The question of everybody’s mind is, of course, Where is Akon?

Or maybe it is How many times do they frisk Project Fame’s Ian Mbugua before they let him into the building? You know if he could get a weapon onto the premises there would be some furniture moving around, but I can’t believe that one checkpoint is enough. The size, number and rate of pulsation of the veins in his head belie a level of frustration that would not be held in check by just one check point.

I am willing to wager that there is a special squad of security chaps assigned to him to make sure he does not try to sneak—well, does not succeed in sneaking a catapult onto the show again.

Or maybe it isn’t that. Maybe it is Why the hell does Tvangirai even want the job of cleaning up Mugabe’s mess anyway?

Or maybe it is Why don’t they make coffee Weetabix? Why should they bother anyway? We already have those coffee sweets—the ones which you suck on and get caffeinated well. I need a couple of those. There are people in this office of mine who think Red Bull is alcoholic. Imagine.

Or maybe it is Can I have the Obsessions who are not Obsessions anymore? They laid off even more, I understand, so this means that there are ex-Obsessions out there. Can I have them? They could water my houseplants and run errands and stuff. I mean, what else are they going to do? They were members of a line-dancing & lip-synching troupe. What else are they qualified for?

Or maybe the question is Just how hot is Angela Angwenyi? At all?

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