“when I was growing up as a child. . .”

-Patience Rwabogo

So there I was, chillin’ out at a pal’s video lib. Conversating as we are wont to, when suddenly…

Vacist: Man, you guy, your stuff is dope! Do you have Sopranos?

Mr. E: Yeah, what season?

Vacist: Okay, what. Gene (generally), I can’t click what season it was. Oba (perhaps) it was 2 or 3. First play and I scan

After a few moments of “scanning”

Vacist: Yeah, mob! That’s the one. Man! But I am going to pay 1500 instead of 2500, shit is tight ehn, you click?

Mr. E: But borrowing is Two grand.

Vacist: Eh..Okay.. heh

Then he sees me…

Vacist: You guy, you’re a blogger, what!

Me: Er…

Vacist: Man, don’t deny, what! You’re the chief blogger, yeah. I read about you somewhere!

Me: Yeah, I blog, but I wouldn’t say I’m a chief blogger. Ernest blogs more than me. He even puts up pikicha of roco artis

Vacist: Ah, wah, so you write what!

Me: I write whatever comes to. . .

Vacist: I know. I was saying. So you write articles, words, those things, what!

Me: Uhm, yes… those things

Vacist: So how do I blog, begin writing,what! Who do I pay?

Me (suppressing urge to make money off this chap and his question tags): It’s easy, just go online, sign up and you’re set

Vacist: Its that easy what! Man those things of internet, www, what! Those things are tight mob man, when!

Me: What??

Vacist: Yeah, sorry, I meant what! You click these things ehn, man!

…and then

(I promised I wouldn’t include him in this post so in all fairness, we have only one side of the chat)

Vacist: Man. Do you want someone to work here with you.

?

Vacist: Its kawa, I don’t want money. Okay you can pay me a bit while I try out

?

Vacist: I like movies,what!

Me: You just want to hit on girls

Vacist: Uh, no man! You guy you are a spoiler, what!

Me: You haven’t got the job yet, I can spoil more for you.

Vacist: Man, be easy. Be kawa

So I shot him.

You know when, you know where. Come on over and let’s do this!

Oh yeah, people in attendance are usually more colorful than this thing.

You’ve heard the news, R. Kelly is NOT GUILTY. However, you have to ask yourself what it was like in the courtroom. . .

-So Mr. Kelly, Mr. Pied Piper… R! mask, ziggy dee, whatever your name is, what do you have to say for yourself…

Kells: Well, if I could turn… turn back the hands of time. . .

-Screw that. We know what you did, you peed on her didn’t ya? You peed on a poor defenseless young

Kells: Age ain’t nothing but a number!

-Who the hell do you think you are?

Kells: It’s Kells!

-How is that relevant to the case?

Kells: We got room keys!

-Judge I’d like to call our first witness… I call to the stand, Chris Freakin Brown ladies and gentelemen!

Chris B: Thank you thank you, you’re far too kind

-Hang on, that shit ain’t yours. You’re channeling Jay Z. Mr. Brown I have to warn you, we haven’t gotten over that stuff you did over at facebook!

Chris B: I just left comments from wall to wall…

-So how do you know the accused?

Chris B: Mr. Kelly? I don’t. I know the girl in the video.

-Crap! Okay, so that it is not a waste of time. How did you meet?

Chris B: It was in a gym…or a subway. I remember asking her to gimme that. . .

Kells: What does that have to do with anything?

-Shut up Mr. Piper! Go on Mr. Brown. Then what did you say

Chris B: I said OOOOH! I’m into you then I planted one on her

-Yeah? Then what.. what did she say to that, you sly dawg you. . .

Chris B: nti, how am I supposed to breathe with no air. . .

-Sir, like this piece you’ve gone off on a tangent. Go away. . .Mr. Kells, what do you have to say in your defense?

Kells: I’m a flirt!

-Excuse me?

Kells: I don’t see nothing wrong, with a little bump and grind. . .

-Mr. Kelly!

Kells: sorry, but I doubt Mr. Brown’s claims, that was not the same girl!

-And you know this for a fact, how?

Kells: I did that same girl shit with Mr. Raymond. . .Usher Raymond.

-So you were saying.

Kells: Hey, you’re kinda cute… we can do this on the down low. . .

-Excuse me?

Kells: Your Body’s Callin. . .and I bet you’re Home Alone. . . I’m So Happy Its Thursday.

{Reader: Hang on, that’s not even a song title. What’s going on? I thought you were doing song titles. What the **** !

Me: Anyone notice it gets abbreviated as SHIT? No? Moving on . . .}

- Mr. Kelly it is, in fact, Friday!

Kells: Thank God.

- What? The case is not over. . .

Kells: Thank God it’s Friday

- So, back to the matter at hand. You say you did not pee on her. . .but it says here you said you were “feelin on her booty”

Kells: That’s just a song. Hell, I sang I believe I can fly! You don’t see me flying! That shit is depressing. I can’t sleep!

- There, there Mr. Piper, I’m your Angel

Kells: You’re pretty kinky for a lawyer. . .

- That wasn’t me, it was that Celine Dion chic. . .it’s just a big coincidence that her words are following the same structure as mine are.

Kells: Come on now, we can all get along. We’re all Happy People.

- Huh?

Kells: Sorry, I thought the Storm was over now. . . and by taking the piss on justice I’d prove what I said before, I’m the world’s greatest.

- Not that it has any bearing on this case, but you haven’t done anything with Celine in a while, why is that?

Kells: When a woman’s fed up. . . I don’t need this, this line of questioning is making me feel trapped. . .like a cup in a cupboard, or a shoe in a closet. I feel trapped in the closet! I’m out of this piece!

- We’re not done, Mr. Kelly!

Kells: I’m a Rock Star. That court shit is for playa’s only! Jigga Kelly, not guilty!

I had a Turkish delight this morning. That was on my way to the bathroom…soapy water got into my mouth so what was once rose flavored, became Geisha flavored. Tasted like crap, incase you were wondering.

My pal told me that who you are at 25 is who you will be for the rest of your life. Technically that means I have roughly three months to mould myself into a morally upright citizen…I’m keeping my fetish for girls in white pants till 5 minutes to my birthday.

I am afraid of babies. Not in a clown’s freak me out sort of way, but I wouldn’t want to be left alone with a baby for even five seconds… shit, at all. My sis wonders how I will cope with my own kids… I haven’t planned that far ahead.

The contestants on Tusker’s Project Fame make me want me to throw our TV…at them…I was going to let it slide until the traffic jam they caused made it close to impossible to get a decent meal at Garden City… there’s also the fact that some chic said, “My own very home!” …and most of the contestants seem to have developed accents of questionable origin after going to Nairobi…NAIROBI for crying out loud!

What’s the deal with teletubbies? Why don’t they grow old and wrinkly and die? How come the kid in the sky with a sunny disposition is not aging? Aren’t we filling our kids with false hope?

The fair and lovely lady on telly in that advert says four is her lucky number… haha, mbu 4! The nerve.

My niece believes in shooting stars. After watching Ragga Dee and Bobi Wine engaged in a game of pool at the night club the other night, I think it’s a brilliant idea.

I want my Sony Ericsson to be as deadly as the Nokias in that advert where people are as-if fighting using their phones network waves. Damn you Sony, when will you make my phone a weapon of mass distraction!

“I don’t know… It’s flattering I guess. More flattering than troubling, to think that when you’re bleeding love, that bleeding’s for me…”

How did we meet? That’s not really the important bit. Well, I suppose it makes for better reading than the “where”. It was a bar mind you. Nothing classy, nothing fancy. Just a regular bar near home.

It was one of those evenings. You know. You’re at home with your mind made up. You won’t go out no matter what. You borrowed a movie earlier so your night is made.

For insurance you’ve bought yourself some vodka. It helps. There was a moment’s hesitance when you were making this purchase because a part of you knows what the vodka does. You wanted so badly to go with something else. Something like, Bond 7. But you didn’t because you remembered what happened the last time.

But that’s not important. What you want to know is how we met.

Like every other story, it involved a blackout. There was really no point in staying at home so I decided to take a walk. Not too far, coz you never do know what will happen lest you wander too far….

Or take things too far, as I did that night.

Asking my pal for the keys to his car because of her. Him handing them over with not a single care in the world.

And then getting screwed.

No, not that way…not in the way it was supposed to happen.

There we were, me and her. backseat of the car. About to get it on. Then a light was shone. Then we were asked to come out of the car.

The guy holding the torch held something else in his other hand.

A gun? A crow bar? It doesn’t matter. He hit me. Hit me hard. I blacked out.

When I came to, the car was gone. My friend was yelling at me.

It wasn’t his, he said… truth be told, this story ain’t mine either.

I dropped a rhyme | Once upon a time,

Back in the day | Back in my prime,

I dropped a rhyme in a style lyrical,

The delivery with a precision kinda surgical,

But that was back then…

when,

No one gave a shit about mice and men,

When,

My mind wandered about on a solitary plane,

When,

I pandered about on the brink of falling insane,

Then,

And then I broke the wall,

That which stood between you and I,

I called you boo,

You called me sweetypie,

But…

Again,

That was then,

The initial idea was to type out something about Nairobi, experimenting with different types of meat, meeting Idols and a dude at the airport with the tact of an undertaker, going around asking “what is final destination?”

That is, I was supposed to type out something about Thursday last week and the days that followed, but I kept putting it off, and now, I’ve been brought down by the blasted flu.

To a degree it’s really my fault. I kept ignoring it figuring it would go away of its own accord with time. It probably will, but I don’t have the time…and the pretty young thing in front of me at the cinema might be getting a little agitated with all the snorting and sneezing.

(*sneeze* eugh, gross…oh I beg your pardon, I’ll take that, thank you.)

The situation wasn’t improved by the cold shower this morning. Seriously, I can’t remember water being that cold. My follicles froze, fell off and a new batch of unsuspecting follicles sprung forth. They too fell off, because follicles are given to suicidal and carefree tendencies. I am keeping the new lot firmly tucked under warm clothing.

I’ve started taking medicine for it, some drug with the uninspired name; FluCold. I can’t help but wonder how they arrived at this.

(Boardroom at some pharmaceutical firm

“seems to me like a tie. We will adopt both Flu and Cold as the name for this drug; now let’s go shoot some hoops…”)

It goes without saying, I needed a handkerchief at some point during this ordeal. The lady at the shop went through the routine that usually comes with such purchases;

She: What?!

Me: Hanky!

She: Color?

Me: white…

She: Size?

Me: er, bed sheet.

She: Take

What I don’t get, during this whole thing, is the whole color thing. Why are hadkerchiefs made in any other color? Scratch that, why try to glamorize something we are going to wipe away snot or sweat with?

I’ll probably post about the Nairobi experience later, I’m done with this; mourning my morning.

For you, that you may find your feet.

I’m not sure anymore-more
Who is knocking at my door-door
All the faces that I know
You make them sunny and new

I don’t wanna say goodbye to you
So I’ll just say good night to you
My people, no goodbyes to you
I’m just gonna say good night

Goodnight (Graduation- Kanye West)

Artist: Akon
Album: Sorry, Blame It On Me
Title: Sorry, Blame It On Me

As life goes on I’m starting to learn more and more about responsibility
(responsibility? dude, you were supposed to be in Kenya 5 freakin times, and postponed your Ugandan performance, WTF are you going on about?)
I realize everything I do is affecting the people around me (no shit?!)
So I want to take this time out and apologize for things I have done (**** you! I could have spent that

money on other things and still had enough left over for a cab home!)
And things that have not occurred yet (pssssh, like what? your concert??)
And the things they don’t want to take responsibility for (I’m guessing this would be Celtel you’re talking

about, but that’s just me…)

I’m sorry for the times that I left you home (No worries, gave me a chance to watch my stash)
I was on the road and you were alone ( no i wasn’t. I had company…wink wink)
I’m sorry for the times that I had to go (seriously, no harm done)
I’m sorry for the fact that I did not know (ignorance is bliss, my friend)
That you were sitting home just wishing we (hang on, we??)
Could go back to when it was just you and me (fuck no! that’s not how i roll, I love Marsha Thomason)
I’m sorry for the times I would neglect (damn right, wait… no no, this is all wrong!)
I’m sorry for the times I disrespect ( nigger this whole verse is disrespect)

I’m sorry for the wrong things that I’ve done ( there’s no way in hell you’re talking about your concert)
I’m sorry I’m not always there for my son (well played, you know I can’t diss you for that)
I’m sorry for the fact that I’m not aware ( i’m picking up that vibe again)
That you can’t sleep at night when I am not there ( there it is again!)
Because I’m in the streets like everyday (Well someone has to bring the money home)
Sorry for the things that I did not say (I’m sorrier for the ones you did say!)
Like how you are the best thing in my world (uh, okay…)
And how I’m so proud to call you my girl (what the f***!!)
I understand that there are some problems (soaring food prices, no freedom of speech, bad roads, a

brother can’t get laid anymore unless its at a concert…yeah, we got problems)
And I am not too blind to know (Yes you are, otherwise you’d come for the friggin concert)
All the pain you kept inside you (I wouldn’t actually call “it” pain)
Even though you might not show (Oh I show! )
If I can apologize for being wrong (heh)
Then it’s just a shame on me (ya think?)
I’ll be the reason for your pain and you can put the blame on me (Ill fitting boxer shorts are to blame as well)

[Chorus]
You can put the blame on me [4x] (I intend to)
Said you can put the blame on me [3x] ( I heard)
You can put the blame on me ( you know what, nuh, I’ll blame Celtel instead, I’m not falling for this reverse

psychology shit)

Sorry for the things that he put you through (yeah, retakes are a bitch, darn lecturers!)
And all the times you didn’t know what to do ( I knew, I just had no time)
Sorry that you had to go and sell those packs (snitch!)
Just trying to stay busy till you heard from Dad (It was for the money, fool!)
And you would rather be home with all your kids (SNITCH!)
As one big family with love and bliss (love and bliss won’t pay the rent)
And even though Pops treated us like kings (pops? what the hell?)

He got a second wife and you didn’t agree ( He did? Auntie “so and so” was his WIFE?)
He got up and left you there all alone (Its aiiight, i needed the sleep)
I’m sorry that you had to do it on your own (sometimes that’s the best way)
I’m sorry that I went and added to your grief (walking in on people generally does that)
I’m sorry that your son was once a thief (once? dude, you still don’t show up for concerts…)
I’m sorry that I grew up way too fast (It was cheaper that way, don’t apologise)
I wish I would’ve listened and not be so bad (I didn’t say that. That was auntie “so and so”)
I’m sorry your life turned out this way (writing in brackets is actually okay, don’t feel too bad)
I’m sorry the FEDS came and took me away ( I’m not…)

[Bridge]

I’m sorry that it took so long to see
They were dead wrong trying to put it on me (why would they, you just cancelled your concerts)
I’m sorry that it took so long to speak (what? you had stuff in your mouth?)
But I was on tour with Gwen Stefani (oh, you had HER in your MOUTH)
I’m sorry for the hand that she was dealt (I won’t even go there. I’m a pervert, but this is beneath me)
For the embarrassment that she felt (these lines just write themselves dont they?)
Just a little young girl trying to have fun (Gwen Stefani is NOT little or young…some may even argue that

she is not a girl)
Her daddy should never let her out that young (I suspect we are no longer talking about Gwen)
I’m sorry for Club Zen getting shut down (Shit! I wish that had been Silk and their snobbish Lounge section)
I hope they manage better next time around (How do you manage something that is shut down, what

does this look like? Zimbabwe?)
How was I to know she was underage (Ask for ID before doing anything…)
Enter 21 you know the club they say (that is so wrong on so many levels)
Why doesn’t anybody wanna take blame (because dis is Africa where we all righteous broda!)
For rising back out disgracing my name (you’ve done a lot of that on your own)
I’m just a singer trying to entertain (yeah, from far far away… we were in Uganda, did you get lost?)
Because I love my fans I’ll take that blame (Keep that shit, don’t take the blame, take the next flight out of

Vegas and come perform)
Even though the blame’s on you [3x] ( how did this become about me?)
I’ll take that blame from you (It wasn’t my fault!!!)

And you can put that blame on me [2x]
You can put that blame on m
And you can put that blame on me ( messed up reverse psychology!)