Meet State Minister for Finance (Planning) Hon. Matia Kasaija.

The man pictured above was invited to NBS TV for an interview to account for government money meant for the postponed population census.

What he didn’t expect was that the interview involved questions. He thought they were going to give him tea with accompaniment, put him on TV and make him famous so that girls start chasing after him.

So when he was asked to answer some questions about his ministry, he walked out in protest during a live broadcast.

A hero who deserves a medal. No one in Uganda has ever done that. It was like watching Government Avengers and he was Captain Uganda. The Marvel hero even went ahead to say that in government, bribery is very okay.

CAPTAIN UGANDA OYEEE!

We’re following our hero into battle. Bribe someone today.

Bribe your way out of a traffic offense. Bribe a telecom employee and get free airtime. Bribe a DJ to play you a song no one else likes. Bribe a girl to love you. Bribe bribe bribe anything that moves.

Because now, you stand a chance to win from it.

]]> http://urbanlegendkampala.com/bribe-someone-today/feed/ 0 http://urbanlegendkampala.com/applique-to-dear-matthias-kiwanuka-of-new-york-giants/ http://urbanlegendkampala.com/applique-to-dear-matthias-kiwanuka-of-new-york-giants/#comments Wed, 16 May 2012 08:25:52 +0000 Ernest Bazanye http://urbanlegendkampala.com/?p=6907

He's going down

Dear Matthias Kiwanuka, star of the American football team New York Giants

How are you and how is America? I am sure it is wonderful. Even though there is Credit Crunch and gangstas shooting n*gg*z.

How is New York? Do you see 50 Cent around around? Please greet him for me. Tell him I downloaded all his albums and that I am his biggest fun.

Don’t forget to explain that in Uganda celebrities don’t have fans, they have funs.

I saw you in the newspapers last week. You were in Sunday Vision. They said that you were one of the highest paid Africans in sports in the whole world with a salary of the equivalent of sh12b. When I read this I had to invoke a saying we have here in your homeland Uganda. The saying goes, “Kale oono kemmukwata ko ta mpona.”

It can be translated by the bible verse “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”

That is why I am writing to you. I realize that being stuck in America you will have a problem finding someone who can cook for you etooke properly. I don’t know if American girls can even make katunda. You need somebody who will take care of you properly.

Fortunately I am here. I don’t mind coming to America and marrying your NFL salar— I mean, marrying you. It is the least I can do to support my fellow countrymen.  We are even from the same tribe. The only difference is that me I am poor and you are not.

I am a very beautiful woman, by the way. People look at me and they think I am even partially Rwandan, and yet I am from deep in Masaka there. I have a real Ganda bbina. You should see it. It kapapalas very much. I have seen the bubina of people in America. Simanyi Kim Kardashian. Kim Kardashian what. That chick is kabawo compared to real Ugandan beauty. She is a pan. Me I am a watermelon.

By the way, are you really a Giant? You know what I mean. Are you? Even if you are not it is okay. I can come to New York with some leaves that I got from a doctor who works in the lake in Kalangala. No, not on the islands, in the lake inside. You go under the water and you find him. He can make you a real “giant”!

Anyway, Kiwanuka, you just say when you are ready and I come and we get married. For God and My Country

Nice Time

Nansikombi Goreytte

Hellen: Evil. Boss. 

Okay, it’s the new girl. She’s a pain in the ass. I know I have only just met her and I can’t say I know her, but a few minutes is usually all it takes to recognise that a person is going to be excruciating your bum. I am rarely wrong about this.

Barbara disagrees, but then again, She is Barbara. Barbara, according to the dictionary, is a needy, whiny, clingy damp hanky who goes, “oooh nunu” when she sees piglets on the back of a truck, and fails to notice that a: they are on the way to an abbatoir and b: we are on the way to Yakobos.

The new chick found us minding our own business at Barbara’s desk and brought herself. Kale she is sooooo new. Like a fresher in the office. Like an S.1.

“Hello Barbara, hello Hellen,” she smiled at us like the champion of toothbrushing in her village. She had even learned our names.

Then she stood there, waiting for us to greet her back.

I was haharing on the spot in a way I had never hahad a person before in my life. I mean this girl just walking up and greeting us and assuming herself into our space and not even giving us the option to reject her? How rude! At the very least a person must always have the option to reject you. It’s a human right.

Barbara smiled back, mbu, “Hi!”

I said “And you are?”

Without flinching she beams back about how she is whatever her name is that I currently refuse to acknowledge and how she is the new girl and how she hopes this place is awesome and she has this squeak in her voice, this squeak that suggests there is something rodent in her genes.

So basically, I didn’t like the new chick. Fuck her.

Two black heifers

Miranda. New. Entry Level

Kawa. So I get to work nice and early like a good girl. Eddie leaves the house at six-thirty, so it’s eaither Harrier at six thirty or bodaboda at eight.

I still don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing in this office, and this makes the place quite dull. The wise thing would be to make friends. Right?
So I go up to these two. The tall one is Barbara and the one with the fat ankles is Hellen. Barbara is in HR. Hellen does some manager stuff.
All I did was introduce myself I swear. I said,

Me: “Hi Barbara, Hi Hellen.”

Barbara: “Hello.”

Hellen (Withering evil heifer-look with eyes like real cow eyes narrowing and looking me up and down as if I’m something a stray cat left on her doorstep) “And you are?”

Me: (Trying to ignore bitchy look) “Miranda. I’m new here.”

Barbara: “That’s nice. Welcome.”

Hellen: “Miranda?” (She says it as if she is saying  ”red mucus”)

Barbara: “I have been seeing you around, by the way” (Which is sweet, because she’s lying. This is my first day)

Hellen: “What are you supposed to be doing here?” (As if I the company called for applications and held interviews and gave me a contract just so I could come here and waste her time)

Me: (Still smiling, not that it’s easy) “Oh, basically I’m going to be assisting Dora on her new project with ACFAN.”

Barbara: “Whoa! You are in for a loooot of work. She is a slavedriver.

Hellen: (Seriously, what is with this chick?) “You are a secretary?”

As in a cow

1:20pm. Forth Floor. Pretty much deserted. Peeps have gone for lunch oba. Miranda still in situ. Hissing sound from behind a door.

Miranda: What?

Barbara: (It was her hissing) Gwe, “What” is the thing people say if they want to waste time while opportunities pass them by. Quit asking questions and get in here.

(“Here” is a cubicle near the corner. MIRANDA creeps over. They are soon staring at a computer screen)

Barbara: Are you religious?

Miranda: I don’t know. I guess. I once went to Mavuno church. It was coo…

Barbara: Genesis 14:20 And praise be to God Most High, who delivered your enemies into your hand. . . Voila.

COMPUTER SCREEN: http://Facebook.com/hellennsiima

Miranda: What?

Barbara: Please stop saying that.

COMPUTER SCREEN: Hellen Ninsiima. 228 friends. 4 notifications. What’s on your mind?

Miranda: Seriously?

Barbara: Seriously is just as bad as “what”.

Miranda: But I thought she was, like, your friend.

Barbara: She is. Doesn’t mean she isn’t an rank and evil cow who deserves to be fucked with. I don’t even like her that much. So are you going to do this or not?

Miranda: (Thinks, then types)  ”Just remembered all the great times in uni. teabagging the guys in architecture especially. You guys had the cleanest nuts!

Ever since Rachel K ceremoniously left the country last year, the music industry hasn’t been the same. The days of verve, pluck, chutzpah and all those things that Clever J, her replacement, has still failed to drum-up are long gone. The lady was a minty breath of fresh air to the Ug Music industry. Her hair alone inspired Rihanna to change her hair style.

With K gone, now rocking the stars out of the spangled banner, we now have a huge Rock ‘n Roll vacuum. We are like followers without a leader. A goat without weed.s. Spiderman without goo in his palms. Ironman without money. What shall we do? Who will saveth uth? From whence shallst thee rocken musicken cometh?

We are here missing you K

What shall we listen to when we are heart-broken and hoping to listen to people who have it worse than us? What do we do when we feel the urge to listen to strained male vocals? Where do we turn when we want loud, angry, burn-the-house-down instrumentals?

Thank God for ULK. Always anticipating a problem and stepping in to save you. Like that time we warned you about the alien invasion that would lead to some ministers getting anal probes. The strain on their faces when they talk on TV now says it all. But we aren’t the ‘WE TOLD YOU SO!!” type. So now, Rock  ‘n Roll vacuum…rather than turn our eyes to Rocky giant, we know that there is no better rockstarrr out there than you…ULK fan. Reader. Enthusiast. Very Intelligent life form. High IQ. Avenger. Superrrstarr. Sexy being. Posterchild of living good good.

Rocky GIANT. Rock savior. Naloo!

We are forming a Rock band that’s going to rock the foundation of potholes that this city was built on. The band will make music that will get marabou storks to bob their beaks so hard, they’ll get dizzy and stop shitting on people. The band will rock so hard, boredom will have to masturbate to keep itself occupied. The band will be so fly, the G6 will file for unfair competition. Join the band….be a rockstarrr. Hit the button below.

Those terms and conditions that other companies print in very small letters that you cannot see. Even us our terms and conditions are like that. Look awayyy nigger.

1. Like the emperor’s new clothes, you won’t see the rockband button if you aren’t logged into Facebook. Do it now. And then hit the button. Hard. Rocckit.

Legendary Editor,

My name is Line. Landline. I’m an 87-year-old Uganda Telecom descendant from the Nsenene clan of 041. I’ve noticed these little children called mobile phones have taken over the entire world with their wireless nonsense. They are highly undisciplined and rowdy little rascals that are nauseatingly taking over every corner of every city in the world.

Are humans so gullible that they let themselves be party to such a depraved generation? Back in my day we were perfectly structured so that if you wanted to talk to one of us, we knew exactly where to direct you. If someone was looking for Oscar in Makindye, we had poles and wires that got you there in an orderly fashion and made sure you didn’t get lost.

But look at what’s happening now. You want Oscar, you go to Makindye and they tell you “Ha! Sorry boss. He went to Club Silk to dance.” You can’t even tell how the stupid boy managed to disconnect himself from the wires and get out of the house.

Then they have these stupid slang codes that they use among themselves. Simanyi 079, 077, 075, 070, 071…these are not even codes for places. For us if someone told you Oscar was in Makindye, you dialed 041 and for sure Oscar was there. And if you dialed 043 and Oscar picked up and told you he was at home in Makindye watching TV, you’d go back home, get a stick from one of the brooms in the compound, and then wait for him to come back from Jinja and explain why he lied to you about his whereabouts.

But now sincerely my own son who I woke up one day and produced like this has the guts to lie to me about where he is just because he’s on 078? He tells you he’s at home sleeping yet you’re hearing a disco in the background. Why do humans subject themselves to this nonsense?

The stupid things also have these small TVs on them…they call them screens. Mbu for typing short letters to each other. They call it SMSing or PMSing or something like that. This is blatant prostitution. For us we knew how to do only one thing; calling. If someone wanted to send a letter, no matter how short, they would use the post office or put the letter on a bus.

I can’t even start talking about this other new thing of theirs they call the world wide cobweb. Please just save us from this disorderly generation and bring back the dignity of our days.

Landline.

This piece was compiled from an unsolicited drop-off. There I was chilling at home in a suit, like the guy in the O-condom advert, since that’s what all guys who chill at home do…then there was a knock at the door. I reached for my durag and nunchucks and opened the door. There, on my porch, right next to a shivering poodle, was this article; it was hand-written, with words scribbled, in red, heavily-scented lipstick, at the top “Post on ULK pleez”. So here it is:

Getting a grip

Dear fellow ladies, all ma single ladies!, time to getcha hooked. Here are reasons why you should date a boda guy:

1. Bad Boy

   Boda guy is the ultimate bad boy and you know how bad boys give us knock-knee. They make our knees weak. This guy picks up the rule book, burns it, buys every copy on the market, burns them and then smokes the ash. He’ll ride through red lights, msschew Policemen and do marijuana. King bad boy.

2. He won’t just talk dirty to you, he IS dirty
3. He’ll ride all day
4. He sucks
5. He never needs directions
6. He (almost) always wears a helmet
7. He listens
8. Knows how to twist and turn when things are jammed
9. He is probably rich
10. He probably has an accent

We have heard rumblings and tale of a person of immense power. Such is his might, even he is afraid of letting it show. Legend speaks of a time when he shall emerge from the shadows, a time when all shall fear his might. Until then however, he lies almost silent, plotting, scheming… beefing, bitching and planning his revenge. Some know him as the custodian of the city, we know the truth….

He really is…

Ivan: Right, the Big Brother Stargame is on. I didn’t catch the launch show, partly because I don’t hold the kind of clout that encourages invitation cards to cross paths with my person, but also because it sort of made more sense to watch a superhero movie that didn’t meander for ages before that ‘anha’ moment. Why is he called Iron Man… oh, I see. Why is he called the Hulk… oh, right.

On the flip side I’d have to keep wincing whenever they’d introduce a star. Lookit, Prezzo! Someone in the crowd would likely nudge their neighbor and ask, “Why do they call him that?” The neighbor would probably look over and say, “Because, dammit, he is some sort of presidential figure.” The gods would have a laugh and Africa would die a little inside.

Uganda would be a little luckier though. If reports are to be believed, our reps have sufficiently basic names. Michael and Natasha. If Michael is sensible, he will steer clear of nicknames. No one here calls him Mickey. Natasha… well, last I heard she was supposed to sashay into the music industry. It would be nice to see whether she can do anything else in there.

Baz: Alas, it seemed Ivan was wrong. This is what happens when you mix kwete with Black Label. The Ugandan highlight of Big Brother Stargame was Flavia Tumusiime who appeared to those with HD flat screen TVs as a large pink giggling cloud of fabric, make up, hair piece and banter. “Flavia is going to be in the house?” we thought. “Now who is going to watch K-Files? What if Rabbin Kisti takes over K-Files? Rabin Kisti likes taking over people’s shows.”

Then Eek showed up and we learned that Flavia was merely the cohost of the show.

Also, she was wearing this very big pink garment that was so full of hip, it made Eek lose his capacity to talk sense. Oh, wait. That’s just Eek bulijjo. You tell him about sense and he replies, “What is sense? Is it a kind of food?”

Ivan:  Hang on, you can’t accuse me of being ill informed. My sources clearly stated that Michael and Natasha were going to be in the Big Brother house. The only time they’ve been wrong was when they claimed that giant clouds shaped like mushrooms were going to come and make the earth their bitch. With the exception of that Nibiru fiasco, everything else has been on point. Almost.

Baz: The first twist that got me, cos I didn’t expect it at all, was that they would have a Ugandan housemate named Kyle. I never in my whole life of many many years believed that there was such a thing as a Ugandan named Kyle. Maybe Kalyango.

And wait. That kid looks a lot like Duncan Kushaba from Urban TV.

Ivan: Duncan? We have Ugandans called Duncan? It sounds like a preserve of our brothers next door.  Frankly, I was not surprised. I’ve found that Ugandans like to be daring and take on names that are TV friendly. Like say, Karitas or Straka. Really the same letters, just slightly tweaked. What? Am I the only one that noticed?

Baz: Meanwhile the chick, Jannette? She looks just like this chick called Janet.

Ivan: The one twist that’s going to keep me glued to my screen (My PC screen. I don’t have DSTV.  Kale if only the good people responsible would take a hint and share some of that goodness.) is this, Big Brother is IN FACT one of the contestants. Spying on them and laying traps. And then, instead of proper evictions, (s)he will just bump them off like one of those movies… What shall we be voting for? You ask? Beats me, I’m the guy that thinks Karitas and Straka have something in common.

Baz: Big Brother is going to attempt to kill the contestants one by one? Cool. Just like the other housemate chick in the other Big Brother. What was her name? The one who had the wild look in her eyes like she is talking to you but she is also hearing other voices giving her instructions. What was her name? The one who would be seen sneaking into people’s beds at night as if considering which one to stab first? What was her name? Maureen. Yes. Maureen..

Yesterday we had a full report on the Battle Of The Champions, i.e. the concert where Bobi Wine and Bebe Cool competed to find out who was the best musician ever.
My colleague Erique did not attend the show but, being the super-journalist that he is, he was nevertheless able to fabricate a detailed report of exactly what went on.
Here are some of the highlights of the show.

1: The freestyle battle. Just like in 8 Mile, Wine and “Cool” went rhyme for rhyme with off-the-top raps. It wasn’t clear who won, both were able to lose themselves in the music.

He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready

2: When Wine’s Escalade and BC’s Hummer transformed into giant robots and began to box as in Real Steel. This was also inconclusive and the match ended in a split decision.

3: The dance-off: While fans of the Step Up series enjoyed the first round very much, the difficulty came with the second round when the two decided to perform ballet. It caused the judges and fans to fall asleep so no one could decide who won.

4: The Debate: With “Cool” proposing and Wine opposing the motion that Africa Was Better Off Without Colonialism it looked like he would take the lead, but the second round when Wine proposed the motion, and “Cool” opposed the motion that Marijuana and Prostitution Should Be Legalised and Taxed lead to a tie, when both debaters ended up proposing the motion.

Thank you Mr Chairman, main speakers and the house at large...

5: Ultimately, though, it was agreed that the real winner was Flavia, who hosted the shit out of that Big Brother Star Game show on Sunday. My colleague Ivan will be here with a full, detailed, comprehensive report on the Big Brother show soon. He didn’t attend it either.

I guess you’ve all heard by now that the Bobi-Bebe show was perpetrated by the government to curb inflation by taking 15,000 shillings from as many people without proper homes as they could?

The instructions to the two feuding artistes were simple. Go and perform but make it look like you’re talented. Bebe was Cool about it but Bobi Whined about it being such an unfairly hard task yada yada blah blah. So the instructions were changed.

They were told to go and do what they were good at and that’s how they decided to go and fight. People were asked to pay money for a golden chance to stroke the egos of two award-winning worldwide platinum-selling artistes who were just too meek to accept the recognition.

They gave it the fancy title “Battle of Champions”. We made several calls here at ULK headquarters but no one was able to tell us what the word “champions” was doing in the title. We reported to police and they said they’d look into the matter.

When the show started, we realized the two had interpreted the battle differently. Bebe thought it was about minding your own business and the other one also stays the other side and minds his own business and the crowd decides who ignores the other better.

He was sent a comprehensive menu of insults from the other side but he refused to make an order. He just kept performing song after song until the police decided he was being very cruel to ignore his friend’s creative insults.

Bobi, however, thought the show was about abusing each other and using songs as interludes.

He tried Bebe’s style of doing song after song but they ran out before his crowd could even complete their first beer. He kept looking around the stage like he was trying to decide whether he had forgotten the songs on top of the fridge or in his jacket pocket at home.

He said something about Bebe’s family and Bebe sang to the crowd in vengeance. Then he said something else about Bebe’s health and Bebe intensified his singing rage. Then he added something he had forgotten about Bebe’s fakeness and Bebe invited Bobi’s ex-friend, Buchaman to share the stage and shield him from the insults.

Bobi’s brother Eddie Yawe also came in to preach peace and love and all the boring things no one had come to listen to. Then Pastor Wilson Bugembe also…what the hell was this dude doing here? It was past his bedtime.

Bebe started raising funds for a certain charity and in local artiste speak, that was like cracking several Yo Mama jokes. Not funny. We came to fight, you person who has sex with mothers, not fund raise! That won Bebe another round of insults on the house.

At some point, Bebe challenged Bobi to a live band performance but Bobi preferred to stick to using condoms.

Bobi’s fury was so dangerously high that he started assuring the crowd that him and Bebe were actually good friends, a subtle attempt at striking Bebe’s Achilles’ heel.

Bobi was the lion going after what the crowd had paid for and expected while Bebe was the chicken appealing to their hearts.

Bebe: Like me please. I don’t even fight or kick. I’m a good man, you see. I give back to the people and I stand for peace. Nelson Mandela.

Bobi: Don’t listen to that fool. You wanted a battle? Cool. You get what you paid for nigga, I rule. Big is me, king of the moon. Napoleon.

Police stopped the show at about 3am and the chicken ran off stage after winning most of the crowd’s favour. According to him, that made him champion.

The lion, however, stayed on probably coz the wife had brought the jacket that had the rest of his songs. Boob on no boob, Bobi was determined to go on with the show because “that’s what the crowd paid for”. And that, according to Bobi, is what made him champion.

The show just turned out to be a charity drive meant to raise funds for Africans with a singing disability.

 And now the story as told through the eyes of Samson Baranga’s camera.