Category Archives: Suburbans


They say she comes from outer space, where for four hundred and fifteen years, ancient turtles trained her in the deadly art of making jokes and generally being the life of whichever party is in a thirty to thirty-five mile radius. Her cleverness bleaches the blackest of pots and doesn’t forgive the kettles either. She doesn’t just crack your ribs she splinters them. She doesn’t just tickle your funny bone, she dislocates it. Brew a cup of coffee and put on your reading glasses, presenting our latest addition to the sub-urban roster of conc and undiluted awesomeness, here is the breath-taking bubbling bundle of wit and talent that is ….

EDITOR: Mr. Producer, is it in order? I think it is in order; Go on, give the drummer some.

The Moroots herself. Mo, take it away!


I’m really warming up to twitter and the entertainment it gives me in my idle moments. I find it informative, amusing and very cool! One thing that I’m crazy about is innovations and how trends can SPREAD. Speaking of trends, twitter’s trending topics have become like ice cold water on a bloody heat-waved dusty Kampalan afternoon, you just drink them up! So I’ve decided once a month, I’ll dedicate a blog to a trending topic. This is my first one, a very popular trending topic, and really hilarious because most of the time so many of them really resonate with me as my life is a series of awkward moments.

And while we’re on this whole twitter topic… follow my twitter @moroots. It’s just as interesting as my blog

#theawkwardmoment when a heavy lady trips and runs into a 25 stepped stumble and THEN proceeds to crash into the ground. The actual falling isn’t funny – as she’ll probably hurt herself and whoever else is in the way, what is funny is everything that precedes the fall. She probably tripped initially because she can’t see her toes. She then evolves into this unstoppable ground thumping unrehearsed balance beam routine of 100 quick steps – this is probably the most exercise she has received in the last 5 years so it’s funny that she’s about to hurt herself as a result. People off balance make me giggle.

#thatawkwardmoment when you’re at a bar/club (mostly a bar) with REALLY loud music and your trying to have a conversation and SHOUTING into your friends’ ear about how I’M SO DRUNK I THINK I JUST PISSED A LITTLE, and the music just happens to cut off right after the I’m So Drunk part. Yes. Embarrassing. Everyone turns to look at you coz firstly why are you screaming? Then their eyes roll down to your vajajay area as if they are inspecting the stain this potential drop of pee has left, and then they squinch their noses up as if they can smell it!! And all this done in the total silence of a supposed to be loud establishment – awkward!

#thatawkwardmoment when you’re at someone unfamiliar’s house and you need to take a doodoo. And you take the shit and then the shit doesn’t flush and everyone BLATANTLY knows you dun the shit coz it’s only the 3 of you there! What do you do?! If you have good advice let me know. And saying “don’t doodoo at other people’s homes” is not good advice, coz what if you’re there for the whole day, or overnight, or there for a big spicy meal?

#theawkwardmoment when you’re in the village and at a function and then your Dad gets recognized and he insists on introducing his entire family. (forgive the grammatical errors of my vernacular attempt) “Mwebale munonga… Erizooba, naleeta abaana bange… Maurrrin…” I ROLL MY EYES!! GOSH DAD!! MUST YOU?!?! Yes, apparently he must! I awkwardly stand up and smile as he laments on about how yasoma omubulaaya (studied abroad), and have a business degree, and cooks well, and enjoys cleaning and… HOLD ON A MINUTE!! ARE YOU TRYING TO SELL YOUR DAUGHTER OFF RIGHT NOW DEAR FATHER?! IT JUST DAWNED ON ME!! All these years! He’s been trying to market me for marriage! Trifling man!

#theawkwardmoment when someone else’s baby starts calling you mama after one afternoon of babysitting!!!! Ermmmmm hiiiiiiiiii! I’m young enough to be your old but still in the middle sister. I am NOT your mother. I mean it’s cute UNTIL said baby’s mother comes home and starts asking about how the day was and goes to hold her child and then the child denies her and requests for your loving tenderness!! TO ALL THE BABIES OUT THERE, your mothers shall refuse to invite me to babysit and give me money if she feels like she is being replaced by my finer sitter skills so do me a favour and STFU kid. Seriously.

The list of life’s awkward moments is literally endless! Feel free to post some of your awkward moment one liners in the comment space and make me giggle!
But if God didn’t provide us with awkward moments that would make our chocolate cheeks blush crimson if they could, where would he find his entertainment from?

The Get Cool Quick Guide For Dummies

Growing up, he used to chase lions as a hobby; He now just chases cats since there are no lions in Bwaise.  Here’s something from Balamaga Rogers

Do you feel sad, feel unlovable and invisible sometimes? Even on facebook, the Promised Land, where you were told you could start over and build a new life; breaking loose from those terrible names you’ve had to live with? Are you a local wannabe? Do you aspire to be cool?

Well today’s your lucky day. Behold, a thorough guide on how to become more noticeable on Facebook.

First and most important step is to become friends with cool people. This may be hard at first, because most cool people won’t accept your request just like that. Why? Well…mostly coz you’re local. But don’t despair; there is a way around this. You can start by liking their fan page or subscribing to their public posts.

You need to get ideas from these people and also, a single like on your status update from Mildred Apenyo (which doesn’t come easily) could weigh as heavy as 16 likes from your fellow local friends. If you accidentally write something that James Onen finds worth sharing, you’ll receive 20 unexpected friendship requests that day. People will think you are someone, so they will check your profile out.

Now when people come to check your profile out, don’t let them find you being fake. Pimp that shit up. Lose that profile picture you took with your Tecno phone. If you went to funny schools, pick the fairest of them. That excludes the likes of Kitende and Naalya.

Watch what you say in your “about me”. Don’t start talking about “I come from a family of 7…” you’re not looking for sponsors here. Find a nice quote – not from your head, you’re not there yet – off Google, preferably something confusing. You are trying to appear to be smart; confusion here tends to pass for smartness.

Take your status updates seriously because they will determine your status. Stop updating every 5 minutes. Nobody knows you. Follow the golden rule of: “If you have nothing to post, don’t post”. But if you’re really dying of horn for the post button, at least nab a quote from You’ll get ko a couple of likes.

Alternatively, you could post lyrics from The more unconventional the song is, the better. There will be one or two ‘eccentric’ people who know it and they’ll be inclined to believe you got it off head and you are one of them. This is how you start getting noticed.

You have to watch what goes onto your wall, so go change your privacy settings now now so that you can approve all photos you’re tagged in before they show or else embarrassing evidence of your past localness will stain your present coolness. Do the same for your local girlfriend otherwise she may bring her kanankani love to your wall to try and assert her dibs on you.

Always remember that wrong is cool and modesty is whack. Don’t ask me why, I didn’t write the rules. Don’t be afraid to use expletives; instead of saying absolutely say absofuckinlutely. Words like this score you a few points in the books of cool.

Finally, either get or fake a goddamn life. A night life at that. Even if you’re in your sticky room watching movies on Frio night, just update your location and tie on Iguana.

Good luck.

By Balamaga Rogers

TOP TEN: Miss Kyrte hits back at a dude, and finishes him off with a smiley

Hello angry bastard. I know you hate me right now, but because you loved me before last Friday, which is when you started hating my guts, I know we still have hope. I swear I did not mean to:

1. Bitch-punch you for dubbing my earring off at the ULK party (but it was pretty and from outside countries. Stupid)

2. Vomit in your mouth

3. Get lost that many times. Don’t blame me banaye. I was excited. And soused. Be bighearted and forgiving.

4. I did not mean to kick the cab driver’s head. I swear. I am not a violent chick. I swear.

5. The nsenenes looked pretty to me. They was shimmering and looking all ethereal and delicate, which is why I slipped them into your pocket. I didn’t intend to stink up your house with nsenene corpse smell. The stench is partly your fault by the way. You should do your laundry more often. So don’t think, “Weird chick that hides nsenenes in people’s pant pockets. Think, “Pretty cat-like nymph who likes me enough to slip love offerings into my clothes”

6. Delete all the contacts from your phone. Or send all those threatening messages to your mum. But who calls their mother MarthaSweerieDarlin’ in their phone? And I am not sorry about the snooping!

7. I did not mean to eat your fridge and all its contents, but it serves you right for following Sleek’s advice in the morning. You don’t jog off and leave a hungry girl asleep in your house, unless you hate your pantry and your phone contacts.

8. What happened to my arm? Why do I have so many scratches? Did you…did you SCRATCH me? What kind of…why would you scratch me?!? You’re not allowed to act violently towards drunk and hot girls. Ask Kanye. You’re supposed to be tender, forgiving and amused. I don’t like you for scratching my arm.

9. This is what happened. Your cat has bad manners. It’s not sweet and purr-y. It’s skinny and screechy and for heaven’s sake, the thing had only one eye. Please remember that I love cats, even ugly ones, and I wouldn’t intentionally kick out their (one remaining) eyes. I was startled. My heart nearly stopped. Brightside, that frightful thing won’t be able to see what it looks like ever again. I’m sure it was having trouble walking past reflective surfaces.

10. None of this shit happened. But the boys on this site seem to believe that this is the kind of things that women all over the world do after (and during) parties. Nti we foist ourselves on men who (do us the favor of) sex(ing) us with benevolent looks on their faces and kind, generous feelings in their hearts and then we refuse to leave their houses in the morning and they have to employ tricks to kick us out. Shya. Women don’t do that. We’re awesome. We attend parties, look THEKETHEY, dance like ninjettes and then go back home with our girlfriends and sleep in their beds.



Let’s Get Naked

You have seen the press releases. You have watched the video clips. The guys have written about it. But here’s the thing. The girl has not. I’m talking about the 411 Legendary Party.  After the men have done all the hard work, I am here. To spice it up. Ice the cake. Final touches.

Ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna be killing it this Friday. Lemme first sample you.

The Peeps:

Aside you our majorly amazing fans, the Legends are going to be in the house. In the bar. Imagine that. 5 mentally disturbed and brilliant men in one bar.

And Streetsider gives the most-mind-altering-and-body-part-melting lap dances. And he’s going to be dishing those out in true generosity.

We aim to please. Really, we do.

The Beats:

Beekay will be in the house, Mr. Hype and DJ Bankrobber shall be hypin’, spinning’, rockin’…we’re bringing the house down, so rock your dancing shoes children. And noddy heads for the too-cool-to-grind-and-wind persons.

The Venue:

It’s Boda Boda, banange. It’s at Garden City. Ample parking space. Comfy seats. The waiters and waitresses have been warned, please. Excellent service or Maureen gets into the mix. And y’all know how I hate, right? No focused bar wants me pissed off. Especially not when I’m as-if a hostess at this do. Ahem.

Back to basics:

We allow that we are awesome and brilliant. We also allow that we be making you laugh or in my case, shake your head. We’re super. But first, we’re Ugandans. Patriotic Ugandans.

Therefore alcohol. Like you, we got tired of being only associated with Amin. So we joined in the making of a name for our beloved nation by topping the world’s most drunken drunkards’ countries list. All tribes of intoxicants and their friends shall be available.

Help preserve Uganda’s glory; come drink alcohol with us.


The plan was to be silent & make a dazzling appearance come Friday evening. But the editor said nada. Write about yowaselef please. Tell the fans they’re gon’ finally see the ka chic who hurls insults for fun.

Come party with us.

Or click play and see what will happen to each one of you if you fail to show up.



A Word From The ULK Ministry Of Security & Excitement

Kyokka do you know what has happened?! A zit! A plump, half ripe mountain of a felony has set up base on my face. A pimple so huge, it looks like a teabag has attached itself to my cheek.

This simply won’t do.  I cannot accept bumpage! Have you ever seen Alek Wek with grip? Nada. We baldies need to have faces that look like they get marinated in milk on a regular.

All this derma-drama because of EXCITOSSSSSS. I’m looking forward to 411 so much that my body isn’t satisfied with involving feelings. It’s bringing in hormones as well.

You know how Catholic school girls have a rep for partying like drag queens and being very shady indeed when they finally attain ‘freedom’? Hmn. They can’t even begin to touch the enthusiasm of the (usually) curfew-ed tween. If I am braving dogs, gate spikes and banishment to jump for this harre, I’m not going to allow a zit to come between me and drop dead mamanyabocomeandsee hotness.

Breaking News! This just in! Read the next paragraph with enthusiasm!!!!!!!

I have just, now now, established for sure that this harree is going to be legendawesome. How?  I popped the formidable pimple two minutes ago. Before I’d even gotten my fingers into proper pressure applying position, thick things stumbled, oozed, badunkadrooged out. Grrrut. Grrrut. Gruuuuut. And in the yellow mess on my face, I saw a complete and total blast.

Don’t be grossed out. Don’t puke in your mouth. If you already have, swallow it.  I’m putting Colgate herbal on the angry sore. By 411, I will have returned to flyness.

Because we can’t allow your chief of security to look fake. Not even if what.


Legendary Party Press Release

Agg-rey El-Che, Minister of Awesomeness, ULK

Well, because I don’t know the time you are reading this article, I have been forced to generalize my greeting to, yo reader, whatsup?

As the self-imposed minister of awesomeness, and due to the fact that the five official ninjas are busy preparing for the Legendary Friday, I’ve been forced to give you, dear loyal readers of ULK, a preview of what to expect on the 4th  of November, at the equally legendary Boda Boda bar.


Security has been beefed up following the concern of many citizens. You think Golola Moses is tough? Just see Miss Kyrte’s new look. Belle’s decided to prove her awesome meanness by cutting off her dreadlocks. After Gaddaffi’s female bodyguards did a great job, we can assure you that Miss Kyrte and her crew of equally hot b***hes will do a great job too. So safety is sealed.


Miss Kyrte looks like this


Because we vibe hot chics for a living, here at ULK, you can be sure that they will be in plenty.  Sleek, one of the five ninjas and the only one with a viable taste in the female species is currently traversing Latin America looking for the crème de la crème of beauty. You can follow Sleek’s conquests on Google Maps.

Look. Sleek's territory of domination

Who is who:

ULK is awesome, so much that it has a ministry of awesomeness. So what do you expect? Only the most awesome citizens. Because Ernest claims to be a responsible citizen, he’s currently vetting the guest list to see who has the best swag to live the legend. Make sure you handle him with care, or you may not be invited. We love you so much that we care about your music tastes, and as such, Rachel K will be present (as a guest, not a musician. She’s too cute for music).


We know you want to show off whatcha gat. Erique, the ruthless of the ninjas will take care of that. We know you are scared of Red pepper, Onion and Bukedde but don’t be afraid to show us what yo mamas gave you. Trust us, we know how to kick their asses, so come as hot as you can be. And because we love Agnesssssss Nandutttttu, and Erique has a secret crush, we’ll have her around.


Here at ULK, we strive to make you happy. So expect lots of fun, jokes and so much more. We know it might break your hearts but Bad Black, Sharon O, and Judith heard may not be invited due to their failure to understand even the simplest of the mortal jokes, well unless they start differentiating a joke from a diss.


I am Beautiful Bad Black and I will be at the Legendary Party even if I wasn't invited.

Confirmed attendance:

Huey Freeman, Riley Freeman, Peter and Stewie Griffin, Capt. Jack Sparrow, Chandler, Fraiser and you have confirmed their attendance. Col. Stinkmeaner and Harry Potter had not yet replied to their invites. By press time, Streetslider, the only ninja with mega game was on his way to USA to try and convince Nicki Minaj that there’s a country called Uganda, and that she was needed ASAP. Unfortunately, Olara Otunnu turned down our invitation when we told him that there would be hot chics.

If you haven’t received the invitation, then on behalf of Urban Legend Kampala, I officially invite you for the legendary party, due 4th November at Boda Boda. See you there.


PS: By press time, Ivan, the fifth ninja was trying to sneak Bad Black out of prison.


More Proof That Men Are Idiots!

First of all, Katongole Singh was told to sketch his baddez. I should probably be feeling bad for the man. So much energy invested in associating with different continent, country and tribe peeps. But I need something to mask the Man Utd catastrophe & subsequent shame. Twaswadde. Moving on.

There are things you only see in the movies. Those times when the idiot of a man tells the woman something so boundlessly styupeed, you want to jump into the screen and hit him on the head.

Then you hit womanhood.  So you’re in this complicated relationship with womanhood, who doesn’t know how to communicate properly. She doesn’t warn you that with her appearance on the scene come many things. Cat calls from Kampala lumpens, fights with cellulite and hips which don’t get the concept of “do not make best friends with this TV chicken I’m hogging down. Let it slide peacefully to my rectum.”

But some things can be ignored ko. The biggest surprise which womanhood comes bearing is men. Idiotic, senseless, half brained, men who make you wish Eve had stopped at eating the fruit. But she went ahead & bred with Adam. One idiotic son and the trait found its way into most of these species’ systems. Only naturally-ingrained idiocy can make a man say any of these things to a woman. Lemme help you understand.

“I’m pregnant”. Kko him:  “What were you thinking?”

Excuse me Ssebo. I didn’t think impure thoughts & end up with child. I also can’t blame it on divine happenings and I’m pretty sure the spirit doesn’t intend to use my womb to house an African saviour.”What was I thinking?” What were you thinking? Mst.

I’m not yet ready

There’s no beating about the bush here. Listen up. My eggs have an expiry date. In 20+ years, I’ll probably be unable to hatch anything. Plus all this environmental degradation ish isn’t helping. I’m a time bomb…oba oven?? Point is, “I’m not ready” isn’t the desired response to the let’s-settle-down question. A ring is. With a big rock. You can keep the bended knee.

Let’s move in together & see if we’re compatible first

So what have we been doing for the last 4 years? What d’ya wanna know, eh? The nitty gritty of my cycle and the brands that I use to support this natural and majorly annoying phenomenon?

The answer is this. Not happening. Lazy man, you want the milk but don’t want to buy the cow?

Also, I am Catholic.


And Then God Said…


It was a long, long afternoon in the heavens. Long and boring. You might think that watching humans massacre one another would cause the heavenly beings to be in a panicked state. But no. They have been audience to this stuff for millennia.

So, on this particular afternoon not so far back, God said to Gabriel, “Say, I am bored. Sleepy even.” And Gabriel said, “Same here, Almighty. The angels are out of fun things to do. The Arsenal joke kept us going for a while…but…”

And God said,

“Tihihihi…that was one crazy game.” And Gabriel said, “Poor Wenger. Michael and the rest have been re-acting the game all week. But that’s now old-ish news. Boredom looms. What to do, what to do? You know there’s an earthly petition to…ermm, bring Bieber here and return Biggie. In the mood for a miracle?“

And God said, “Nope. Biggie stays. Who’ll do the rap lines to the daily hymns?”

Gabriel: “Spot on Boss. (Heavenly high5)”
God:”I know what will kill the hours; CREATION. Let us CREATE.” And with Gabriel in tow, God said, ”Let there be kavuyo!”

And there was Uganda. Complete with potholes, body-part grabbing louts and nsenene.  Uganda also was gifted with never-satisfied-public funds-stealing leaders and daily-partying drunkards. Excessively hot girls who can’t for their lives, sustain an intelligent conversation were also thrown into the mix.


Allo. I am Bad Black and this is me making my debut appearance on ULK. I believe I am hot and can sustain an intelligent conversation. I also believe Uganda doesn't have any potholes inside it.

Minute 2. God said;”Let there be idiocy” And there was Buturo. Laden with the largest amount of moronic grey matter, it shocked the creature’s eyes into defection mode. So God threw in a pair of made-for-idiots-only specs.

In the second and half minute (Yes, Buturo was made in half a minute. No serious planning there) God continues.

”Let there be brilliance.” And there was the entire Urban Legend team. Brilliant, gifted and disturbed. Gabriel couldn’t find the screw driver at that time so most of this team’s mental wires are loose. Daniel’s and Erique’s are entirely disconnected.

Next, God made plain dumbness. And then the Indian who, aside from tying on a foreign tribe and name, is now saying that he needs to be tried in Punjab because he can’t effectively communicate in English or Luganda.

Punjab, my Ugandan a@$

We shall resurrect Amin’s ghost on you, Katongole Pamanda.  Then we’ll see if you’ll keep nodding your head in disagreement. You even do our sign language backwards.

Noonya banno. In Punjab, sketch your friends.

One hot and long afternoon, God looked at everything He had made.

And God was confused.


Of Restaurants: Spur Steak Ranches

First of all, they are outside countries’ people. And you said something akin to outside countries’ people and things being responsible for the increased disappearance of money from our wallets. That is reason one. They are foreign. You need to motivate us to follow your example in using only locally made things. Like the soon-to-be-defunct-Ugandan-made-sugar. Tikwe?

Divorce: Sugar packs its belongings and goes back to the village

When they had just opened shop in Uganda, which was around 2007, all was well. Like how in 1990, the country had better roads than it does now. The food was excellent. The waitresses and waiters were masters at treating the customers like royalty. Things were going bulungi. We loved them because they made us feel like we were experiencing a bit of movie-sm in our dusty city.

Men unlucky enough to be running after a campus girl at the time must have cursed the place. You asked the girl where she would like to have dinner, convinced she was still excited about Nandos’ free pizza Tuesday. She said Silver City. You panicked. But then, you asked. The sharp ones carried chips and liver to her room. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

Silver City, however, started to kumanyiira us. Because we are hospitable people. Because we have maalo for new joints and restaurants and will frequent them just to walk away when another joint opened its doors. Ask Cheese bar. But we were nice to Silver City. We kept going back because this time, we were ready to commit.

It helped that they had the juiciest pork ribs this side of the Sahara. And we really haven’t tasted the ones on the other side of the Sahara. But wah…they did not treasure us. Us, the girls who had to put up with I know-I’m-boring-but-I-have-a-car-and-money-men just so we could escape another night of Wandegeya food.

And the poor men who spent money and fuel (in those days, it was cheap) to dine a ka girl who just side-hugged you and skipped off to her room. Kampala girls. Msssccchhheeewww.

But the excellent food made up for the lack of common interest dates. Then they decided that because they have been here for one term, they could become so Ug and start being bulala.

How do you serve a chicken breast between a stale Hotloaf bun and majestically term that a chicken burger? In these hard times where people give up lunch so they have taxi fare home, how do you charge UGX20,000 for a meal that consists of 12 fries (yes, I counted) and said horrible burger? What sort of idiot clears your plate away; intact with most of the meal and then asks if you enjoyed your meal?
The Silver City sort of idiot. Three times of bad service and horrible food isn’t a bad day. It’s a pattern. They go back; we use the space to grow sugar.


Stretcher Romance

First of all, fuck fat conductors. If you’re paid to squeeze yourself onto a ka sliver of chair between a scowling customer and a taxi door, skinniness of hips is an attribute you want to rock. Don’t get all pissed off when I refuse to contract mine to make space for yours that are so obscenely rotund that you really ought to start treating them for rickets of the hips.

You know that celibacy has crossed from righteous lifestyle to inconvenience when a male deodorant rising off the skin of the random guy seated next to you in the taxi gets you all bothered and hot.

You know you’re psychologically ready to start seriously jumping some bones when you practically sense the brother before he enters the taxi.

With that lonely heart ad cleverly inserted into the paragraph above, we can launch into THE STRETCHER ROMANCE!

Taxis are as good a place as any to meet your next soulmate/ex. I got me a shot about a week ago. This guy was so fine that when I saw him coming, I put my new manicure and book on display. First impressions, man.

I also switched on my most caramel accent (the one that catches boys like honey) for if he said hello, which he did.

Yay. Things were all going according to plan

Until I parted my lips to croon back hello and realized that mama nyabo I had the smelliest mouth in the world.


Yes. As a direct result of my onion fixation, (totally and completely addicted), I garnish every meal with a ½ a healthy onion or so. This makes for very happy mealtimes but turns my breath vicious.

 My breath was vicious.

I couldn’t in good conscience say hello back. What if he’d died? Uganda has too few good-looking brothers as things are. So I had to make a choice. And fast.

I could pretend to be:

A)    Deaf and dumb.

B)    A kwemolara who doesn’t talk talk to strangers in taxis. Msw

C)    Too absorbed in Facebooking on this phone to say hello back

Ericsson Phone

I poke you

D)    Continue Facebooking behind my bag because that phone is so freaking ugly.

I went with C.

A quick sideways glance assured me that his phone was equally hideous, cheap and Chinese. I relaxed.

Because of all the zingy chemistry and pheromone soup we were swimming in, we had to pretend to not be checking each other out WHILE checking each other out.  This involved ignoring each other while not ignoring each other.

So we turned to our respective phones. You know cheap phones have hard buttons, yes? When he started texting (or whatever) and I started Facebooking, our elbows which were jammed against each other pumped and bumped furiously from the exertion of pressing hard, cheap Chinese phone buttons. We clicked for a couple of meters.

Somebody has just informed me that the proper term for what we were doing is elbow fucking.


Anyway so we didn’t talk at all and I had to jam my hand down my throat to keep my stupid giggles in. Stupid giggles.

And  when time came for us to get out of the taxi, I risked a look and realized that I’d been stressing over an OB of mine who we used to call CAMEL as a direct result of the funk he used to give off. Boy did that guy stink. This was a very disappointing realization. I was deeply saddened but also happy for him. He discovered deodorant!!!!!