Shoes, ships, sealing wax, etc

If you saw a copy of the New Vision today, Friday, you may have been impressed to see that the newspaper went all out in expressing support for the cause of Breast Cancer Awareness. 

You may not have been as impressed by the means by which we expressed that support. Said means being yet another example of an idea that sounds good in the boardroom but gets lost along the way and ends up making the word “vomitacious” suddenly spring to hundreds of minds. 

We meant to come out printed on pink coloured paper. But instead we looked like beans and eggs and bad milk on the way back out.  

A friend described it as “pukish.”

But it is still Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and I am glad that the company, and others around us have taken it upon themselves to try and do, say, or wear something that shows some concern about the matter. But that, you know, is only as commendable as it is useful.

And it has to be useful. Now the month is still ongoing, so you have until the last day to learn and know, for example, what the incidence of Breast Cancer in Uganda is, what facilities we have in the country to treat it, what the survival rate is, and what you can do about it. That sort of thing.

In other news, Morris is a Moron. Sheila said so, and she should know. She lived with the idiot for a month.

Here is a quote from the Monitor.

I found him boring. Morris is no Gaetano. He lacks charisma.

She stopped short of saying (or the Monitor reporter just didn’t transcribe that part) that he was the kind of challenged that can’t shit and think at the same time and that is why he spent so long in the can. 

Going face: today was International Eradication Poverty day. There is a day for everything, it seems. Earlier this week, I recall hearing that it was international hand washing day. Hand washing day. There is a guy at work who smells like he hasn’t even have a body washing day all week but let us not digress further.

And here, In honour of IEPDay, some thoughts on poverty eradication: 

The most effective weapon against poverty has always been wealth. So to eradicate poverty, make money, or enable the making of money. Buy Ugandan wherever possible, guys. Support local industries and companies and services as much as you can. 

But don’t buy the shit stuff—let the guys who make shit products go out of business. I mean the good stuff that is made in Uganda.

It’s the weekend and I need to skate. Before I go there are two things: One is an apology for a grevious wrong wrought, that isn’t even my fault.

There was a day a couple of weeks ago when I wrote a thesis about development, and urged that we should emulate Icleand if we wish to develop. Well, Iceland is broke. 

As in last week they were looking at the possibility of declaring bankruptcy AS A NATION.

Now I’m off. I have proggie this weekend. 

Kwambox Returns

Kwambox left the Big Brother house on Sunday, taking with her every last iota of interest I had left in the whole show. 

Which should not be taken as an honest criticism of the programme. The fact that I hardly ever even watched it at all renders me soundly unqualified to comment on it. That is, unqualified to comment in anything but a shamelessly deceitful way. Which I shall now proceed to do.

Sheila Kwamboka became the most recent Big Brother evictee this Sunday, but the feisty Kenyan refused to leave quietly and achieved what University of Johannesburg statisticians believe could quite possibly be the fastest single-backhanded castration in history when Thami stupidly began to giggle after her name was announced.

Asked whether he will disrupt the show now that Thami’s balls are gone, Big Brother producers replied that they saw no reason to interrupt the proceedings. Thami wasn’t using his testicles that much anyway and if the time ever came when he had urgent need for a pair, Mimi would be more than happy to lend him hers.

Kwambox is out of the house now, but inside there is thick sense of fear. As she was dragged out of the door, kick and screaming in the hands of the burly BBA security men, she promised fiery and certain and painful retributions and the housemates do not know when or how they will arrive, but are certain that they are coming soon.

Tawana is particularly frightened. A special set of branded Big Brother Adult Diapers had to be issued to contain leakage since it became obvious that she was going to piss herself every time she heard a sudden noise and nothing could be done to stop it.

Morris has described his feelings as “mystical” and said he felt “enigmatic” before adding, “It has decalcified my magnanimity and bedecked my consternation likewise.”

University of Johanesburg statisticians were asked to translate, but they are still too busy trying to decode his speeches from three weeks ago.

Finally, TK vanished the night before last. There were scratch marks on the wall of the BBA house and rumours of a sighting at the Kenya Airways terminal at the airport, which have prompted a slew of brochures from Anti-Stalking bodyguard firms to fly to Sheila’s hotel. 

Some Lolbiggies. Why not. That is not a question.

 

 

 

or r u happy 2 c me
or r u happy 2 c me

 

 

 

no ess
no ess

fgj

 

ho and dumbass
ho and dumbass

 

By the way,

 

If anyone happened to pass over the New Vision today, and see the grotesquely mutilated carcass of the article I gave them, and if you are not completely put off by the road-kill they published, the actual article, in proper English, is over here.

Another weakness of the traditional press is that it has subeditors who can’t handle the language. Ntssssss.

Ati wot? Big Brother update. Sheila and the closet

As usual, since I have not watched Big Brother, I will have to make up what happened. Your update, then.

Sheila is sitting on the sofa, languidly drawing on a cigarette, inelegantly and coarsely bored, when Tawana enters the room and joins her on the couch. Tawana is smiling broadly, but Sheila is frowning.

“Tawana, you know this is a big couch,” Sheila says. “Big enough for two people to sit comfortably on it. You don’t have to squeeze up so close to me. There is plenty of space.”

Tawana continues smiling. “I don’t mind being close to you. In fact I like being close to you. I’d like us to be … close, if you know what I mean.” She flutters her eyelashes.

Sheila is about to respond when their attention is drawn away by a sudden commotion. It is Morris running across the sitting room from the kitchen to the diary room. “Biggie, I have a problem. Can I come in?”

The door swings open and Morris enters. You can almost hear a weary sigh waft out of the speakers before Big Brother’s voice says, “Yes, Morris, what is it now?”

“We need better kitchen utensils,” Morris says. “I’ve been trying to chop vegetables in the kitchen but this knife doesn’t work. And it hurts.”

He raises his hands to Biggie’s camera. They are covered in blood.

“Morris, which end of the knife have you been using to cut and which end have you been holding?” monotones Biggie.

Ten seconds of blank stare from Morris follow before suddenly it hits him. “Oh, I get it. Thanks Biggie.” And he retreats from the room.

On the couch, Tawana has not stopped. “Your skin is lovely, Sheila. So so very smooth,” the Gaboronean coos.

“Kwanza hebu stop touch-touching my face you manze!”  snaps Sheila, lapsing into vernacular.
Latoya wanders into the sitting room looking very restless. “I am so totally bored. Isn’t there a guy nearby?”

“Morris just went through here. I think he is at the First Aid kit,” volunteers Tawana.
“What is that?” Latoya asks.

“You know it better as the box where they keep the condoms.”

And with that Latoya springs up and dashes off to where Morris had gone. With Latoya gone, Tawana can turn her attention back to fluttering her eyelids and licking her lips at Sheila. “Now, where were we?” she says, trying to make her voice husky.

Sheila who doesn’t seem to have got it yet, and is still perplexed by Tawana’s actions, replies, “I don’t know. The Twilight Zone?”

“That is what I like about you Sheila. You have such an adorable sense of humour. Hah hah hah!” fake-laughs Tawana. “Hey, let’s go for a dip in the pool. We can take our clothes off and leave them here…”

Sheila screws up her face. “You know Tawana, you are acting suspicious. If I didn’t know you were a woman like me I would suspect that you are trying to put the moves on me.”

At this moment Takondwa bursts in. “Sheila, do you have a matchbox? Mimi wants to see if she can get high by smoking the fluffy blue bits sticking out of the carpet—Oh.” He stops in his tracks when he sees that Tawana is leaning over Sheila like a blanket. “I didn’t realise you were… um busy,” he says. “I’ll leave you two alone. Please continue.” As he turns to leave he winks at Sheila and gives her a thumbs-up.

“What the fuck is going on?” Sheila explodes. “Somebody needs to tell me what’s going on here. And I don’t want sijui ati I don’t know. I demand an explanation! Kwanza quickly-quickly!”

“Hey, you don’t have to get mad. If you don’t want to have sex with me, it’s not like I’m going to rape you.” Tawana is miffed.

“Ati wooooott?” screams Sheila. “Why would I want to have sex with you? You are a woman!”

“Yeah, but you don’t mind that. You are a lesbian after all,” blinks Tawana.

Sheila exclaims, “%#$!!@^!!*&!!” And that is not a way of euphemising the word fuck. She actually pronounces a curse like that. “Ati a lesbian? Who told you I’m a lesbian? I’m norra lesbian! Ati wot?”

Tawana is very confused. “But everyone says you are a lesbian.”

“Who is everyone?”

“Don’t deny it, it’s all over the internet?” Latoya says, walking in. Behind her Morris staggers Morris. Panting.  He takes the cigarette from Shiela’s hand and takes a deep draught.

“The internet? How the hell do you even know what is on the internet?” Sheila turns to Latoya.

“Biggie lets me check my gmail and my Facebook messages,” she replies. “In exchange for a few favours.”

“Holy shit. You’re sleeping with Big Brother, too?”

“No. Don’t be absurd!” she scrunches her face. “Just a bit of fellatio now and then, that’s all. I need to stay connected, you know.”

Rico walks in. “Hey, Latoya, you got a minute?”

Latoya looks at Morris, who is now asleep on the floor, then she looks at Ricco. “You had better not mean that literally.” And she follows him to the bedroom.

 

(Ad break: I am contributing Uganda on the Web pieces to theKampalan.blogspot.com.  If you feel like kuwagilaring, or even if you are just interested in what Muwangizi Achilewo, that Mateos child preacher, was doing on the BBC, please click here.)

Hot young chick and creepy old man

No, sir, it is not accurate to call Michael Jackson the greatest entertainer in the world. He Was the greatest entertainer in the world back when he was still entertaining, but now he is just a plastic pop has-been who dangles his own babies around and probably touches other people’s babies in bad ways. And steals Beatles music. And co-opts the cause of struggling artists and their copyright struggles. And dresses really badly.
With his birthday celebrations today, he added yet another adjective to his name. Jackson is now 50, which makes him an OLD plastic, baby-dangling, bad way-touching, Beatles catalogue-stealing, copyright cause-co-opting, pop has-been.

To underscore the enormity of this event namely, Jacko making it to 50, let’s look at what 50 means.
A few other people who are 50 years old.

Christianne Amanpour is 50.
Christianne Amanpour is the half Iranian-half British Chief International Correspondent for CNN international, an evil western media organisation that never says anything positive about Africa. Amanpour is married and has one child, who she has never dangled over a balcony in full view of a mob of fans.

Ellen Degeneres is 50
Ellen Degeneres is a funny talk-show host who has starred in a popular sitcom that was named after her, and has won awards and acclaim for her goofy comedy routines. Degeneres does not sleep with little children. She sleeps with Portia de Rossi.
Michael Clarke Duncan is 50
Michael Clarke Duncan is a fridge with legs and arms who was first a bouncer before switching to the relatively pussy career of movie acting. Michael Clarke Duncan starred in The Green Mile, but he also starred in Welcome Home Roscoe Jenkins, one of the most dire things ever ever. Michael Clarke Duncan built his body up with steroids, not with plastic surgery.


You see? 50 is the age of Amanpour, Mac and that doughy lesbian from the Emmys. I had a point early on when I started this post, but now I cannot remember what it is.  Take this guy’s point instead.

On Madonna, MiJack and some other guy turning 50

And now to more important things. Obama .. I mean, Ominde:

This, ladies, gentlemen and others, is Sheila Ominde, the Kenyan contestant, if they can be called that, in the Big Brother house.

Mbu Contestant. Contesting in staying indoors? I don’t see this becoming an Olympic sport any time soon.

Sheila cusses virulently and many of you will concur: that is a very agreeable trait in a young lady. I find myself in full support of this girl and wish her the best.

I was showing you Sheila.

After being a foul-mouthed Kenyan babe and pulling all the accolades that brings, however, Sheila turned around and disappointed her fans marginally, when it was revealed that she is, in full, Sheila Ominde and is a former Miss Tourism Kenya.

A beauty pageant winner.

WTF.

Life is messed up, people. I mean, you put yourself out there, you dare to trust, you believe in someone and then they turn out to be a former beauty queen.

Bertha, I understand, left the house.

I am not that BBA-savvy. I don’t have a lot of time to watch the show. I just get to hear bits and pieces.

I do know that there is a sleazy Tanzanian who has spent the entire duration of his stay trying to commit adultery with what looks like a set of five broomsticks tied together with bikini-fabric.

Then there is a Ghanaian, Patrick Quarcoo, a former radio station executive.

There is Moli, my former cousin, who has set up a home in the Big Brother house with a nice young man who doesn’t have a name but is known, instead, by a code.

There was a Kenyan possessed by evil spirits and a pair of large breasts but those were evicted. That is the sum of my BBA knowledge.

So when I heard that Bertha was out, I needed to ask, “Which one is that?”

“The bitchy one.”

“Which one is that?”

“The one from Zimbabwe.”

“Which one is that?”

When I saw this news story, I had to call my BBA correspondent. “Bertha from Zimbabwe: Put her back in,” I said.

According to AHN News
“Despite the fact that the price of beer has skyrocketed over 100 percent to $280,000 from $70,000 a pint, Zimbabwe’s inflation rate nevertheless registered a slowdown to 6,592 percent in August;”

Imagine she wins, takes the prize money, goes back home and…

         …all she can do is buy a doughnut.

That would be fun.

Big Brother Update

Big Brother Update
Day 134
09:45hrs

The housemates have just called an emergency meeting to discuss Lerato’s claims that there is a ghost in the house. You will remember that over the past couple of weeks Lerato has been gibbering in psychotic despair, insisting that she keeps hearing strange sounds in the night. The other housemates dismissed this, saying it is probably just Richard jerking off, but a few hours ago conclusive proof emerged that there is indeed something strange afoot.

There is booze missing.

The housemates are all dedicated drinkers and at any given moment each and every one of them knows exactly, to the least millilitre, how much booze there is left in the house. But they discovered that there is a quart of vodka unaccounted for.

Maureen swears she didn’t pour it into Code’s fruit juice as a desperate last-ditch attempt to make him finally put out.
10:58hrs

The housemates have drawn up two theories: One is that Justice snuck back into the house and is living in the air-vents because he just couldn’t stand to go back to the slums of Blantyre or wherever.

The other theory is that they need more booze.