High-pitched shrieks, bodies lie dead in the streets

In today’s New Vision we read that Ugandan First Lady Janet “Silver Girl” Museveni, aka the Honourable Member from Ruhama, aka “Gloves Off” took Kenyans by surprise when she country aboard a Scandinavian Express bus.

That’s right. A bus.

She was leading a delegation of farmers from her constituency on an agricultural tour. By bus.

Well, whooptie-doo.

According to the story on the front page of the Vision, which I am bastardizing by lifting sentences from it, correcting their punctuation, then adding a few words of my own, SG’s arrival in Eldoret “amazed and impressed the Kenyans.”

Eldoret resident 1: “What’s all the ruckus about?”
Eldoret Resident 2: “A busload of Ugandans just rolled up.”
Eldoret resitent 3: “Another one? Gasp! That is impressive! I am amazed! How do they keep doing that? Every single day!”
Eldoret Resident 4: “I know! Anaa one! Hey, pass the miraa.”

Also in the news, Kony’s stupid ass is still making ludicrous demands. Where is Jack Bauer when you need him? Oh yeah, there he is: inhabiting a fictitious world. And Superman is still in the closet. (No really, that movie was like the gayest portrayal of Superman that I have ever seen. I am sure Dean Cain and Tom Welling would have teamed up with the estate of Christopher Reeve to beat the crap out of Brandon Routh if it wasn’t for the facts that Welling is glad someone made a gayer Superman than his, and Cain really is gay, like in real life.)

Bush was on Andrew Mwenda Live on Friday and he said a true word in jest. He hazarded a guess: that Kony, for years bereft of political agenda and suddenly in urgent need of one, has taken to skimming the op-ed and letters pages of The Monitor looking for grievances to appropriate for the talks. That’s why he demands federo and such.

The PAMAs party was at Kati Kati over the weekend. Lots of singers performed. In the Ugandan press we call them artists, by the way. No one ever uses the word singer or musician. Gatimo and Paragon performed Ani Akumanyi, which rocks.
Someone asked me what the world “hell” meant. I was able to answer without hesitation that hell is what happens when the singing voice of Sara Zawedde somehow manages to convert itself into a physically inhabitable form.
I know I am prone to exaggerations, but believe me, you do not want to test me on this.

Stay till the end...

"When it was over, all I could think about was how this entire notion of oneself, what we are, is just this logical structure, a place to momentarily house all the abstractions. It was a time to become conscious, to give form and coherence to the mystery, and I had been a part of that. It was a gift. Life was raging all around me, and every moment was magical. I loved all the people, dealing with all the contradictory impulses. That’s what I loved the most — connecting with the people. Looking back, that’s all that really mattered."

-Richard Linklater

A public service announcement

While the normally-prolific Jay (real name James Gandolfini) and Degstar (real name Joe Pantoliano) have taken a blogging hiatus, some have found themselves falling into the misconception that things have quieted down round here in the Ugandan blogosphere. To these misguided folk I say, what insanity-juice are you sipping through a paper straw?

All sorts of exciting stuff is happening here!

Regina King is blogging under the name of Minty. Classy and funny and very many sorts of thought-provoking.
Lauren Graham has also done what we knew was inevitable. It was useless fighting it, Kenyanchick. It was in your blood. Now she has joined the Dark Side of the force. The result is the sensational!
Wendy Raquel Robinson has been blown for, but I had to mention her again. Whoops of delight!
Finally, because I have to get out of here -- Jimmy is getting impatient—Christina Ricci is here, too, making us laugh over our monitors when people think we are doing research. David and I have been arguing over who can claim to have “discovered” these blog gems. I think by mentioning them here I just won that argument.

In your face, David.

Now that I think about it

I was a bit hasty last week, and I apologise for it. I should have thought it through before I posted what was clearly a grossly misguided opinion.
Boomkat’s song is nice but no way is it the greatest song in the world. It isn’t even fit enough to justify that sort of hyperbole in jest. Really, what was I thinking?
Okay, I was tired, I was stressed, I was hungry, and the methadone was wearing off, but that does not excuse my behaviour. I mean, did I really say it was better than Nkuweeki?

THERE IS NO SONG BETTER THAN NKUWEEKI!!!

I am really sorry.

Even more reason to love Iryn’s biggest hit came to light this weekend when my newspaper, the Sunday Vision published a story by my favourite reporter, David Tumusiime, the moral of which was “Watch your pervy self”.
Some fool got on stage during an Iryn show and started misbehaving, trying to cop a feel. Did she cower and simper and whine in fear like R. Kelly?
Oooh No.





She followed the bastard off the stage, found him and kicked him forcefully up in the nutsack until he got the message. “Cop a feel of this, you son of a bitch! Nkuweeki means ‘what should I give you?’ Well, I shall give you a severe pounding of the scrotum! Take that and that and that! Wessyde! Ride or die!” unconfirmed reports imagine she might have said as she laid the smacketh down on the hapless pervert.


Now, that is gangsta!

As the remains of her victim were being carted away, she added “You’re lucky my husband wasn’t here.”
To Frank, if you happen to read this, please tell wifey that she is officially the Woman of The Year 2006.


*Caveat: When I say she kicked him in the nuts, I am only reporting what I hope happened. I wasn’t really there.

Sing, Snowflake, sing!

Nkuweeki is no longer the greatest song ever sung in the history of the world since it began to include the musical arts in its contexts. Great tremors in the cosmogony have caused a seismic shift. Last night, as I was looking for that Rakim song off the 8 Mile soundtrack, I stumbled upon this thing.

Oh my gasp! Clutch at my very heart and stem the flow of tears that emanates from the orbs of my ocular sockets!

That is beautiful.

Sigh.

There it is. It is from that chick who was Terence Howard’s snowflake whore in Hustle and Flow. She is also a singer, apparently, in a duo called Boomkat.

Consequently, Nkuweeki is second greatest singing event ever in existence of life on this world.

Shorter than leprechauns

I have been on leave and therefore have not been reading the papers. I didn’t want to see single inverted commas on my week off. I hate those things.

But I am back now, to take a look at what has been occurring in this republic of ours while my back was turned.

Fifty-nine men bought the cow the weekend. Uganda’s fornication rate dropped sharply. According to this New Vision, fifty nine couples altered the status of their getting laid arrangement from shameless whoring to sanctified matrimony on Sunday. At a ceremony named Omega Big One II, the sinners pledged to be keep it to the missionary position from now on.

Omega Healing Centre, a local church, holds these mass weddings now and then so that the flock have no excuse to keep drinking the milk for free. But it is not a key party. Make sure you remember that.

Also in the news, we made Face of Africa. The Viz also says that Muniirah Namakula, an unemployed chick... sorry, free-lance model “who reluctantly entered the 2006 Nokia Face of Africa model search, has qualified for the finals slated for August 13 in the South African city of Cape Town.”
One of the most annoying things about life in this world is that someone is spending money on model searches. I am broke and Nokia is flushing money down a toilet. Plus, I heard that skinny bitches are evil.

Previously: While I was wandering lost and bewildered through a narcotic haze last week I stumbled upon a rag of headline intimating that the Ugandan government, the good folks at Sudan Inc and the LRA were setting up for a ménage a trios in Cuba. Or something. I may have got some of the details wrong. Crack is one hell of a drug.

And most important of all, Karitas, one of Uganda’s leading pulchritude purveyors, is leaving East Africa Television’s Ugandan lifestyle magazine show K’la Wired, which she has hosted since we managed to get rid of Urkel Marthias Ruhweza back then.
If her replacement, whoever it is, tries to pull a forged accent on us, we shall have to engage the A Team and take them out of commission. You think that is an idle threat? What do you think happened to Sheiza? Why do you think Dominic Nyalifa doesn’t speak English any more? We are some bad muthafuckers. You don’t want to weng around us.