Kiss and Tell II: Hillary Rodham Clinton

I am no longer sleeping with Hillary Rodham Clinton.

When Mrs Clinton was in Uganda with her husband on a state visit, I was in the press entourage, there to cover the proceedings from an objective and impartial point of view.
The objective and impartial point of view they gave me was right in the back of the room, and so, standing only five-seven in my socks, it was obvious that I would not be seeing very much.
So, as the other reporters jostled and pushed for Bill and Yoweri’s attention, I was left to wander the grounds dejectedly, having given up.

I loitered outside and round the back, which is where I bumped into her. She had snuck outside to have a smoke.

“Gotta light, homeboy?” she asked. (That is how Americans talk.)
“For shizzle!” I replied. In Ebonics, an American dialect, it means For sure.

She was impressed that a person so far away from America was so conversant with its lingo and I was impressed by her large, heaving, voluptuous…. proximity to the seat of power.

It was supposed to be a one-night stand, and I didn’t expect to develop these feelings for her, but I couldn’t help it. That one night was magic. As we smoked a joint together in the moonlight, and talked after making love, I saw that behind the ironwoman façade lies a sensitive, caring, and deeply lonely little girl. And when I saw that girl, I fell in love with her.
However, just as I was about to tell her how I felt and present plans for me to come to Washington, get a green card and an expense account, perhaps sleep in the poolhouse, Bill walked in on us.

He was really pissed off. As you know, he doesn’t smoke weed.

Now she never returns my calls, and all my emails bounce. It took me a while to get over her, and I am not sure I am completely over yet.

I will always love you.

Sociological studies show

How, many people ask, do rumours get started. This question was recently adressed by Paris-based anthropological organisation Timex Social Club, who came to the conclusion that they are started by the jealous people, who can be found getting mad when they see something they had that somebody else is holdin.
The temptation, apparently, is very hard to resist. It has been observed that these wicked women just persist.The Timex report warns that maybe you could think it is cute, however, girl, they are not impressed. They declare firmly that they will tell one time only, and that this will not be repeated, but with their business, you are sternly warned to not mess. After all, look at all these rumours surrounding me every day. I just need some time, some time to get a way from all these rumours, can’t take it no more. My best friend says there’s one out now about me and the girl next door. What's mine is mine, I ain't got time for rumors in my life. I'm a man who thinks, not a man who drinks, so please let me live my life. What's mine is mine, I ain't got time for rumors in my life I'm a man who thinks, not a man who drinks, so please let me live my life. What's mine is mine, I ain't got time for rumors in my life I'm a man who thinks, not a man who drinks, so please let me live my life...

Coming back from the Congo: The reason why

It was while under the impression that I was getting in touch with an official from the Ugandan government that I ended up receiving this phone call, which is what made me finally decide to leave Laurent’s land and return to my native Uganda. It was my duty. I had to save my country. Cos I am that sort of a guy, the Jack Bauer type.

WKB: Is this Baz, deadly ninja, lethal marksman and generally unstoppable ass-kicker?
Baz: It is I. Better recognise.
WKB: Great. I’m glad we caught you when you were still in the Congo.
Baz: Is this the gentleman from the Uganda government?
WKB: Not yet.
Baz: I beg your pardon?
WKB: This is Kizza Besigye. I have this organisation called the PRA based in the DRC, and we think it would be totally cool if you could, like, join us.
Baz: Warren, I am flattered that you should ask me, but I am sorry. I retired from the music business…
WKB: No, no. PRA is not a Lingala band—it is an insurgent group. It is an armed revolution—
Baz: You mean rebels?
WKB: I personally don’t like to think of us as rebels. I like to think of us more as liberators.
Baz: Warren, the last time we asked you, you said you don’t do those things of rebels.
WKB: I lied. Dude, let’s not quibble over those days. Let us talk about our future together.
Baz: Warren…
WKB: I mean you and us, the PRA. Get your mind out of the gutter.
Baz: I have to give you an absolute and final No Can Do on that one, sorry. I am a loyal and law-abiding citizen. I cannot participate in armed and extra-legal opposition to the government of the Republic of Uganda. Perhaps you should ask my buddy Mataachi.
WKB: Law-abiding? Baz, you are in the Congo hiding from the cops because you contracted a hitman!
Baz: First of all, it will soon come to light that that was not a real hitman, but rather it was a prank pulled by that devious Sidney, which means I just thought I was breaking the law, but in reality was not: my record is as pure as the driven snow. Secondly, resolving a small workplace dispute is different from plunging the entire country into the chaos and turmoil of a civil war!
WKB: Blah blah blah Yadda yadda. Since when? You know what I think, Baz? I think you’re chicken.
Baz: Fuck you. Come over here and call me chicken to my face.
WKB: No, way, dude. I might get bird flu, hanging with such a CHICKEN!
Baz: Quit calling me chicken. Your momma’s a chicken.
WKB: Chickie chickie chicken! Chicken-baz! Chicken-baz!
Baz: Warren, I swear, cut that out. I am not chicken.
WKB: Then prove it. Join PRA.
Baz: What do you think I am, seven years old? You think I am going to engage in illegal insurgent activity just to prove to your crusty ass that I am not chicken?
WKB: Who are you calling crusty, you chicken? Take that back before I come back to eastern Africa and beat you into chicken paste.
Baz: I shall not continue with this puerile schoolboy behaviour, Warren. In fact, you should stay put, because I shall be returning to Uganda presently, and the moment I get there, I am telling them about this little club your severely crusty ass is organising!
WKB: Listen, you impertinent little turd, I am a colonel. I served in war! I have been wild in the killing fields, I trod shit in Luweero! And I am coming to get you!
Baz: Come on back. We’ll only arrest your crusty, insurgent-recruiting ass the moment you get off the plane!

The rest you know.

Warren G. Not to be confused with Warren Kizza Besigye, Col (Rtd)

Kiss And Tell I: Malinda Williams

I am no longer sleeping with Malinda Williams. Our relationship was brief— it had to be. Enduring relationships are never built on lies, and, considering that ours had such a deep falsehood as its foundation, it was doomed from the start.I met her at a Manhattan bar where I served as senior janitor. I was having a dry martini when she walked up and asked if I was, by any chance, Samuel L. Jackson.

Now, first of all, you must understand that this is Malinda Williams.

So, after I gave the obvious answer, she made a tentative observation.“You sure sound different in real life from the way you do in ‘em movies. You sound like you’re from like Africa or somthin’”

“Of course, I sound different in the movies. It’s called ‘acting’” I replied, but I said it in such a way that she was not offended by the sarcasm or put off by the rudeness. Instead she was irresistibly drawn to my earthy African charm and found my then-bald head irresistible.

We proceeded to enjoy a wild and energetic romance; we left the streets and parks of New York littered with stolen kisses and memories and citings for lewd public conduct. It was paradise until 51st State came out and sucked. She demanded that I give her back the dollar fifty-five she had spent on tickets. I was in a corner. I had to tell her the truth. Either that or part with my hard earned money, and you can bet I wasn’t going to let go of $1.55 over that crap-pile of a movie. She yelled a bit, and cussed a lot then she walked out finally, after calling me a “triflin’ nigga”. Last time I saw her, she was getting into a cab with Taye Diggs. I was inconsolable and could not stay in New York anymore. I handed in my resignation and caught the next plane back home.