Oh My. This is quite a thing, isn’t it. We Have Moved

I just discovered that this blog still has traffic. Someone came by and visited.

Oh no.

This can not do. You can’t come here and find nothing here. You will think I ran out of juice. Not at all.

For the past like four years I have been blogging elsewhere. I moved to a certified site joint.

Bazanye.Com is where I am now.


It is a beautiful place. I even won an award for it. It is that beautiful.

Please, please visit it and if you like it, do the facebook like and share thing on the posts you like.

I am like Jay-Z. I can’t leave the game alone. Old-ass rappers won’t quit even.

The Ballad Of Black Bosco

What does a novelist do when he or she (he in this case) finds himself in Uganda, where neither Penguin, Random House, Barnes nor Noble ever set foot? Does he fly to America? But he wasn’t given a visa. So does he then not write the novel. That’s what I did.
Or that’s what I thought. Until the idle typing I had been doing in between bits of actual work at office began to take the shape of a real story and not a blog post, so I just went ahead and wrote it. I had a novel there.

So, what does a novelist do when he has a novel and Random House, Penguin, Barnes and Noble still haven’t called? He lets the novel gather dust on a C-Drive somewhere.

Actually, I wrote this so long ago, the computer I typed it on is actually junk now. It was in 2007 those prehistoric ends.

So what does a novelist do when he finds it on a backup CD and thinks, hey, someone might enjoy reading this?

He puts it up online and says, well, if you want to read it, please take a look. It’s funny. You might like it.

It’s a PDF file, right here.

Urban Legend Kampala

This is a trailer. This is a taste. This is the little thing before the big thing. This is the whispery whistle before the full blast of the fart of one of the funkiest bowels of bloggery. This is the teaser for Urban Legend Kampala, the next step in the evolution of blogging.

First spot.

SleekandWild: a man who is so badass that he is actually two people and both of them are fraught with danger and concealed weaponry that massacres every single Monday.

Erique: the man who does the electric boogaloo next to real live electricity sockets, using live boogers extracted from his own nose and science, even after months of study, has yet to find out how one man can get so much phlegm out of one nose…

Streetsider: a man who says Motozela and makes it sound like a filthy word because he is so full of darkness that he can make any word sound filthy, a man who therefore eats Mountain Dew bottletops and shits out shuriken…

And finally, Myself, Mr Ernest Bazanye, a man who wears a full body boot so that when I kick an ass my entire being is involved in the process…

… have all come together to present some shit that will make your eyes quiver.

Because you know us. You have seen our work. You know what we are capable of.

And now we done gone and did it.

Bazanye.com is live

And finally, I am able, with no compunction, hesitation, second-guessing or remorse to finally tell you whasgono.

I’m not going to stop blogging at this dump here, but I am moving into other areas. Starting Teusday I shall be working for http://bazanye.com and http://urbanlegendkampala.com. The first link is live. The second is on the way. Ugandans are the ones delivering and you know how they are with keeping time.

Hope you will pass by, check out, like things, leave comments, link back, forward addresses, and we take and together we build this nation of ours.

Please, follow me. Let’s go. This way.

Chandler and Fraiser and the Agents of Fate’s Reckoning

You may perhaps have noticed over the past few so and so weeks a marked lack of activity on this blog. I mean, the fool comes here, changes the theme, notes the dark threat from commenter Pinky, (She said “get yo ass off the couch Baz n write somethin dimwit”) shivers, but then still somehow manages to leave without an update.

To steal a word I read the other day that I have been dying to use, you might be wondering, “Whasgono?”

I like that word a lot and shall deploy it again very soon.

Some of you haters out there might even be sneering at your screens saying, “You see? He thought he would never run out of crap. Well, there you go! Finally the crap is finished. The bowel, so to speak, is empty!”

To such people I say, don’t be so hasty. I know what I’m doing.

Actually, I know exactly whasgono.

The full story is that I am preparing to leave for a better place.

For the longest time, blogging has been a game, a toy, a hobby, but then, that has to end. I am about to become a businessman, people. I am about to start to take this crap

And sell it.

Let me explain. I was visited by The Agents of Fate’s Reckoning  one late night and they, (The AoFR) imbued in me the seed of an idea.

They said, “Baz, whasgono? Gwe, first visualize this object here, at the edge of your dream as morning approaches.”

The object was a small, thin, blue booklet with the words “The Adventures Of Chandler And Fraiser” written on it, a little cartoon, and a low price tag.

I realized when I awoke (typically about two hours after I get out of bed. Coffee hits the bloodstream, metabolism metabolises, the caffeine meets the blood, the caffeine says to the blood, “Whasgono?” and the blood accepts it in and finally the consciousness is stirred back into being) I realized when I awoke that this is what I needed to do: Write cheap little booklets about the adventures of Chandler and Fraiser.

Chandler and Fraiser are my two sons. Well, not really. I don’t have kids, (I swear it!) They feature occasionally in the column I write for the Sunday Vision. (Hit the link please. I want you to read that).

I have been working on a couple of booklets and trying to get them printed and put into shops in the hope that you will not mind picking one up one afternoon and reading through when you need a bit of a laugh (for it is intended that said booklets will be funny) and that when you do so, I shall earn enough money to for once have grown-ups airtime on my damn phone.