Suddenly there was a loud boom. IPS building exploded. This could only mean one thing:
Sleek and Wild had decided to show up by walking in slow motion instead of by riding a boda. Whenever they walk in slow motion, buildings have to be exploding behind them.
We all opened our specially-branded BHH umbrellas to protect us from the falling cinders and turned to the other direction from which a chorus of shrill and eager but off-key children’s voices rose. About two dozen tots clad in bitenge were forming a line from a limo on Kampala Road. “Yoo Ah Werokam! Yoo Ah Werokam!” they squealed in unison as Heaven, wearing the largest sunglasses in Kampala and a pair of Lady Gaga shoes, stepped out and proceeded to wave and smile and demur as if she was surprised at all the attention.
The paparazzi were flashing wildly away. Normzo got up and shot each one of them in the neck with his ever-present bow and arrows. “Snarl,” he said. He said it like that. “Snarl.” He actually pronounced the word.
Solomon King, most commonly referred to as Yes, THE Solomon King, arrived in a horse-drawn chariot, causing equal amounts of delight and suspicion because YT Solomon King has been know to use robotic devices to gull the easily misled.
Many of us nursed doubts that those were real horses, and some ventured closer to examine them.
“I knew it!” exclaimed Antipop, standing by the ass of one. “They are not horses, they are…”
That was the last we heard of Antipop, as YT Solomon King vapourised her with his laser vision. “She knew too much,” he explained, then ordered a Black Ice.
Nev and Rev had an argument about whether ABBA was an all girl quartet or an all boy quartet, and Jny23 excused himself to go and retrieve some casual sex from Nando’s. He came back looking guilty. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. Which is worse than just telling us what the hell happened.
Streetsider grinned in a dark, brooding, gritty way. He was on emergency furlough from his latest assignment with Uganda’s top secret elite armed forces special services unit, the MAVI Seals. That’s why he had arrived in full combat fatigues. He even had the funny black thingies under his eyes. “I done seen some things no man shouldn’ta never seen,” he muttered into the middle distance and then sniffed a bit more coke.
It was close to nine when the woman without a link arrived. “Is it she?” asked Lady Sinister the Tipsyalcophobic. “Yes, it is she.” I said, because I never lie to Lady Sinister, though I would proceed to lie to every one else and tell them it was Victoria.
“Oh, my gosh. She has all the legs in the world!” LS mused.
Dee, Carlo, Tumwi, B2B and Chanel were not there and we didn’t know why. We looked at Streets who was now shooting heroin into his jugular and he simply said, “That’s classified.”
Ivan, who was wearing a cape for some reason, leapt onto the table, dislodging Mudamuli and and intoned like a graduate from public speaking class. “How many of you are registered voters?” Half of the people around the tables looked away bashfully. Ivan was indignant. “Do you know that it is your civic duty to vote? You are morally obliged to do so!”
“YES!!!” Shouted Petesmama. But it was not because she was agreeing with Ivan. It was because someone had scored.
“Okay. Voters Cards are here for 20k each. You can get two for 30,” Ivan concluded.