Category Archives: Love Doctor

Things To Do To Stop Your Man From Cheating

It’s a list of nine things. People normally make lists in tens but we’re Ninjas of Justice. We’re giving the number nine a voice. You heard that, U.N.? We’re coming for jobs you selfless bastards.

Sad girls who are cheated on, here’s your fully researched-ish list.

1. Cheat on him first. Take pictures of you having sex with another man and show them to him so that he sees what you’ll do if you ever catch him cheating on you.

2. Let him sleep with other women. That way he’ll satisfy his stupid urge to cheat on you and won’t do it.

3. Treat him like shit. So that he hates you, gets frustrated and starts thinking that all women are the same. Then he won’t even bother sleeping with them.

4. Don’t meet or get to know him. So that when you catch some dude sleeping with some chick, you won’t know who’s cheating on who.

5. Ask him not to cheat. Take him aside and tell him it’s a bad bad thing and you’ll send him to his room if you ever catch him.

6. Spread a rumour that apart from you, every woman in the world has AIDS. And condoms are big fat liars.

7. Don’t try to find out if he cheated on you. It’s bad manners.

8. Sleep with the women he wants to sleep with so they get satisfied and he’s rendered useless.

9. Do a backsummer and spin around on your head. Repeat this every day until my friend believes that chicks can also do backsummers. I’m tired of arguing with the nigga.

10.

 

Uninterested Guys Vs Slow Guys

Girls, before you go calling guys slow, learn to tell the difference between slow guys and guys who are just not interested.

It’s like this Amazing Race producer who died in a hotel room in Kampala. Foreign newspapers say thugs killed him yet the police say cocaine killed him.

And you know how it’s hard to tell the two apart. The thugs could have been ninjas disguised as cocaine. They confronted him, he sniffed them and then bam! They killed him and dissolved in his blood system and ran off with his valuables.

 

Some of the thugs apprehended by police

But let’s talk about slow guys and uninterested guys. Here are seven top differences.

 

  • While an uninterested guy will jam to kiss you because he doesn’t want to disturb your lips, a slow guy will jam to kiss you because your face is weirdly too close to his.

 

  • While an uninterested guy will jam to buy you a drink because he accidentally put his wallet back in his pocket before getting the money, a slow guy will jam to buy you a drink because the drink may take your attention away from him.

 

  • While an uninterested guy will jam to hold your hand in public because you look like you know where you’re going, a slow guy will jam to hold your hand because he’s afraid you might think he likes your hand more than he likes you.

 

  • While an uninterested guy will not call you because he doesn’t think he left anything at your place, a slow guy will not call you because he has never been to your place and can’t ask if he left anything there.

 

  • While an uninterested guy will choose another chick over you on the dance floor because she was there and he didn’t want to offend her, a slow guy will choose another chick over you because he wants to get her out of the way and come back to you.

 

  • While an uninterested guy will not say hi to you on the street because you might think he’s hitting on you, a slow guy will not say hi because you might think he’s moving a little too fast.

 

  • While an uninterested guy will jam to give you his umbrella on a rainy day because you might get it wet, a slow guy will jam to give you the umbrella because he wants to put nothing above you.

 

So what kind do you think he is?

 

Why There’s No Such Thing As A Bad Partner

It’s generally known that when a couple breaks up, it’s because one thinks the other is bad, right? So the little wusses buy new hankies, change their Facebook statuses and go out looking for someone better.

If you subscribe to this theory, the nurses switched you at birth. Your real mother, the mother who could have given you correct advice was part of the global fund that was donated to Uganda in the early days.

She was stolen and is now probably one of Basajjabalaba’s buildings. And many people enter her without the faintest respect for her. The horror!

Anyway, in her final moments, just before she was turned into a global fund, she told me to tell you this. There’s no such thing as a bad partner, but rather a partner you’re just not attracted to. Let me break it down for you.

According to the Wuss Hypothesis, a bad partner is one who:

  • Cheats like a Ugandan minister playing matatu
  • Drinks like a punctured mug
  • Is lazy like a toilet seat
  • Doesn’t have money like an MC staring at a musician’s watch with saliva pouring down the sides of his mouth
  • Is not focused like a radio presenter who gets in his periods after his testicles are crashed by 103 million shillings
  • Is not appreciative like a kingdom head who… (Gwe! Focus!)

 

What the little wusses forget is that actually, these are all the qualities of a good partner. Again, let me break it down for you.

I like breaking down things. I’m like Masiko Kabakumba driving down Entebbe road and then I see a sexy mast with dazzling eyes that could turn a TV signal into stone just by looking at them.

Because I follow a strict word limit, I’ll only use one example.

A good partner will drink themselves silly so that when you’re both out partying, you can buy lots of alcohol and pretend you’re so gangsta that no matter how many beers you buy, you can’t get high. Your friends will see you buying bottle after bottle and look at you as their Al Capone… the almighty godfather who won’t be phased by mere mortal alcohol.

Oh look at that. I have more space. Okay, another example. A good partner will cheat on you so that when people find out and make mean jokes about him, you can both laugh about them in bed and bond even more.

Wife: Hahahaha look at the woman they say you cheated on me with.

Hubby: I know, right? Oba what was I thinking that night? I think I was high.

Wife: Get outta here!

Hubby: I swear! Something must have been wrong with me.

Wife: No. I mean get the f**k out of my bedroom you selfish bastard!

 

To Love A Broke-Ass Man

Maureen Makuba

Your mother is wrong. So is your five-figure-salary earning boyfriend. He’s just trying to hold onto the miracle or idiocy that is you.  Just when he thought he’d have to forever settle for his mother as the only woman to ever love him, you came along, loved him, and have now fooled your pretty head into believing that rent and power bills will be paid for in mushy currency. And with all this free education going on, you think he will send the kids to UPE and USE schools.

You my fellow female are in denial. Just like those singers who think endless studio time will turn their croaks to decent tunes, woe unto you. In fact, wululu unto you. And no, Miley Cyrus cannot sing. You need to re-acquaint yourself with that Destiny’s Child song. Not brown eyes. That’s probably the reason you’re in this mix to begin with. Here’s why all men blessed by the poverty god should be avoided.

It's the biggest ring I could afford. See it? There...in the lower right-hand corner

 

  • There is not a lot going on there. This should be obvious. But you’re in love with a broke dude. Clearly with you, not many things are clear. There is a five figure salary to cover transport, barely make rent and take you out to nice places. On your birthday. If you’re going to keep paying for your own nice dinners, it makes sense that you can do this with your girls. At least, they pick up their tabs.

 

  • All things bright; and clear. Tadoobas don’t count as lighting. You might be having mukene (cat food) for dinner and don’t need light to illuminate your lacking plate but on the special days he buys meat (his birthday) you’ll need proper lighting to enhance the celebration. Nothing romantic about paraffin fumed dinners. And UMEME imprisons power stealers these days.

You told me there was no load shedding at your house you fool! I want a divorce!

 

  • The kids; numbers don’t lie. Half of UPE-attending kids can’t read for “£$%. Daft kids are okay. Daft, broke kids are not. Think galo, yowa-speaking children, smeared in samona. And they will be yowas. Sad, right?

 

  • Love, o Love; girls and women. Ladies and those like me. Love doesn’t conquer all. Money doesn’t buy happiness. But it buys shoes, and bags. Love doesn’t turn mushrooms into chicken. Nothing does. The coke ad lied. Love only makes your blood rush faster. It helps you identify with Celine Dion. It does not serve as a barter trade currency. Hence,”some of our love for some of your tomatoes?” will not work. No. Not even just for ntuula.

 

  • For the haters; some of you swear that all men are dogs. We’ll assume they are. So it makes perfect sense that you put up with a loaded dog vies-a-vie a broke one. That way when he pulls a Tiger Woods on you, you can fly to Dubai on a shopping and think-through-things-spree. On his tab. Just how do you punish a broke man turned dog? Let me tell you how; you don’t get with that in the first place.

 

How To Have A Really Cool Heartbreak

I broke up with a girl and spent the last three days going through the grieving process. I know you don’t give a shit. Which is why I’m telling you about it. As the love doctor, it’s my responsibility to force you to read things. So you will read this story or…

[I need some time to come up with a proper threat. I’ll get back to you.]

Note:

Emotion doesn’t occur in the heart. It occurs in the brain. It’s a common fact that the heart has only one function: to make T-Pain’s lyrics sound less painful.

 

That's riiiiiiight. The cars, the bitches, the money, the heeeaaaart.

 

So for all intents and purposes, I didn’t have a heartbreak. I had a brainbreak.

Friday [Anger]

No matter how many times I train my phone to include curse words in its dictionary, the damn thing won’t relent. Here’s the type fight I had with it.

Me: F…

Phone: Oh hi Erique. It’s a FULL moon tonight, huh? I see a FIERCE FROWN on your FACE. So how may I FACILITATE you this FRIDAY?

Me: Fu…

Phone: I like where this is going my FRIEND. The FURTHER you type, the brighter a FUTURE I see.

Me: Fuc…

Phone: Oooh you sly dog you. Woof woof! You want some DUCK, huh? I getcha. Those things are rare these days. It has a plural by the way. DUCKS. Or DUCKLING if you like them young and yummy.

Me: Fuck

Phone: I really think you meant DUCK. No? Maybe it’s what you should mean.

Me: FUCK

Phone: DUCK it is. So you want to DUCK THIS SHIP?

Saturday [Frustration]

I go to Le Beaujolais to drink my troubles away and nurse my frustration…those things. I enter the club and the DJ is playing Indian music.

I shrug it off thinking “Well, maybe he’s just been smoking shisha and this is his idea of a height.”

Two songs later, he’s getting deeper into the Indian vibe. So I put my glass down and look around for anything Punjabi-looking, thinking “Ok, maybe he’s trying to start a business on Kampala road and wants to impress an Indian for funding and business advice.”

Five songs later, I’m starting to believe in Krishna and shaking my head no to mean yes.

 

Oh my Krishna! It's getting wery wery vild up in here!

I even start to look at cows in a whole new perspective. In frustration I order for another Pepsi coz now I have two things to worry about: losing a girl and losing my taste in music.

I stagger out soda wasted and stand next to the swimming pool just staring and bonding with the water. Then I remember the first brainbreak rule: You do not bathe, eat or sleep, you do not comb or wear clean clothes, you just lock yourself in a dark room and start feeling sorry for yourself.

I wasn’t supposed to be standing anywhere close to water so I staggered to the car, inserted a Blink 182 CD and listened to them saying kind things about death.

Sunday [Recovery]

I swore off drinking and went back to beers. At the bar, I was crushing on some girl with a sufficiently built body till I eavesdropped on their conversation. “…but you also you naawe! They posponded it to up to those ends of next week…” she quipped. She wasn’t running Microsoft Word. And neither were her friends. They all spoke using Notepad.

I stood up stealthily and backed away slowly and steadily to make sure she didn’t hear me crushing on her. And that’s how I knew I had been healed. I had just walked away from booty.

PS:

When going through a breakup stay away from your phone’s dictionary, a Club Le Beaujolais DJ, Indians and English words spoken by chics with booty. They all don’t like you.

 

Dear Acting Agony Uncle. She Wants A Mile

Hi.

Erique, your regular agony uncle, is not here this week. He went back to school over the weekend and is currently preoccupied trying to get orientated at Manhattan SSS in Najjera. There is no wifi in the school.

Until we can restore a connection to him, I’m going to be fielding questions on his behalf. Let’s see what we have here. Ah. This looks like a fairly easy question.

 

Dear Agony Uncle,

I am a poorly-endowed man who cannot satisfy my woman.

Lyenvu Nathan

 

Dear Lyenvu
You bring her.

Act. Agony Uncle

 

***

 

Dear Agony Uncle,

I suspect that my woman is cheating on me by sleeping with an internet Agony Uncle.

Lyenvu Nathan

 

Dear Lyenvu

You are right. She is.

Act. Agony Uncle

***
Dear Agony Uncle

Can you please stop typing and focus?

Mrs Lyenvu

Dear Mrs Lyenvu,
I swear women. Give her an inch, she wants a mile.

Act. Agony Uncle

***
Dear Agony Uncle

That’s EXACTLY what I said! Baby come back to me. I’ll take tablets.

Lyenvu Nathan
Dear Lyenvu
I’ll send her back when I’m done.

Act. Agony Uncle

***

Dear Nathan,

I’ll be back when I’m done.

Mrs Lyenvu

 

 

Love In The Time Of Teargas

On my way to work this morning I passed this sexual network billboard that tells couples that one of the ways to avoid getting on the network is by spending lots of family time together.

 

A happy family

Wait, isn’t there some sort of UCC regulation that restricts one network from openly saying crap about the other? But that’s not what I’m here to talk about.

Just like this billboard, many solution activists are getting it wrong. You know what the recent trend of political events in Uganda teaches us? You can solve all of the world’s problems with teargas; inflation, poverty, hunger, crime, corruption, natural disasters, Kivejinja and, yes, relationship problems.

And that is where the love doctor comes in. I gatchoback.

Your knight in shining armour

See, people like me are the kind that were brought into this world to give you smart and mystic solutions like these; solutions logically unseen to the naked eye and unclean mind. Like yours.

If your lover ever decides to walk out on you, break their window with a pistol and teargas them back into loving you again. Then as a style of lovemaking, fly fighter jets over them. It works. I know you think it’s weird but a pistol really does break a window amazingly well.

I know you doubt my advice so for believability, I’m going to philosophize this. People tend to easily believe in things after you give them a touch of philosophy. I hear you sound complicated and learnt which earns you credibility.

See how the president keeps promising the same developments every time and gets away with it?

He pledges “health, education, roads…health, education, roads…and also health, education, roads…” then he gives the mundane recurrence a mild touch of philosophy: “…those are the fundamental cornerstones that will build this country’s foundation.” And you all shake your heads in awe, decide he is brilliant and you clap.

 

Yes, Mister President! Yes sir!

 

I know

So to apply the same theory to love, let me start by sounding like my brilliant president. Or like those heavily bearded college professors in movies:

The teargas courting principle is a derivation of the ancient Greek theory of Prometheus romance advanced by…

Then I throw in a primeval baldheaded author whose only evidence of existence is just some weird sketch by an old artist who was probably threatened with a bow and arrow to draw it:

…11th century philosopher Augusto Rimbaldi. Rimbaldi illustrates that love and romance can be sustained and problems averted by the persistent application of pepper spray and teargas in a given relationship X.

Rimbaldi when he was still just Rim

But really, don’t you have better things to do than reading this disorganized article that’s not about love yet it’s about love as if? I think I’ve wasted enough of your time already. Class dismissed. Go and love in peace.

Oh and don’t forget:

Ragga Sevo’s new album launch is on this Thursday at Kololo Entertainment Airstrip.

It’s free for all but 10k for Mao, Brother Otunnu and Uncle Besigye.

 

For The Lovers In The House

Mbu I’m supposed to write about love to aid the couples going to violate each other’s private parts later this evening. Oh is that a tad too honest? But it’s the truth, isn’t it. It’s the only day of the year girls are not supposed to be in their periods. Or have punctuation marks for that matter.

If he tells you let’s go, you don’t say “But (dot dot dot) am not sure if (comma) wait a bit (exclamation)”. You just walk as smothly as this sentense to his bedroom without backspacing even if you know theyre are alot of gramaticle and speling eras.

Now I must warn you. I don’t know jack about love (clearly). But the rest of the Legends have rallied outside my toilet shouting “Write for us or stay in there and pupu all your life!”

I might be hardcore but I don’t do well with pupu threats. So I’ll write.

Remember when I said up there that I didn’t know jack about love? Well, it turns out I might actually know a guy called Jack, but I still know nothing about love. So I used the toilet window to escape and found love in Egypt watching Titanic. I asked him for an interview.

Yo love, warrup?

Sshh! Jack is saying something to Rose

Huh. So that’s the Jack guy I tho…

Sssshhhh! What’s wrong with you? Who the hell are you anyway? I don’t think I like you

Ouch. That hurt

Yeah well, love hurts. Get used

So love, I have a few ques…

Hey! Sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!

I’m from ULK

What do you want to know?

How would you define yourself?

I am a businessman; basically what you’d strictly refer to as a broker…

Blocker. In Kampala we call them blokers

Whatever. Men come to me for sex and women come for cars and money

You realize that kills the purpose of your existence

I just gave you the purpose of my existence…and what’s with the blinking? You blink a lot. It’s starting to freak me out

Yeah, I get that a lot. So you exist strictly for material gain?

For sex, cars and money. There’s a big difference

What?

WHAT!

There are kids reading this, man

Oh. You didn’t tell me we were airing live. I didn’t even wear makeup. Kids, love is good, love is awesome, love your neighbours as you…

That will do. So let’s talk about Cupid. Is he like your god?

Cupid? The guy who shoots arrows through people’s chests? You call that love?

Well…yeah

So stabbing someone means you love them

That’s not…anyway, thanks for the interview. It’s your birthday so I brought you something. You’ll open it later

Aaaawww! That’s lovely! I love you, man

Where are you going?

To get my knife

Happy Valentine’s, y’all. Here’s an arrow. Go stab someone.

Dating A Zombie: How To Deal With The Fear

Many times we’ve fallen prey to the indomitable feeling called love. And many times that feeling has landed us in shit. Literally.

Like you accidentally step on a bored muck of cow dung chilling just there by the roadside coz you’re lost in thought about how you’re going to impress that campus chic waiting for you at Garden City.

Hehehe this nigga funny. Tell me mooo.

Well, she insisted that campus chics for them they like to be taken out to Garden City, regardless of the occasion. And you heeded. And now you’re in shit.

But we’re not here to talk about your shit. We’re here to talk about that feeling that got you into shit. Which begs the all-encompassing question fundamental to man’s existential verve; “What if my girlfriend was a zombie?”

Am a rockstar chic from Uganda. Rawrrrrrr!!!

I’m sure many of you have asked yourselves this countless times and failed to come up with a logical answer. Then gut-wrenching fear washed down your throat and, in tears, you wondered why mummy’s number was taking too long to go through.

Calm down. No need to panic. This author has comprehensively studied zombies and their entire way of life to the molecule for ages. In summary, he has watched many zombie movies. So trust him.

Now…

1. Commonsense may tell you that the best way to deal with the fear is by killing your girlfriend and living happily ever after. But it’s wrong. It’s always wrong otherwise you wouldn’t be dating her in the first place. If it were right, you would be, like me, dating Scarlett Johansson. Every night.

Allawakbar!

2. Zombies don’t like dying (duh!) so if you kill her, you’ll just annoy her and she’ll come back as a double zombie.

3. When you’re in bed and she’s looking at you longingly with those droopy eyes like she wants every bit of you, it’s not because she loves you.

4. And sentences like “I wanna eat you, baby” are not sex talk.

5. It’s probably wise to avoid sex altogether.

6. Stick to hanging out but don’t take her to the movies especially if a horror is showing. She might get ideas.

7. Don’t let her look at Sematimba posters. She might get ideas.

8. Don’t tell her she looks ugly. She’ll only take it as a compliment and love you more.

9. So she loves you for your brains. That’s not a compliment. Try hard to hide them as far away from her as you can. Or just make them diminish gradually. Joining government would be a good way to do it.

10. Just kill her. The important thing is I am safe.

A Legendary Love Story

I’m going to attempt to write a love story. I even have some flowers and hearts down there to show how dedicated I am to the attempt. Have you watched The Notebook movie? Well, consider this the sequel. Yeah, it’s that badass. Let’s call this one: The Exercise Book. Unlike other love stories, this one has two people falling in love; a boy and a girl.

Prologue

I’m an exp…transp…insp…perspiring, no, aspiring (yeah, that’s definitely it. Aspiring) romantic writer. Or is it romance writer? Whatever. I’m both. And you ask too many questions.

Plot

I don’t know the exact plot or street on which the girl stayed but whatever it was, the boy was there every night to show how much he was dedicated to winning the girl’s heart.

I think I have to come up with names for my characters; original names that will live to transcend the gloom of obscurity that is time. Let’s call the boy Romeo, and the girl Juliet. I know what you’re thinking but Shakespeare copied me. Whether you choose to believe it depends on how deep our friendship goes. Tick one:

  • He’s my very intelligent friend and I believe him
  • Mbu what? Hmm! Kale men are dry! I don’t believe him, he’s lying and I’m going to live a very miserable life

So Romeo liked Juliet but she was feeling feeling. He camped outside her house day and night to show how dedicated he was to the cause. The revolution. The rebellion. His army had to rise against this evil Roman tyrant. Sorry, I got carried away. I re-watched 300 last night. Awesome!

Come hiyaaaaa

Romeo stayed outside Juliet’s house for days, weeks, months, until months turned into years. The cold wind blew, it rained on him, the sweltering sun condemned him but he stayed. He died, his body was eaten by wild cockroaches, his ghost starved to death, but he still stayed. He just had to have her.

Then one day, she got out to sweep the backyard and noticed him.

  • Oh Romeo Romeo! Whence thou art siteth here for whateth?
  • Juliet?
  • Oh Romeo! Why hath thoust been starving thineself for dayseth?
  • Juliet!
  • Yeseth?
  • It’s the 21st Century. And we’re in Kampala. Speak normally
  • Oh. Me I thought people in love are supposed to talk like that
  • We’re not yet in…wait, how did you know my name?
  • Knowledge at first sight? Anyway, it’s tattooed on your left arm. You look awful. Why are you seated out here?
  • Seriously? I’ve been here for years and you’ve never noticed me
  • Er, it’s the backyard. No one comes these ends like at all. What are you doing here?
  • I came to fall in love with you
  • No! You’re stupid! Go away! Bangladesh!
  • What’s wrong with you?
  • I’m acting hard to get first?
  • And that’s how you do it? I am Romeo. You are Juliet. We are supposed to fall in love. That’s just how life is
  • That’s making me cheap just. At least read me a poem
  • My Juliet. You’re very talented and…
  • Let’s just go and fall in love

And that’s how they write love stories. Happy 500 members.