A common feature of the wildlife and landscape of Kyanja are the self-mis-proclaimed joggers, mid-thirties or early-forties corporati, fat and pudgy, clad in sweatpants and sleeveless tops, very very expensive sneakers, and an earpod sticking out of each lobe, shuffling up the pavement with such miserable energy that any quick count of kilojoules expended would determine conclusively that more exercise would be achieved if they just sat down and laughed at themselves.
If you are one of these and sensed the hateration in that paragraph, allow me to, first of all, say, “Hi neigbour! What’s good in the hood?”, and then offer this advice, as a neighbour, brother, and concerned citizen of our shared nation.
You don’t deal with fatness by eating skinny toads.
If you are going to eat a toad, our ancestors advised, cham one as fat as you are. Meaning, go full tilt, go kabisa, go all out when you go for it. Don’t let these half-measures waste your time. This lazy shuffling with the barely mobile baby steps is not jogging. It’s skinny toads.
If you need help, and you do, I am very willing to assist. With your permission, next time I see you doing that pointless, lazy ambling, I can frighten and chase you.
If you need help running, I will attempt to steal your phone. I will run at you with a weapon and shout, “Leta simu, gwe fala. Thug life!” thus prompting you to actually run because you are afraid of what I will do when I get your phone.
What I will do is not just take it and sell it like these amateurs. What I will do is to log onto your twitter and type things like “Not all men!!!” “Museveni iz teh best thing that evr happend 2 Uganda!” “I am jst about 2 taste my first rolex!!” and, of course, circulate dick pics of goat penises to all your followers via DM.
I am offering this as a public service to help motivate you to actually run.
I often reassert that being fat is your prerogative. It is a good thing to have a good size — you have earned your rolls and your belly and you deserve respect for them. I, myself, aspire to be fat again, and once I stop being a broke loser I intend to inflate my torso to magnificent proportions so that all that see me see the bawse I will have become.
The only reason for a grown-up to not be fat is if it is affecting your health adversely. That’s my word.
But if you don’t want to accept this, and must jog and become slim, like some Bondo-shooting tween squealing to mumble rap at Kenji’s then I will have to chase you.
Not because I want to help you slim down.
I just want you out of the way. I can’t lazily amble up my pavements with all you ageing hippos in the way.