BHH recap. In advance

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.

Celebrity Endorsement Time

It’s been a very long time since we did this. It used to be a grand tradition of this, the world’s longest-running Ugandan blog which keeps changing names. (If you look up you will notice that it is now called something slightly different from what it was called two seconds prior. If this is not the case, refer to the tagline. I lie a lot. )
Nevertheless, this gay banter must not impede our progress towards our nsonga. The crux of the matter that brought us to this auspicious post, wherein we revive the tradition of the Celebrity Endorsement!
  • Hello. I’m Drake. A rap star.
  • I thought you were a newsreader.
  • Why does EVERY SINGLE UGANDAN I ever meet try that joke?
  • I think Ugandans will keep trying to crack the joke until someone caves in from the pressure and emits a weak half-laugh.
  • Um. Heh heh.
  • There you go. Now, Drake, you are a rap star? If this is the case, how come I have never heard of you?
  • It’s cos you listen to people like Skyzoo and Sha Stimuli and Jean Grae and others who I left underground when I ascended to the mainstream via a label deal hook up from Lil Wayne.
  • That’s IT!
  • What’s it?
  • The reason I have never heard of you. You occur in the vicinity of Lil Wayne, aka The Abomination of Ages. My brain just, by reflex, refuses to admit any information from that benighted region of the general music datasphere. I can’t even tell if Nikki Minaj is hot or not. My brain just refuses to process anything to do with anything to do with Lil Wayne.
  • Weezy is…
  • Aka The Abomination  of Ages.
  • Weezy…
  • Aka The Vile One.
  • We are not here to talk about my boss or his insistence on tongue-kissing the employees. We are here to introduce a new blog.
  • I have misgivings about this. I don’t think the author would appreciate an endorsement from you, of all people.
  • You picked me at random, dude. No one’s to blame. Can I do this?
  • Yeah, I guess, we have no choice. Go ahead.
  • is a strange and amusing and utterly fascinating woman who will one day be a supervillain if we are not careful.  She will crush us all under a yoke of tyranny. I know this. I have seen it in her eyes. Here is an excerpt.
  • From a post about things learnt at Christian Beach Camp:

There are a lot of maggots in the zoo beach sand. They’ll make for your toe nails.
If you swim in a bikini at a Christian camp, nobody will stop you, but everybody’s eyes will be screaming *JEZEBEL!
All  boys are to be looked at as penisless, fangless brothers and having crushes marks you with the potential to become a whore on the inside.

I don’t mean to be a pain, but…

Waiter. Waiter.
Waiter, waddle on over here. Your duckfoot condition isn’t too bad. I need to discuss something with you. Now. Glad you could make it. I feared for a moment that the left one would give way and you would trip.

Now, Waiter, the issue is this juice. Here. Sip it. Yes. I said take a sip of my juice. Don’t look so confused.

Sip. Oxford says “drink (something) by taking small mouthfuls” but if you prefer Webster, that says “A small draught taken with the lips; a slight taste”. Both point you in the same direction. Imbibe a quantity of the contents of this glass. There you go.

Now do you notice something? I know I should speak only for myself, because I don’t know you that well, but I think it is reasonable to assume that neither one of us has ever licked the bottom of the drains leading out of UWEC.
And yet after sipping that juice, don’t you feel confident that you know what such an experience would feel like?

Waiter, I asked for juice. How you managed instead to construe that as a request for something that is so accurately redolent of zoo effluence I don’t know, but clearly, this deed needs to be undone. What shall we do to resolve the problem you have caused? Don’t look hopeful—me drinking this swill is not an option in play.

This is what you should do.
Ideally I should like you to take this glass, smash it against the floor and then use one of the jagged pieces to slit your wrists, but we have already seen how good you are at following instructions. I asked you to bring me juice, and you brought me a glass of sweat. Clearly you can’t be trusted to do what you are told. So let me just offer a general suggestion, hopefully if the target is large enough you will hit something.

Let’s try you going in there and returning with something vaguely palatable that has some quantity of fructose involved. That is your task. Please apply yourself. I know it’s hard for a person with such difficult feet to walk and think at the same time, but let’s try.

50 Cent loses 54 Pounds (Ug shs 178,629)

Rapper 50 Cent has been famous for four things.

  • Rapping about how much fun it is to shoot people and sell drugs.
  • Unsuccessfully trying to act in mediocre movies.
  • That episode of the Boondocks of Soul Plane.
  • Having forearms the size of trees and  a chest as broad as a door.  And why not? As a multimillionaire rapper, he had access to the best steroids money could buy.

But that ‘s all about to chance as 50 (also knows as Curtis Jackson) prepares for the next artistic challenge before him.

50 (also known, by the way, as Booboo. No, really. That’s  one of his nicknames) is  preparing to play the role of a cancer-striken football player in a film titled Things fall Apart.

Part of these preparations include shedding 54 pounds (or in Ugandan currency, 24 kgs) in weight to play the part convincingly. The result is that what was formerly a black hulk of rap now looks like this.

Yes. If you needed any further proof that Booboo was descended from the slopes of the Great Mount Elgon, there you go. Dude looks just like Form Four georgraphy teacher Mr Mukwaase Henry.

Of course American musicians are not the only ones venturing into the movie business. Even here at home we have occasionally seen recording artists try their hand at this movie lark. Julianna was in something called (Shit. I’ve all forgotten) and Bobi Wine starred in that thing with the name misspelled.

None has gone to such great lengths as not eating for six months, but if Curtis has started at trend, we look forward to seeing…

  • Straka loses mob kgs  to play a poor village belle struggling to make it through poverty and gender discrimination in A Woman’s Work.
  • Julianna loses her weave to play a poor urban belle struggling to make it in spite of kaweke in Hair Raiser
  • Sweet Kid loses his fake accent  to play a teacher who inspires a class of inner-city youth to success.
  • Rabadaba loses his sunglases to play a chap who actually has eyes.