Verbatim Vs Verbatim FM

Two children, ages one and one and a half, sit on our hero’s veranda with a brightly primary-coloured toy microphone that they will take turns speaking into in front of them. One wears large blue toy headphones. That’s Lizzie. The other wears pink ones with fluffy edges. That’s Evans.

They realize the problem and switch headphones, then they go back to their game. They are, of course, playing “Morning Radio Show”.

  • It’s Lizzie
  • …And Evans…
  • … on the Early Rendition, Zigging Voice 23.5 FM on your radio. Treat other
    frequencies on your dial like Michael Jackson jokes, and DON’T GO THERE.

(Presses button that unleashes prerecorded laughter)

    • Evans,
      just so we don’t confuse the listeners, perhaps you could explain who this
      Michael Jackson person is.
    • According
      to my research, Lizzie, he was a musician from that prehistoric age the
      grownups call “The Eighties.” A singer of great influence, apparently and his
      recent death impacted many people very deeply. Baz, for example, has been
      locked inside bawling his big googly eyes out since Thursday. All you hear
      coming from his house are sounds of tears and wailing. And the occasional…
    • Dude, what happened to your lisp?
    • I lost it. And the occasional crash as he breaks furniture trying to replicate
      the singer’s dance moves.
    • It’s very weird. I was so used to that lisp. I swear, I don’t even know how to
      call you Rasss Evansss. I am so used to Rath Evanth.
    • Lizzie, do I make a big deal out of your misaligned earlobes?
    • My earlobes are not misaligned!
    • Yes they are. Freakishly.  The left one looks like it wants to defect from your head and join your shoulder and, that thing on the right? I assume it’s an ear, but it could quite possibly be a wing. But I don’t go on and on about those freaky ears of yours, do I? No, I don’t. I focus on what’s important. Now let’s get on with the show. Listeners, this is Early Condition, with Ras Evans and Lizzie, broadcasting live from Baz’ verandah. The Early Condition, with the latest news and information on who Michael Jackson was.
    • Yes. Continue filling us in Evanssss.
    • Michael Jackson was also the reason my mother told me to wait until I was 18 before applying for a visa to States.
    • Why? Was he dangerous? What type of man was he? Was he bad?
    • That’s what I heard.
    • You heard that he didn’t like little boys?
    • That was the verdict of the court.

    Presses button again.

    TMI.

    TMI is a useful phrase I have learnt to deploy when talking to women.
    Women have alimentary canals also. I know, you don’t want to hear that about Nabunankani because you have a crush on her and you don’t want to have a crush on people who have shit coming out of their behinds, but hey, I don’t make the rules.
    Ideally, we should maintain a conspiracy of silence and just not talk about it. Just pretend that Karitas’ ass does not fart rank, black, evil Pajero-like Diesel four times a day.
    But some women break this conspiracy and brazenly declare to even you, the guy in the room, that a certain type of food gave her loose stools.
    TMI! Is what you should declare.
    It is what I declared last time but she got angry. What about? She scolded. Nga when you and your male friends talk about toilet you don’t tell them TMI! Ntsss. Squippedy.
    Just before I threw her out. (I can’t share social circles with people who are that local. Squippedy? I swear. That is how she said it.) I informed her that when I talk to my male buddies, we discuss important issues,  we do not compare notes on the consistency of our diahhorea.
    However, there is an exception to this rule, There is a time when I was forced to sit through a very TMI speech from a guy. Finish your sandwich quickly before I tell you.
    He said he does not use the urinal in the gents because sometimes when he tries to shake it, it doesn’t get dry enough and the remaining droplets stain his underwear and create a damp, ammoniac smell. What he does, he said, is urinate in the WC, where there is toilet paper, which he can then use to daub his kablonger dry.
    I really didn’t need to have heard that.
    Because now I can’t use the urinal. For the whole week I have been unable to use the urinal
    TMI.

    Women have alimentary canals,too.

    I know, you don’t want to hear that about Grace  Nakimera because you have a crush on her and you don’t want to have a crush on people who have shit bursting out of their behinds every single day, but hey, I don’t make the rules.

    Ideally, we should maintain a conspiracy of silence and just not talk about it. Just pretend that Grace does not fart rank, black, evil Pajero-like Diesel four times a day, but some women break this conspiracy, as one did one day when she loudly said, with even us, her male admirers, that a certain type of food gave her loose stools.

    “TMI!” I shouted.

    But then she got angry. “What about!” she scolded. “Nga when you and your male friends talk about toilet you don’t tell them TMI! Ntsss. Squippedy.”

    Just before I threw her out (I can’t share social circles with people who are that local. Squippedy? I swear. That is how she said it.) I informed her that when I talk to my male buddies, we discuss important issues,  we do not compare notes on the consistency of our diahhorea.

    However, there is an exception to this rule. I recently sat through a very TMI speech from a guy. Finish your sandwich quickly before I tell you.

    He said he does not use the urinal in the gents because sometimes when he tries to shake his conundrum after, it doesn’t get dry enough and the remaining droplets stain his underwear and create a damp, ammoniac smell. What he does, he said, is urinate in the WC, where there is toilet paper, which he can then use to daub his conundrum dry.

    I really didn’t need to have heard that.

    Because now I can’t use the urinal. For the whole week I have been unable to use the urinal. I am too scared of dripping.

    I told you to finish your sandwich first.

    If you get hungry this weekend, drop into Hot Loaf Jinja Road for a sandwich burn.
    If you get hungry this weekend, drop into Hot Loaf Jinja Road for a sandwich burn.

    Catch you hungry pups on Monday. Yeah, baby. Mwah!

    Another Guest Post from Outside Countries to your doorstep

    Kyaliwajjala is IN the HOUSE!! Yo Miss Cheri aka Sherry Darling, aka Queen of Blogistan aka Tallest Chick who can KickShort Man dem Pon de Balls, One Time! Two Time! Tree Time rundown di track. Faya!

    DRAMA.COM

    My colleague, Celia, says many outrageous things and always has a witty answer to every question. Trick or not. However, right now, she can’t explain this little situation.

    She has been going out with this dude for about 6 months now and she says it’s the happiest she has been in decades. See, Celia is a divorced mother of 4. She is almost 50 and had lived more than 10 years without a partner when along came Mr Mysterious (a nickname we gave him at work because he always seemed to have some mystery about him.)

    In her words, Mr Mysterious awoke some feelings she never ever thought she’d ever have.

    He took well to her children especially the younger ones who still live with her and they got on well with his children who were about the same age.

    Quick fact.

    Mr Mysterious is 12 years younger than Celia.

    Another quick fact

    She has never dated a man older or same age as her. Coincidentally (according to her) they are all always younger than she is.

    Celia proves the point that age is nothing but a number. She lives her life in the fast lane and seems, looks and behaves likes she’s about 15 years younger than she is.

    In the beginning she didn’t really think he’d be very serious with her. To her, it was another whirlwind romance that was going to follow the route all the others had taken. But this one seemed to stand the test of time. And her test of time was usually 4 weeks. We were impressed. I’ve known her long enough (since last July) to witness this countless times.

    However, last week, I was in for a big shock. Celia called me on the weekend to tell me she had big news for me and that I had to wait till I got to office to hear it. Obviously, I thought it was some juicy office gossip. I couldn’t wait to hear it. I even got to office about 30 minutes early so we’d have enough time to gossip before the other began to roll in. U know how I be.

    I was too early. She showed up on time. With the others. But trust us to yap regardless.

    She dropped the bomb!!!!

    Mr Mysterious had popped the big question and asked her and her youngest children to move in with him and his children. Whoa. Big deal! I couldn’t believe. She seemed happy yet a bit held back this time.

    Cheri: Can I see the ring?

    Celia: I didn’t take it!

    Cheri: Why?

    Celia: I turned him down. I couldn’t. And he was on his knee and shit. With a bouquet of roses marked, “For my fiancée”. It hurt like hell but I just couldn’t Chantal.

    Cheri: *Jaw still on the floor* What? Why, Celia?

    Celia: I’m not sure of this fella Chantal. I’ve only known him 5 months. He’s much younger than I am. He’s too fit for me. He’s Jamaican. I’m just settling into the whole thing and now he’s thrown me off with all this. Honestly, I’m not at the level yet. I can’t even fart or belch loud in his presence. I have to run off to the loo. U know, I need to get used to him to be able to do these things in his presence, THEN I’ll know I’m ready to settle in with him. For all I know he could want to marry me to use me to get a British Passport. I’m not even sure of his status in the country.

    This made me laugh so hard even though she was in a serious predicament! The FART or BELCH point killed me.

    I didn’t even have a valid piece of advice to give her.

    So it begs the question;

    When is it right/okay/appropriate to FART or BELCH in the presence of your partner and not feel embarrassed or feel the need to run and do it in the bathroom?

    _FartPropellant

    While you were sleeping

    “Did you go for the Navio concert, Baz?” asked the eager young intern who looks up to me because the common misconception that I am a happening dude is very potent and widespread.

    “No,” I replied. “I didn’t have 10k for a ticket. I went to watch Terminator Salvation at Cineplex instead.”

    There was a pause as the logical paradox implicit in that statement ground its way through the left side of her skull and caused a temporary concussion.

    She recovered soon enough to ask how the movie was.

    “Action packed and full of special effects,” is the assessment I delivered.

    “Well, you missed a great show when you opted to go to the cinema instead,” she said.

    “You are speaking of the concert event at Nakivubo, of course,” I said, stroking my chin in an intelligent way. I do that a lot. Because I have an intelligent way. It is what leads me to understand that the eager young intern genuflecting before me was talking about the heavy punching ragamuffin musician Bebe Cool received at the CBS Radio Concert that was taking place at Nakivubo Stadium the same Saturday night.

    The intern was keen to insist that it was far more specially effective than any Terminator movie could be.

    “Tell me what happened in detail,” I instructed. That is how we veterans talk to interns. We don’t suggest, or request. We instruct.

    Because she was a Bukedde Intern, she went down to her bullpen and returned with a copy of the Luganda daily and read|:

    “OMUYIMBI Bebe Cool avudde mu Kitoobero kya CBS Ontanudde ng’afeesa. Alwanye ne Bobi Wine ng’entabwe eva ku Bebe Cool kulinnya ku siteegi n’agamba nti mu Uganda mulimu abayimbi abanene babiri: Ye ne Jose Chameleone.”

    For the benefit of those of you who are brainwashed by the colonialist mindset conspiracy of cultural imperialism or who for some other reason do not understand Luganda, let me translate. That means:

    Self-styled “singer” Bebe Cool was introduced to the Suge Knight after he dared claim while on stage that there were only two true musical stars in Uganda: Jose Chameleone and himself. A foolhardy statement to make, indeed, when both of them are waning and, at current rates, Weasel is kicking both their asses with Radio in terms of star power.

    Bukedde went on to say:

    Kino kyanyiizizza musajja w’omu Ghetto Bobi n’amulumba ng’ava ku siteegi amulage nti naye w’amaanyi. Baabadde bakyali mu folofooto w’ebigambo, kanyama wa Bobi Wine n’aggunda Bebe Cool eng’uumi musosolandaggu n’agwa wansi nga takyategeera biri ku nsi.

    Which I can tell you means:

    BC’s longtime rival Bobi Wine was in the wings when this taunt, which was most likely directed at him, was made. He was not going to take that in a calm and responsible manner. Certainly not. Wine is a ghetto ragamuffin. He’s from the mean streets. He is straight gangsta, yo!

    So he had his bodyguard attack BC as he left the stage.

    The bodyguard delivered a sound and firm punch to the raggedy head of BC, causing him to see entire galaxies of stars for a few seconds and probably to determine that there are indeed more than just two.

    Bukedde proceeded:

    Mu kavuyo akangi Bebe yazze engulu n’ayimuka addemu  okwenyoola ne Bobi Wine kyokka bakanyama be ne bamusitula ne bamutwala mu mmotoka ng’eno Bobi Wine bw’awaga nti ‘nze ndi ‘international boxer’ era sizannyirwako.

    In other words:

    As Bebe Cool was being carried away to receive medial ministrations, Bobi yelled after him: “That’s your latest hit, bitch! Geddit? HIT! Cos I hit you! I packed your face with action like the fourth Terminator film!”

    Full story here.

    Follow Directions

     

    Weekend, people. See  you at Garden City. We'll be upstairs watching movies.
    Weekend, people. See you at Garden City. We’ll be upstairs watching movies.

    The caps they sell at Uchumi are very versatile. After wearing them, you can serve drinks to a whole party of drunk muchomo-eaters in them.

    Blogtrotting Thurrogits

    • It’s hard to comment on Scotchbiscuits because all one ever has to say is “wow”. It’s not fair.
    • Joe in Uganda has found a Guardian story about a Ugandan president  that will have me grinning stupidly at random moments throughout this week whenever I remember it. It’s a blog post from that UK newspaper about the dancehall culture in Uganda: specifically focusing on The Fire Base Crew. Buchaman does not come out smelling like roses. But then again, does he ever? 
    • It’s hard to comment on Princess  because all one ever has to say is “wow.” It’s not fair.
    • I am not really a big poetry fan, but I am a big Cleo fan, so it gives me great pleasure to be the one to introduce her blog. The poetry is sweet and cool. Like Cleo.
    • If you, like me, know the true value, the real power of this internet of ours, you could swoop in like the superhero you truly are and save Minty. She needs an introduction to online scrabble. Be warned, however: She is likely to kick your butt.
    • If you work in one of those dynamic, forward-looking companies that are not afraid to face the immense communication and information-gathering potential of the web then you can log onto your un-blocked facebook and join the Sanyu FM Breakfast Show’s group. They continue discussions on the nation-building issues of the day, I believe. I don’t know of course, because I work at a company whose IT department does not believe in letting employees access and disseminate information– The New Vision newspaper. 
    • I don’t know how to link it without getting onto facebook. Please log on and search groups for” Sanyu FM Breakfast”.
    • And finally, you have got to check out thenextquarter.blogspot.com. You have to.  Why? Because  you will love it, that’s why.
    It’s hard to comment on Scotchie because all one ever has to day is “wow”. It’s not fair.
    It’s hard to comment on Princess because all one ever has to say is “wow.” It’s not fair.
    Joe In Uganda has found a Guardian story about a Ugandan president  that will have me grinning stupidly at random moments throughout this week whenever I remember it. It’s a blog post from that UK newspaper about the dancehall culture in Uganda: specifically focusing on The Fire Base Crew. Buchaman does not come out smelling like roses. But then again, does he ever? 
    I am not really a big poetry fan, but I am a big Cleo fan, so it gives me great pleasure to be the one to introduce her blog. The poetry is sweet and cool. Like Cleo.
    If you, like me, know the true value, the real power of this internet of ours, you could swoop in like the superhero you truly are and save Minty. She needs an introduction to online scrabble. Be warned, however: She is likely to kick your butt.
    If you work in one of those dynamic, forward-looking companies that are not afraid to face the immense communication and information-gathering potential of the web then you can log onto your un-blocked facebook and join the Sanyu FM Breakfast Show’s group. They continue discussions on the nation-building issues of the day, I believe. I don’t know of course, because I work at a company whos IT department does not believe in letting employees access and disseminate information– The New Vision newspaper. But if you can and want to you check it out and tell me.
    I don’t know how to link it without getting onto facebook. Please log on and search groups for Sanyu FM Breakfast.
    And finally, you have got to check out The Next Quarter.