Category Archives: Notes From An Idle Mind

Notes From An Idle Mind_The Apocalypse Toolkit

The world is ending soon, and you know this time it’s legit because it was predicted by a bunch of dead guys from back in the day and not some old American dude that’s probably too jilted with life he wants you to go down with him.

Seriously, when you think about it, it’s really down to the word of a guy that has suffered the indignity of facebook pokes, been alive from the start of Lady Gaga’s career and actually knows what a Justin Bieber is, versus that of guys that didn’t even know what an iPhone was.

There’s really no telling how this apocalypse shit is going to go down, so I can’t confidently tell you to pack some toothpaste and wait. How exactly would that play out anyway, fresher breather and stronger teeth guaranteed to survive anything…yes, even THAT.

Seeking a Friend for the End of the World

This would be a great time to do a quick assessment of the company you’ll have around you on D-Day. Realistically, Kiera Knightley is not an option, so put that DVD back this instant. You will likely want to have someone failry grounded and not analytical.

A rocket scientist will just make a mess of the trip and by the time you arrive at whatever destination you’re destined for, you’ll likely want to come back to post-apocalyptic earth and endure Zombie Bieber.

On the flip side, you also don’t want to carry a moron with you because, shit, morons ask too many questions. “Hey, are we dead yet?” “Are we dead yet” “Are we dead yet?”

A facebook friend can’t be counted on to keep a lid on things. If things should go South {Re; Hell. It doesn’t get any more Southern than that really} it’s going to pop up on post-apocalyptic facebook.

check in

Maybe you should get an MP from our government because at least with them, no matter how shite a situation is, they are going to keep their mouth’s shut and hope it just goes away with no intervention.

Take Credit Where Credit Is Due

There’s really no reason why you can’t go out there and accrue debts en masse. Bartenders are notoriously optimistic individuals and as such you can count on them to hope that you will come back. So it only makes sense that you should go buy a 20 litre jerry-can pop into a bar and stock up. Actually, wait, this is the end of the world, think BIG, let’s do two jerry-cans.

Despite what you may think from all the relentless beeping and flashing your phone’s been subjected to, there’s actually a facility from the telcos that lets people get airtime on credit. The people that beep are just idiots and {I can’t stress this enough} should be left behind when the world draws its curtains.

That said, if you’re in the minority that’s warid about being constantly ripped off, now would be a great time to go buy a bunch of SIM Cards wholesale and get airtime on credit.

Passion for Fashion

Gents, wear whatever you want to. Ladies, only wear skimpy short skirts if someone gave you the heads up that you’d be heading to hell. If someone alerted you to the prospect of actually having a chat with St. Peter at the pearly gates, the first thing you want to do is verify that the person is not a Nigerian scammer that’s also mentioned that his parents were claimed by the apocalypse, BUT there’s money in it for you and him. All you have to do is wire some funds {in good faith} to his new address-666 and Bob’s your uncle.

Once you’ve verified that this person is legit, please grab a pair of pants {NOT LEGGINGS!} and get ready for your number to be called. The last thing you need is a bunch of guys trying to look up your skirt as you ascend. That shit’s not cool.

#ApocalypsePlaylist

You could decide to use the easy way out and run a search on twitter for that hash-tag or come up with something original and relevant. Realistically speaking, Call Me Maybe doesn’t mean anything to you…Call Me If You Have Airtime, maybe…that’s an entirely different matter.

I’d recommend downloading a Zari track and if the CD still has space, maybe slot in some Bad Black. It’s always nice to get acquainted with the people you’ll meet in the afterlife before you actually meet them. Oh, and some Bobi Wine. Do not forget the Bobi Wine!

Where Will You Be

Bit of a trick question this. We’ve been brought up to believe that the church is the go to place for this sort of thing, but there are holes in this theory.

  • The pastor will likely also want to spend some time with his family
  • The celibate religious leaders may or may not decide this would be a good time to sample the forbidden fruit which basically means, you will bounce if you go to church
  • This theory seems to pre-suppose that there will be no Moslems during the end times or they shall be spared. Why else would it suggest church and not mosque?
  • YOU ARE THE CHURCH!

So the question arises, where then shall you hang out as you wait for that hour?

As you think on that, please remember to pack some toothpaste. Nobody likes bad breath, not even zombies.

 

Notes From An Idle Mind | Kakati Mr. President, on this Kiprotich fellow…

Dear Mr. President,

How’s it going? Now, I know you’re a busy man, so I won’t waste your time. I don’t know whether you heard, but Uganda got a Gold Medal. No, no, it wasn’t for corruption or alcohol consumption {which is a shame really, nga we have tried}, but rather because we had a guy pull a runner and win.

People have said he was our final hope, Mr. President, but that’s a lie. Until the guy crossed the finish line, we didn’t know the chap, now we have all started to tie on him. It’s expected and between you and I, you also know you will have to tie on him when he gets back. Shake hands, offer him a house, basically the routine of champions.

I know when he saw the word ‘house’ in the last paragraph; Rt. Col. Kizza B must have started drooling because he thought about state house. When will he learn- no matter how much he runs, he will never win. Actually, that’s why I’m writing this, your Excellency.

At this juncture, Kiprotich poses a major threat to you. He is quite possibly the one Ugandan the international committee has placed their money on to beat you. The whole world watched him run and win, it would be weird if you were to race and he lost, you get?

Fear not sire, there’s a loophole. It would appear that this sort of thing happens every 40 years, so you should be okay… for now.

So here’s what I suggest, let’s pour money into this son of man until he loses sight of what’s up. I won’t even go into how this works wonders for your credibility as the only one with vision.

Now here’s the plan.

Let’s set this guy up. Everyone’s going to expect all these campusers to line up and say they had a thing with Kiprotich, some may even say they’ve seen Kipro’s ‘tich’… if you know what I mean.  Now, let’s throw a curve ball {so sorry for using the word ball so soon after the last statement, but…} in there.

Soon as the pepper is done reporting on his sex secrets, we place a story in there that suggests that Bad Black has changed her story and that Kip is her baby daddy and not David Green. It’s going to be sensational. From Visa Seeker to Gold Digger!

It goes without saying it may even help our suffering tourism industry. Perhaps we could have a chat with Dave and convince him to issue a statement endorsing our ladies.

“I’d like to assure the international community that the indigenous ladies are not all the same. Ladies of African origin are all different and many of them are pretty awesome. I just had the misfortune of dating a Bad Black…”

BUT, the lady just had a kid and there’ll likely be some public outcry. Let’s leave Black alone.

There’s the KIra V Mr. President. I know you sat in one and thought, “this shit cray” and I agree with you. It is. So let’s just ditch the whole project and focus on powering Kiprotich.

There really is no place for electric cars at the moment, what with us having oil and all. In any case Kiprotich runs better, not to mention faster, than that green thing.

Actually, if we invested in more prisons officers, we’d get them to run faster AND then we’d ride them to work instead!

 

 

Notes From An Idle Mind | The Thing About Ebola

The newsies have jumped onto this Ebola thing like a slut pursuing a visa and we can not fault them. Ebola is something of a big deal, it kills, has no known cure and generally doesn’t play fair. The president has also revealed that it’s sexually transmitted, so we can only assume that the guys behind the sexual network ad must be patting themselves on their collective back for their foresight.

“Hey have you read this? Mother of God, we can rework that ad and instead say I’m the man you’ve been coughing with…How do you see?”

The president’s revelation is going to work wonders in the fight against HIV given that previously you’d go with face value when someone looked you in the eye and said, “trust me… would a person with a dolphin tattoo knowingly give you herpes?” Right now there’s a larger parameter to work with… Sneeze and you won’t get laid, have a sweaty palm and you won’t get shit. When you think about it, it’s easier to skip washing your hands to be honest.

Anyone going on a diet can’t elicit the awe they rightfully deserve, because, really, we are all, every one of us, being forced to watch what we eat. Pigs have never been accused of being the most hygienic animals around, {Pig; oooooh, stuff with worms in it, I want! Nomnomnom… hang on, it’s coming back *puke*… oooooh, puke, I want!!}, but right now nothing is safe. Even water! Don’t get me wrong, I don’t give a shit about water, worrez or whatever you want to call it, but it’s a sad day when even that can’t be trusted. Mealtime’s going to change forever…

“-Mummy, what’s for supper?

-Paper”

There’s talk that the disease has been contained, but it’s a tad too late. Half the country {well, the sensible lot anyway} has been converted to blithering idiots with OCD. It’s all wipe hands every single time… or if we took what the president said seriously, wipe penis and whatever you do, do not ejaculate! It’s switched over from “Sorry babe, I need to withdraw, I don’t want to make you have to endure 9 months and the horrible ordeal of having to push…” to basically, pulling out at that moment and when she looks at you like she’s about to snap your er, neck, you give her that puppy dog look and say, “… but baby…Ebola!”

On the plus side, I can finally avoid chaps that insist on holding hands as we speak. No offence guys, but that stuff is pretty unnerving. Even sugar daddies don’t do that to the girls they wait for outside hostels.

“-I want a car.

– Here, place your hand in my sweaty palm first and we see…

– I die!

– Funny you should mention that ”

Stay safe folks, don’t sweat the petty stuff & don’t pet the sweaty stuff

 

addendum;

We are guilty of many things; soliciting smiles, worming our ways into your funny bones etc, but let it not be suggested that we take this issue lightly. Our thoughts and prayers are with those in suffering and we hope that after all is said and done we all come out of this stronger.

 

 

Notes from an Idle Mind | Bad Black’s Back Behind Bars

A tad late to the party, but I figure if the new vision is still conducting a poll way after her incarceration, I can still board the Bad Black wagon… not like that. I mean I can also climb… I can also weigh in with a thought or two. It’s my right as a Ugandan, innit?

Quick recap for those joining us from overseas {read China}, Bad Black is a term used to describe a lady with the social skills of a toothbrush and the fashion sense of an avocado…nuh, I’m just kidding. It’s the name of a social climber who seems to take the words and social and climb literally as evidenced in a number of pictures that have displayed her being climbed in a social setting.

She has, however, reached the peak of her journey and has thus begun her descent in the only way she knows how; she’s in jail. The law of Uganda has an eye defect that basically causes it to blink in the face of corruption and embezzlement, but look straight on with eyes wide open when someone that is not in power does the same thing government officials have been doing for years.

Let’s think about this for a sec, when donors pitch in, believing they are facilitating development, and someone ‘up there’ thinks, “That car on topujiya. I want yit…” how is that any different from the Black-Greenlagh saga? Seriously now, they are both screwing foreigners that have basically been duped to think they are actually doing something nice. Though when you think about it, at least Black’s actually working for it.

It’s not that detoothing is a good thing. It’s not even a word, but you have to admit, it’s about someone put into practice that “if you’re going to eat a frog, eat a big frog” nonsense you were fed last night. Screw stringing guys along so they can buy you airtime or fries, this chic’s got some kick ass wheels and tonnes of dime. Quick comparison; you – ‘special hire taxi’ Black – some other car. You – complimentary ticket to club, Black – sponsoring a theme night in said nightclub…{I may have gotten this part mixed up, Zari may have been the one that sponsored a theme night, Black just made it rain in the club, thus she sponsored a theme night in a corner in the club}. So yes, for all intent and purpose, you have every reason to hate on her….

…and yet…

Black may have single handedly { I’ll let that hang there for a bit so your mind can find a gutter to befriend}

 

 

 

{done?}

 

Black may have single handedly achieved what the law has failed to for years; cut down on prostitution. The government has basically gone through the motions; arrest the ladies of the night, make them pay a fine, ask them for discounts, but never have they actually been thrown in a cell for more than a week. Black got 4 years…in case you’re trying to keep tabs, that’s a little longer than your average corrupt government official will get for introducing your hard earned money to his off shore mistress account.

In fact, according to research {which basically involved standing in the middle of a popular hang out spot with a wanton expression} the number of ‘offers’ has gone down drastically. There are fewer cases of ladies of the night walking over in their brightly colored leather knock-offs and asking people if they ‘want company’.

In essence, Black’s opened our eyes on how best we can fight crime;

  • Boda boda guy hustling you? Hope a rich white person will fall in love with him.
  • Guy at the take away still giving you dove’s wings instead of the chicken you asked for? Let cupid point a foreigner in his direction.
  • Chap at Owino still insisting that that’s your size, employing that messed up magical tape measure trick… well, you’re on your own buddy.
Screen Shot 2012-06-10 at 10.01.33 AM

Notes From The Corridors Of Power | The ‘Badget’ Edition

After a long hiatus, we’ve got intel coming in from the Powers that be…

WRECKING – Kampala, Uganda. National Budget about to be announced in a move that will likely see more Ugandans not give a shit. Details follow.

There shall be no new tax levied on beer. The world still thinks that Ugandans are unhappy, so we as the Ministry Of Finance are doing all we can to repel that myth. We shall continue to support the breweries and the burgeoning ‘sachet’ industry. We are actively looking into offering short-term loans to anyone that shows some knowledge of packaging jet fuel into little buveera with the aim of engaging in abusive congress with the kidney.

There may or may not be a tax imposed on sugar. This very largely depends on whether prostitutes will emerge from the shadows of mediocrity and start enticing their customers with words that are literally ‘sweet nothings’. If they maintain their current stand where all they are equipped with are footballers’ names and the word ‘kasitoma’, this tax shall fail.

In contrast, if they embrace words such as ‘sweetie’ and attempt to make nice with phrases such as “nnuna ko ku sweetie yange” or perhaps, “mpako ku lollipop”, we anticipate with great excitement there shall be a certain amount of ‘growth’.

We are still trying to figure out what to do with the Petrol tax. We appreciate that if it is increased, we are essentially aligning ourselves with the proponents of the Walk To Work Movement and yet everyone knows that we are for the Movement that appears to be still and generally not going anywhere.

On the other hand, if we don’t increase the tax on Petroleum, our children shall not be able to study in outside countries when we demolish their schools under the guise of development.

Speaking of which, Shimoni really was supposed to be developed into a mall. Think about it, the transition would have been seamless; school children can hang around malls with no problem. They cannot, however, be at a hotel without being accompanied by a paying adult.

We shall continue looking into how we can play with the petrol thing without fueling unrest.

We are in talks with makers/bottlers of soft drinks on how best to alleviate the issues affecting them. Ordinarily we’d turn a blind eye and continue making you pay through your noses for your mixers, but it is not doing us any favors if the world continues to say we are all sharing one Coke with many millions across the continent.

F*cked

Fiction

Pepsi may be exempted from this proposed tax exemption, but something so badly needs to be done about Coca-Cola. Everybody deserves to enjoy a Coke. And it’s better if this Coke is their’s and not someone else’s.

Which brings us to…

The sexual network keeps on thriving as evidenced from the growing number of members receiving inappropriate calls from the ghost of Louis Armstrong. To that end, we believe that by levying a tax on condoms, we shall dissuade people from participating in away matches. It is our firm belief that if it gets to a point that you have to pay extra on top of buying Chips & Credit, you will see the light and stay home with palm.

We have had consultations with our colleagues in the Ministry of Health and have discovered that cheaters generally prefer the cheaper condoms for away matches and like to shower their official partners with high maintenance ribbed, studded, flavoured, glow in the dark, musical caller-tune spewing, tap dancing search engine condoms in an attempt to show that they are not siphoning funds into someone else.

A tax is going to be introduced to combat the local-ness sector. The past financial year alone has seen a growth in this industry with practitioners going on to cause chaos in nightclubs and others going as far as starring in reality TV shows inspired by their inability to make sensible decisions. This shall not go on.

We have paid dearly for accommodating Zari and Bad Black {though, in all fairness, the latter has also been paid dearly for accommodating others} and this must stop. Anyone that invests in his or her looks (or creates the illusion that they have) and does not take the time to invest in vocabulary or class shall pay.

Anyone that goes on to use ‘repeat phraseology’ in an attempt to look cute shall also suffer for it. We shall impose charges on words so as to deter the use of expressions such as, but not limited to; “there-there”, “ish-ish”,  “so-so”, “as-if – as-if” etc. The word ‘ha-ha’ has crept into the corridors of power and shall thus be pardoned for now.

We have heard your cries and starting this year, we shall levy a tax on hangovers that overstay their welcome. We appreciate the contribution that they bring to all and sundry {ie your 12 year old}, however, we have noted with growing concern that some of them do not know when to go away, lingering about like a color clashing lady with limited vocabulary does around a white man.

Or a black (Ugandan) man with an R. Kelly-esque accent does around white women…and/or white men.

Regrettably, we are not just reintroducing the tax on computers, but are also going to levy a tax on facebook & Twitter users. We imposed a tax on airtime after we realized that a large chunk of the conversations being held involved prying into people’s geographical locations and the word ‘just’ was being thrown about recklessly.

In the wake of all this, people have taken to social networks to say things like “LOL, LMAO, LMBAOPKW {Laughing My Bloody Ass Off Paka Kini Walahi}. This is not just annoying; it’s waste of valuable Internet bandwidth and computer keys. Anyone that feels the need to comment on a picture shall be taxed if all they are going to say is “lookin’ good babes” or “well done”. The use of the word ‘sexy’ when all someone is doing is smiling while holding a flower shall incur one a fine.

Members of the opposition shall also be taxed slightly higher than they have been in recent years. This is not to deter them from their activities, but the general public needs to see that they are in fact making a contribution of some sort to the economy. It may not look like it at the moment, but this works out well for them in the long run. Especially if in the middle of the President’s speech to Parliament they start heckling the Commander-In-Chief.

If they adhere to this new Opposition Tax, they shall have every right to say, “Shya, what will you do? I paid for that convoy you’re maxing in.” Also, if they are recognized as taxpayers, they shall have every right to turn up at any and all First Family baptism ceremonies. They are, however, barred from uttering the words, “I sponsored her delivery in outside countries.” If these words or close relatives of the same are uttered, you best believe some shit’s gonna go down.

Splash's new flavour, Anti-hibiscus!

Notes From an Idle mind | When a mind goes blank

There is no news worth playing with at the moment so I’m going to have to do a self absorbed piece. But then that would mean you would be an unwitting party to this little ditty, practically watching me play with myself…this is not the Hitchhiker’s column, so I’ll behave.

I’m not a dick so I’ll observe the moment of silence that George Kakoma so rightfully deserves. The government would do well to observe a moment as well… one of say 24hours and then slap the Public Holiday tag on it.

Kony 2012 has got a sequel of some sort, but I don’t even know how newsworthy that is. To be honest, I didn’t think the first round Kony fever was worth all the hype. And by first round I don’t mean the original one that saw lots of people lose their lives at the hands of notorious rebel and anti-fashionista Joseph Kony. It’s the Russell nonsense I’m talking about.

It’s one thing to be late to the dock, but how is jerking off going to help you catch that ship after it’s sailed…. {never underestimate the power of seamen}.

Don’t judge me, I told you I’m having a slow day.

A while back there was some sort of debate raging somewhere over the merits of circumcision. You know something is very wrong when that becomes an issue, but hey, some scientists have gone out of their way to investigate why duck’s feathers get wet when they swim.

It’s pretty obvious that these people are not saleswomen peddling their ‘where’s’…. wares in some weird dingy bar with a bouncer that seems hell bent on crushing your nuts as he performs the regular body search. Half the time you expect him to look you square in the eye as he does so and ask, “Do these still work?” And you know for a fact that you’re not going to use that to extract a discount from the ladies in there, “Come on nawe, its like jelly, you won’t even feel it. Just give me a discount”

Anyway….

So there were rumours going about that Robert Mugabe had passed away due to prostate cancer related issues… actually, I think the Prostate Cancer was the issue. That’s been dispelled though and it turns out that he is on holiday in Singapore…. When you think about it though, it sounds like something you’d pick up in the Red Pepper…and it wouldn’t be so nice. “The two love birds have been seeing each other for about a year, but he has been known to go on holiday in a campus girl’s Singapore…”

Sorry guys, I’m on the brink of writing about Malaria, I think it’s better for everyone concerned if I just shut up now. ON the plus side I can use this when I’m auditioning for a newspepper.

Notes from an Idle Mind | Notes from afar

I’m on a full out maalo trip in the rainbow nation. Calm the **** down, I mean SA not some other place that uses the rainbow as an emblem… hang on, why the hell is Angelina Jolie sticking her boney thigh out? We all got over her, right? WTF? I thought it was a joke, but it clearly isn’t. She is going for sexy with that? Come on, there’s grannies that …actually, you know what, let’s go back to SA.

 

Can I kick it?

Survival

No one ever thinks to bring this shit up until you’re travelling. It’s all well and good when you’re far far away. You’ll marvel and think, oh my, it ought to be the shit. And you will have people fuelling these thoughts, agreeing with you. Then you mention you want to go there and it all goes to hell in a basket.

  • “They can stab you on the streets. At 10am. In public. With a spoon”
  • “They’ll steal your shoes. When you’re not wearing them”
  • “Your virginity will be snatched from you right before your eyes”

Transport/ Moving about

I haven’t yet gotten round to using public transportation, which when you think about it, is a damn shame. There is a much higher chance of getting lost when you put your life in the hands of an ego. It’s much easier to question a taxi driver or even conductor when you think you’re lost, but one glance at the person behind the wheel in a private vehicle and you realize with horror that the ego has landed.

You see it staring at you behind that glare, behind the flaring nostril and it’s asking you to try and question it.

So on that note, upon realizing that we may have gone the wrong way, I cautiously suggested that we just simply needed to go ‘round’. I started to suspect something might have been up when a road sign crept into view and let us know that Pretoria was straight ahead.

Tosula step

Money, Money, Money

It’s a little known fact that our currency is no good outside our border. In fact, I’ve had Kenyans say it’s beautiful, but worthless… sort of like that chick in the Red Pepper. That said, the dollar should be standard issue if you’re going to get around, except that, in this case, it’s not that straightforward.

See, because of the crime that’s something of a big deal, you need to jump through hoops to change your currency. Short of hoping you run into a hustler with a heart of gold, you need to present a passport (preferably yours and valid), your plane ticket, utility bill for the place you claim to be staying at, your shoe size, a toothbrush, your best pair of Mickey Mouse boxer shorts, a tattoo that says Romeo Must Die and a driving permit. Well, some of these may actually be waived…

A South African Rand (Pronounced "Rend")

Customer Service

When you get over the initial shock that they are talking to you in er, South African, you will get the impression that there truly is a customer service school that people go to. It’s not so much because it’s Class A in its delivery, which it may or may not be, depending, but there seems to be a little bag from which prompts are extracted.

Supermarket A

“Do you want plastic?” she asks me with an almost genuine smile.

I think I heard her ask about plastic, but that goes without saying, doesn’t it? Well, as I try to piece this together, she asks;

“Where’s your mind?”

I’ll tell you this much, it’s not in a gutter… yet. But what I do say is, “sorry, long day”

Her smile is genuine this time as she hands over my change and tells me to, “Go home and sleep”

Supermarket B

“Plastic?” She asks my mate. No smiles this time. Just a look that says, “**** me! I’m tired”

My mate goes through the motions, trying to understand why these people are asking whether we want something that supermarkets back in Kla are practically giving away (here’s your lollipop ssebo, do you want a Kaveera? Here’s your change… I put it in a kaveera?)

Without missing a beat, “where’s your mind?”

The Jam

The traffic back home kindalookslikethis. Jo’burg’s has a certain elegance and it actually moves so it s  o r t a l o o k s l I k e t h I s. And even then, at the risk of sounding snobbish, it’s a different feeling when you realize that the car in front is in fact not always a Toyota…. A lot of the time it’s a freakin’ Audi… or a Beemer…. Or a VW (Volkswagen, not VolWo)(but they do have loads of those… the Volvos I mean) Of course after the first week I will likely get bored by it all and get riled every time an awesome ride cuts into my lane. Who knows, I may even develop some serious vehicular red mist of my own… wouldn’t that be grand….

 

Leggo! (Okay, that was the last pun)

 

Notes From An Idle Mind | What’s In A Name?

The news in brief;

  • Syda Bbumba and Khiddu Makubya resign from positions of power {That would have been punny if Bbumba had done this during that Energy Minister period, now it’s flatter than a graph tracking Red Banton’s career}
  • General Tinyefuza resigns from his name
  • The president intercepts a letter addressed to the House of Commons with contents that suggest that the English language has resigned from the writer’s grasp.

As luck would have it, David Sejusa happened to be about {on the interwebs, really} so we thought we’d catch up.

ULK: David. What’s happenin’ player!

David: Please, please. I am still just getting familiar with my new brand. I think it is too early to be calling me player.

ULK: My bad. We know you’re a busy guy, co-ordinating security and stuff, so we were wondering how you managed to slip a name change within your busy schedule.

David: It’s true that I’d rather be squandering the country’s resources from time to time, but I was recently alerted to a stockpile of names we could help ourselves to, so I thought, why not?

ULK: But why that name? Surely, you could have gotten something… foreign. One of those names that sits on that page in your passport and dares the reader to ‘do sumfin’… like the artist.

David: Funny you should mention that, I wanted to take The Artist, but Tumwiine has reserved that one.

ULK:  The general formerly known as Tinyefuza?

David: No, no, I’m done with that identity. I don’t want to be associated with it on any level. Imagine the president read a letter, like say to the House of Commons and it said it was written by Tinyefuza. Imagine the storm…

ULK: Did you write that letter? Is that the reason for the name change? Do you have regrets?

David: Nze Sejusa!

How do you understand me?

 

 

Notes From An Idle Mind | Thoughts On An Ad

You’ve seen the sexual network ads strewn across the city, probably seen the commercial on the telly, but you’ve definitely heard the radio ad. In case you’re reading this from a land far far away, here’s the gist of the ad, conveniently appearing in an isolated paragraph…

Dude receives a phone call from some other dude saying he is the chap that he has been sleeping with.  His logic {and I assure you, it really is logic} stems from the idea that if two people share a partner, then they’ve shagged each other. It’s like some sick twisted extension of the six degrees theory.

So, here’s what I’m thinking, a dude calls me up and says he is the guy I’ve been sleeping with, I’d hang up. Seriously.  If evil Barry White called me, I’d hang up, switch off my phone and then initiate a process to exorcise my sim card. But not the guy on radio. No. He is intrigued. Not even once does he consider the possibility that someone’s got the wrong number. He actually wants to know more. What’s he thinking? “Man, I need to lay off the bottle, but DAMN, this is some interesting shit.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the line, the caller is also kicking himself in the foot for failing to add a disclaimer. He thinks for a second that the drugs for the sore throat he picked up must have memory loss as a side effect. Note to self, next chap I call I must append the ‘no homo’ tag. “I’m the guy you’ve been sleeping with…no homo” But that is kinda gay…. In that case, can I say maybe, “sorta homo”… shit, shit, shit, my airtime…

“You see you’ve been sleeping with Brenda,” he continues voicing his Pulitzer prize winning thesis when he is interrupted,

“Which Brenda… I don’t know any Brenda….”

There’s some confusion as our fruity throaty caller begins to second guess himself, “Are you sure? Come on guy.”

“Walahi, as odd as it may seem, given that everyone knows at least one Brenda, I don’t know any.”

“Hmmm, how about Angella. Do you know an Angella?”

“Angella? Owawa?”

“Nansana…”

“Yeah, I know that one. Go on…”

Relieved, Ssebana’s speak-alike continues, “You see, you’ve been sleeping with Angella, and so have I…”

Now the confusion shifts to the recipient of the call. Wait. So technically, I didn’t sleep with this dude, did I? Were we involved in some crazy orgy or threesome? Actually, that must be it. I wonder whether our swords crossed….It’s the last time I take shots of The President’s Pride…

“…guy, are you there? I’m not on pakalast”

“Yes, sorry, go on….”

“Yeah, so I was telling you, I’ve been sleeping with Bren.. I mean Angela. And she has been doing that thing you like….”

More confusion. Have I actually acted on that fantasy? WINNING!

“insisting on sex with no condom”

ah… nuts.

“You like that, yeah? I don’t blame you. It’s nice, isn’t it? Like eating katogo with your hands…”

“You mean, like eating a sweet with no wrapper, don’t you?”

“Huh? That doesn’t even make sense. Anyway. So I was saying. When we shag it’s like a snake without it’s skin… you get? As in, I’m not covered. I’m like Larry King….”

“Live?”

“What? No, I’m hunched over like an old man trying to demonstrate some Physics pulley and fulcrum system. Shit, that beep has gone off. Man I told you I don’t have airtime. Crap, crap, crap!! Call me back…”

Beep

Ring. Ring {if you like this callertune and you’re sleeping around with other men, press star and swing to their beat}

“Hello? Who is this?”

“I’m the guy you’ve been sleeping with…”

 

 

Notes From An Idle Mind | Notes On A New Year

This is my 2012 piece wherein I take the piss whilst knowingly disturbing the peace. It’s also the one where I play with words in the first paragraph in such a way that will reveal that I’m not that good, something that despite being abstract, will reveal that real eyes realize real lies.

So without further ado;

In the near future, women of color (an off brown variant called ‘bleached’) shall take to the streets to show that they can be affluent. They shall prove once and for all that beauty can have bounty. The jury will be too preoccupied with this to acknowledge the possibility of beauty and brains coexisting in one individual. These women shall have come into money in manners that shall initially not be such a big deal for us as long as they keep the drinks flowing.

However, once we get over the stupor of inebriation we shall invariably gravitate towards the default setting inbuilt within and we shall hate and speculate; “she has a pensioner, she’s a slut, she wouldn’t be there if she kept her thighs shut”. It doesn’t matter coz we’ll be walking as we say that and they shall be driving past.

More hang spots shall open, some basically being the old places with new names, others actually being new places with new names and to wit, new locations. These places shall start off by being frequented by a class we like to lazily refer to as the who’s who because our linguistic capacity is limited to repeating words for effect yet that’s got the ability to make your literacy levels come off as merely being there-there.

The sports arena shall showcase the rise of a legend. Of course it will be with great difficulty that this new hero shall carve out an identity for himself. Should he be his own hype man or should he possess substance? These are some of the questions that he will grapple with before NTVs Point Blank ambushes him and forces him to follow the path they shall have laid out before him. For a while it will be funny, but it will only be a matter of time before we realize that we are more inclined to soccer and stand up comedy and not variants of the same.

There shall emerge, on the scene, a musical act with such a great potential and such a loose grasp on grammar and sensibility, but we will love him. Or her because, dammit, we need to have some variety and we feed into the ‘swag’ machine without planning to…until such a time that we see said local artiste in the club wearing shades…at 3am. Then the honeymoon will end and we shall call him or her or it ‘local’ and all will be well, because we love to hate.

Roads will continue being mistreated. The revival of the walk to work protests will see people employing heavy as **** footwear to help them stand their ground in the face of riot police and the strawberry yoghurt brigade. We will conveniently overlook the glaring fact that water/yoghurt with heavy impact=erosion=potholes. Whatever, no one that participates in that walk to work stuff is still studying about erosion…or is a rocket scientist otherwise we’d be flying to work, innit?

The fashion industry will continue it’s downward spiral into prehistoric times with it’s insistence on maintaining it’s rather unhealthy relationship with leggings and gladiators. In what may be construed by some, leggings will undergo yet another evolutionary curve much like the one that introduced ‘jeggings’ {jean leggings, really}. The year 2012 will introduce ‘beggings’; a local entrepreneur’s attempt at fusing traditional with modern couture… it goes without saying, the bark cloth leggings will rub people the wrong way and this phase will go away really fast. Gladiator sandals will also undergo a mid-life crisis and spring fur and some other boring shit.