Randtom Thourtgs

The general public will be back from Rukungiri soon. The thought makes me nervous. Gen Pub will click on to see what the internet got up to while they were in the rurals, and will sneer at me when all that appears is bits of poetry. I don't mind what other bloggers think, because they are also geekazoids, but the general public makes me self-concious. So, to distract from the previous post, and keep this seat warm until the next, presenting: Randomi thurogitts

• No smoking.
• How ya Livin' is yet another nineties' hip hop phrase that has succumbed to the ravages of time.
• Things you will never hear in real life: "Hi, I'm Jessica Alba." "I don't care."
• I hate Paris Hilton. I don't even know her but I hate her. I don't even know anything about her. I don't watch or read tabloid news, and I asked, politely but firmly, that the family and friends shoot me dead the minute they find me watching the Simple Life, but I still hate the woman. With that deep sulphurous loathing that curls from within and rises with groaning echoes from the dark canyons within the soul, echoes that sound meaningless and muted but soon begin to resolve themselves into the words kill, Kill, KILL!
• When I got home from the Blu*3 Unplugged show on Thursday, one of the Kireka gangstas (the ilk exists. For no particular reason) posed this question: "Were they wearing naked?"
  He said it in Luganda.
• Is this funny or is this sad? Freshly chopped human head. (Credit for the find). It is funny. Funny.
• New Years Resolution: Never write a long blog post again.
• This just in: Nigga, where my money at? Nsaba, who is too enthusiastic to adhere to his own principles, isn't enthusiastic enough to pay up on time. I know people like that.

Verbatim Vs Verbatim II

Our hero recruits a dog to help him keep the neighbourhood children from playing on his verandah and making a mess of it.

• So what's your name? What should I call you?
• Well, usually, the owner decides what name to give the dog, so I guess it’s up to you.
• Should I call you Snoop Dogg, or Lil Bow Wow?
• I don't mean to sound arrogant or anything, Baz, but I would much rather you came up with something a bit more imaginative. If I say my master just turned on Hot 100 FM and an instant later I was christened the other dogs in the neighbourhood might not treat me with respect, you see.
• I get your point.
• It’s like if your parents had decided to name you Baby Boy, or Little One.
• I said I get your point.
• Or Oddly-Shaped Head...
• I said I get the point. I will call you David Spade. He is an actor who plays characters with a lot of lugezigezi. Now, let me debrief you on your station.
• You mean my job as a dog? You don't need to bother. As with all animals, I have inbred instincts that ensure I know by intuition, and without any tutelage at all, what I am supposed to do.
• So you know what is expected of you?
• Perfectly. I am to scratch myself, make toilet in the yard, sleep all day and spend the nights awake howling at everything that moves, and some things that don't.
• You forgot one thing.
• Yes. I am also to accept food from you at regular intervals.
• No, the thing you forgot is that you are also supposed to prevent the neighbourhood vermin from getting on my verandah and making it untidy.
• So I am supposed to be a guard dog?
• That's right.
• Cool! So when anyone comes close to the verandah, I leap upon them and viciously maul and mangle them! Grr grrr! I grip their throats in my mighty jaws and crush their neckbones! Grrrr grrr!
• Um, I think that will be a bit on the drastic side of things. A simple bark or two to admonish would-be intruders will suffice. I mean, we are speaking here mostly of three year old children. She irritates me greatly, but not so much that I would want to see her mauled and mangled in the way you so gruesomely described.
• Oh, a little girl. Okay, then, well, I was just joking about all the mangling stuff, Baz. Hah hah. Of course I wasn't going to kill anybody. Hah hah!
• That's a relief to hear.
• I'll just bite a leg off, that's it. Just a leg.
• No, that will be cruelty to children. It is not acceptable. Not even in the case of an obnoxious brat like Lizzie.
• Okay. You drive a hard bargain. Fine. Two toes. That's my final offer.

Too late. Our hero walks off, leaving the dog behind, greatly upset at how much time he has wasted.

Ads that didn't make it I

The Great Putsch went into stage two this Sunday with my very own newspaper advert. Little thing, very yellow, on page 7 of Kawa. With the hilarious story of the girl who got kidnapped. Heh heh. That was a funny story. Echoes of The Weekend's Mirth swirl around in the caverns of my currently idle and vacant mind when I remember. So seldom do we see comedy of this pedigree. It was so funny. Hah hah! Just thinking about it brings tears unto my eyes.

She, like, got kidnapped. But the kidnappers didn't take her phone. So she smses her buddy Yusuf, expecting him to round up the cavalry from his end and then come riding to her rescue. Instead the dude just smsed her Pastor Kayiwa's number so she could call him and get prayers.

Anyway, Operation Hooker at ATM got its first print advert. This are the ones that were rejected.






Protect the environment, people.



And then, they said...



That I hear kicking my ass. As if!

Wolfing in Sheep's Vallo

The word from the servant of the Lord: Verily verily, thus spake the shepherd unto the faithful: Blessed shall thee be if thou purchasest Worst Idea from Uchumi Supermarket, Aristoc Booklex or Pizza Inn at Nandos.
For he who readeth it doth wring his arms and sayeth thus: "I have haha'd this chap."

Here endeth the lesson. Adiomus Veritus Cecoromus. Go in peace.

And in other news…
Twice in the past seven days I have found myself riding a boda in town, something I don’t usually do. It is both unsafe and unhygienic. It is on record that the National Boda Boda Association (NBBA) tests members’ underarms and will withhold an operator’s licence if the carbon concentration levels fall below a certain level of toxicity.

So there I am risking life, limb and laptop on this junkie's deathtrap, when he gets a sunny idea. To make your ride more pleasant, we shall provide on-board entertainment in the form of chummy and folksy banter such as, "What fine weather we are having," "Oh, these potholes. They are plentiful, aren't they?" and "How are you doing?"

The trouble with this is not so much that he concentrates less on the road as he speaks, the trouble is that a omusu crawled into his throat last week and died of constriction. It has been rotting in there since and the evidence of this is manifest every time he opens his mouth.

We need less blah blah, more vroom vroom, as they say.