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

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

1. 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.
   
2. 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.
   
3. 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..
   
4. 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.
   
5. Beer goes with everything. it goes especially well with more beer.
   
6. 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.
   
7. 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.
   
8. 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.
   
9. you can die of the flu.no really, you CAN DIE of the flu. A violent, hacking phlegmy death.
   
10. 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

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

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

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

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

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.