When you are in a webcafe trying to see what to put on your blog one evening, and ideas, which normally thunder in herds through your insane head, raising dust, chaos, and a lot of noise (you know how herds of ideas usually be) and you are crouched, like any buffalo/idea sniper worth his salt, and you are worth your salt, having graduated top of your class from Sandhurst (the one in Katwe not the one in Ntinda), on top of a well-placed anthill, with your brand new bow and arrow poised, it’s weapon level set to “deadly force”,  your eye keen and focused, looking and looking closely, waiting to pick one juicy, fat, healthy one to shoot down, so that you can blog its bloody carcass, this gruesome imagery doesn’t bother you one bit, then this dude next to you starts to as if make kaboozi, like he looked at you and noted a striking resemblance to a radio talk show, one that invites idle yapyap from all corners and does not discriminate, as if you are not going to cast a cold, evil, mean, steely, contact lens at him and without a word shut him the freakin’ell up and put him back in his place, causing him to thank God (Silently) that you did not carry your baseball bat with you that evening, you try to get back to the post and you find that you are out of webtime.

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