls.

so basically, we need some form of cup like device (can items made of cloth be referred to as devices?) emeshed at the middle to trace the contours of the balls, preferably made of some hard, uncomfortable material (throw in a wire frame for extra 'support'). create some corset-like belt with a shaft to hold the penis up, perpendicular to the balls, for decency's sake, shave the crotch area off the trousers, add a frilly brocaded hem and we're in business.

and of course if you see a chick staring the tops of your balls peeking coquettishly out of your crotch area, you can call her all sorts of names and slap her with your handbag..

or attack her with your shoe.

your call.

and you have the backing of the government.

i'd venture into the psychological imbalances perpetuated by this mindset, then i'd have to become homosexual, forever banished from pussydom.

or dead.

Marijuana as an inter species communications facilitator

2007-02-01T13:22:00.000+03:00

you see, we were on our way to the planet zarkon and that motherfucker glzph dropped my bag in the hyperthreading discombobulator..

fucking bastard.

so, anyway, where can i get some of that prime high grade shit?

Wired

2007-01-24T21:58:00.000+03:00

Internet in the digs.

WOOHOOO!

Just four thousand nine hundred and ninety nine steps to go in my five thousand step plan to rule the world. you shall bow to me, heathens.

Scandalized

2007-01-18T12:17:00.000+03:00

The day before yesterday was one of those days that start off politely but degenerate into brief flashes of dark, blurry vision, even briefer spurts of slurred, incoherent conversation and serious issues with gravity. you never fully appreciate the love planet earth has for you and how unwilling she is to let you go until u lose motor co-ordination.

trust me.

so anyway, i and two pals have been feeling like the full entrepreneurs. we've began this venture that will rake in astronomical amounts of money while we ponder on the mysteries of the universe on some remote tropical island who's biggest import is naked tropical women.

a meeting was set for 6pm at a bar. i got there a bit late but got el diab posing.. i joined him and we immediately began conversating.. archbishop sent an sms telling us he'd not make it. shortly, the_fiend joined us ceremoniously.

so after debating and imbibing an inordinately large number of beers in an inordinately short time, we decided to relocate. there's been for a while now, this bar as you approach downtown that has the most scandalous table dancing in sub saharan africa. we'd been there twice or thrice with el diab, you know, just to confirm the shit was real.

no really.

Ever notice how a dude just MUST look at a nude chick? no matter how wrinkled her skin is, boobs looking like dried dates, or her ass looks like a giant golf ball and her pubic hair is a bougainvillea.

and anyway, after several unfortunate experiences at red carpet (f2), we thought it'd be wiser not going back there for a decade or two..

so we strolled across town, all the way downtown. a few years ago, strolling downtown was roughly as hazardous as driving a truck with God bless America, praise Jesus emblazoned across the sides in baghdad. there are like forty uneven steps u have to take to get to the place, and they're tiled. if u ask me, that's a recipe for catastrophie, you pass disaster on the tenth or twentieth setp hurtling down to receive earth's loving embrace..

the crowd is a motley collection of the most crooked, smooth tongued, conniving cheap suit wearing men in nairobi. hasn't changed an iota. except for the dancing girls.. they seem to have, increased?

this has to be further investigated.

where's kaguthi, this place, oh my.. look at that chick.. she so fat she's dancing next to everyone..

basically, we bought alot of beer. and left there really late.

really late and intoxicated. hence my intimate knowledge of the aforementioned stairs. and earth's undying love for me.

Munyambuliko

2007-01-14T13:01:00.000+03:00

If you see Kay,
Tell him he may.
See you in tea,
Tell him from me.
James Joyce

In one of our incoherent, blurry-visioned conversations of mine and my pals' we got to contemplating on the mysterious word 'fuck'.

'how is it, that the act of sexual congress became a form of abuse?", ejaculated rev suddenly, his head oscillating slowly, his eyes unfocussed, muscles hanging loosely on his face. he had one of those ive-just-said-something-of-monumental-importance looks.

'no really, why is it that if someone kosead me i'd retort in a really pissed off voice that he should go and have intercourse? which will probably be pleasurable and relaxing. probably just what he needed.'

a series of blank looks convinced him that he was having a conversation only his beer understood. it nodded sagely in his hand.

when i thought about it a little later, i realized enyewe he had a point. what's with that? or is it that when i say 'fuck you' i really mean i am going to have sexual relations with you against your will? like i'm going to anally rape you? anally rape you and have tons of fun while you writhe and squirm and try to shut ur ass like tying a knot at the end of a balloon?

i really don't mean to imply that i am going to have intimate relations with another man.

i think, fuck you was like a form of greeting. Yeah, that's what it was. it was a salutation. i mean, can you think of something more pleasurable to wish someone whom you've just met than sex? some dude must have just strolled out of his digs after some satisfying sex and, smiling from ear to ear, must have wished the same good fortune on a pal of his, methinks.

'hey joe! fuck you!'

'fuck you too, boss'

'fuck u till your dick's sore! like me! look! my dick's sore.'

so, now that i have to get going, i'll just wish you and everyone you meet a day of sac emptying, pelvic muscle exercising intercourse.

'FUCK YOU ALL!'

Post festive season recovery

2007-01-12T15:33:00.000+03:00

So basically, nothing good comes easy or is fun. all the easy things just loosely give you an assortment of debilitating infections, a heinous body structure or a one-room shack in mukuru-kwa-njenga.

Directly after the rampant and carefree merry making of the festive season, I (of course) acquired myself a beauty of a protruberant abdominal. i can swear that thing appeared overnight. one day i had this rippling six pack and the next, i have this thing that looks like its supposed to be orbiting some celestial body.

Of course i had to do something about this unacceptable state of affairs and promptly joined the gym (that is right across from my place and has steam, sauna and massage by a beautiful and talented not-man).

And i have been there a total of, five times. goddamn scale claims i'm gaining weight, more weight in fact than when i was NOT going to the gym. this is some depressing shit. i can gain weight on my own, i don't need to pay copious amounts of cash to do it.

dammit.

I think its something in the water.

And another thing. you'd think that you'd get all sorts of fly-ass booty in a gym. Au contraire, my friend. Au contraire. i'd try to be more descriptive but then i'd risk death by severe trauma to the chochlea ( i don't really know what that is but it sounds like something that'd break if set upon with kicks and blows).

The gym instructor mumbled something about calories and cholesterol and fried foods as i was leaving to go to the bar and drown my sorrows.

Demon seed

2007-01-11T15:02:00.000+03:00

so there, i have a damned blog. catch up on shit straight out of the horse's ass.

Having posed in hurlingham for a while, i kinda, sorta regret not having met that burundian dude who used to dress up as a chick and jack dudes. Whatever happened to his innovative ass? Those are the kind of brains we need in kenya to sort out our foreign debt.

Anyway, personally, he's got my props. We should have seen a few of those dudes he jacked on tv we drive them out of town, or stone them. i mean, this is a ho, a ho with gonads. do you realize the magnitude of that statement?!? let's examine this scenario in a little detail for a minute. so, mr. i-really-need-a-lay-right-about-now-oh-there's-just-what-i'm-looking-for drives up in his ride, exchanges a few words with a fly looking ho (dude, she ..er.. he looked quite good for a chick who's really a dude) and 'she' jumps in.

aside : not that i do this shit myself, mind. i was blessed with a healthy imagination, praise God.

so, anyway, the chick jumps in and i imagine that our good friend has hormones raging, blood gorging through veins.. all sorts of not hard body parts hardening and shit.. i'd imagine he'd start stroking ..er.. her thigh, she'd grab his ..uh, gonads, the windows would get a bit misty and all. and his hand creeping up her thigh would come across something that really shouldn't be there.

wouldn't it?

anyway, i imagine that that period of time between the original touching of the thigh to the godawful truth is all the time that this enterprising ..uh.. entrepreneur has to relieve our good friend of his cash. i betcha there's even some mathematical formula for that shit. sh ..uh, he deserves your respect, you've got 2 admit that.

but here's where the diseased, emulsified green speckled watery yellow shit really starts to stink.

ain't no way in hell i'd ever admit it happened to me. not even if the dude/chick was a mossad agent and had it all on microchip hidden in her teeth.

unless of course, i fell for the shit twice.

amongst us, good people of kenya, is a real i-can-crack-a-diamond-with-my-eye dumbass.