Its that time again, I’m house-sitting in Bugolobi and as such I won’t have very regular posts. This time round, I am not blessed with a TV so huge you can play table tennis on its screen, but what I do have is a wireless internet connection with no computer. It’s like that line in that song by that woman who says its like rain on your wedding day…its like inter-nets, with no com-puter.

I also happen to have DSTV which I utilize for work. Everyone else watches TV to unwind, but not I. I do it so I can earn a salary.


Idols, also known as that show where people go to sing and stuff, is coming to an end. Coming up is Big Brother Africa 3. The show that saw Tanzania in bed with Angola and Nigeria.

It goes without saying that I am really psyched for this thing. Its not even the whole prospect of viewing “public displays of romantic action”, but the fact that it is multi dimensional. Something is always happening. Or someone.

And there’s always someone we figure we are better than. It wasn’t quite the same with the Idols experience coz the lads and lasses there-on have better singing voices than I do, which is not saying much.


I was asked recently whether I have had the opportunity to smoke weed before…yes. Ages ago. And it made me paranoid, walking around telling people to stop looking at me like I was high. They weren’t looking at me. Hell, not even in my general direction. I take solace in the knowledge in knowing someone else was higher than I and propositioned a lady twice thinking he’d landed on two different people…

“madam, how much? What? THREE THOUSAND? Keep your ****!” individual proceeds to stagger a bit, turn around and (meeting the same lady again) asks, “madam, let me give you two thousand five hundred for a quickie…”


I went for comedy night recently after vowing not to and had myself a grand ol’ time. The problem is, I don’t know whether it was because I was drinking quite a bit… oh and I met some dude that was on the prowl for some “fine laydeez over hurr”… Told him he’d probably get himself some if he made sure no one caught on that he was from around “herrr’…fo sho’!

I watched WANTED the other day and I gotta admit, I was impressed with how mature we’ve gotten as a cinema going er, as cinema-goers. Seriously. Any one that has watched this movie will agree with me, it is so full of it, in the old days people would stand up and clap every so often (LOSERS ALL!), however every so often people would just look on, staring in awe… to borrow a word, with “eye-gasms”..but no claps. Impressive shit really.

…and I be here saying I am unemployed

I was on phone with a pal when the issue of my house-sitting came up, says she, “I didn’t know you did that, you should have sat for me when I was away…” Say I, “ I only do plush places..” Says she… well, you know what you said


Allow me to introduce y’all to. . .this blog

I watched Speed Racer, finally! The reason I was watching it in the first place is because it is from those brothers that decided, “screw physics, a guy can dodge bullets with his mind…” The movie plays out like an advert for paint…or a device for torturing epileptic insurgents in Iraq.

The strange case of L’il Jim

I wrote a story a while back, it was of a watchman drunk,
Drunk as hell, was the story of he, but nonetheless, just a story it seemed to be,
But a lot of truth is told in jest, so now compelled I feel, compelled to tell the story behind the story,
The tale if you must, of the watchman who now I fear has ceased to see,
Ceased to see life as we know it be
Really, there’s no way to tell a tale, without some background,
A narrative of a life past, a sort of origin
If you know what I mean,
His name doesn’t matter,
The odds that you’ll meet him,
The possibility that you’ll feel obliged to greet him,
Are nil, null, zilch or nada…
In all fairness, I don`t think I`m treating this with the level of seriousness it deserves, so I suppose I should take this from the top…
So this guy, we called him L’il Jim. Sure he was kinda lanky and skinny, but the reason we called him L’il Jim was cause we thought it was a nice spin to Kagimu, for that was his name. Any way, Lil Jim has worked for the family in varying capacities for as long as I can remember. During the course of his tenure, (and I use the word tenure ever so liberally) he was a go-for guy… you know, go for this, go for that. I suppose it was as good a way to earn his keep as any. He certainly helped me treat a couple of hangovers with a packet of OJ (orange Juice)… the thing is, human nature is flawed. . . Lil Jim manifested that in a series of ways, countless are the times he was asked to go to the market to pick up food required for the lunch time meal only to show up close to supper time.
What was particularly interesting is the fact that he could not understand why he was being yelled at, why people were pissed off with him. You may call it being care-free, that is possible…but there was the alcohol.
Lil Jim loved his alcohol, and the worst bit is that it came really cheap. 200 shillings was more than enough to get him higher than a kite…
Lord knows the number of times he was fired… greater still are the number of times he came walking through the gate with no recollection that he had had his employment terminated earlier. I had a dream once where I came home, found him waiting for me and then got stabbed in the gut by him. Suffice to say, I avoided him a lot more.
The story goes that recently some guys were moving around with some public address system thing, reading out the names of some people who were thieves, threatening to come down upon them and throw them in jail.
Lil Jim was on that list.
I would be telling a lie if I said that he did not deserve to be there, I lost a couple of shirts to him, but the reasons cited for his appearance on the list were asinine to say the least. Word going around has it that he was definitely a thief because he could afford to buy Newspapers every day. It is worth mentioning that one of the things he did for the house was buy the paper for the day. So efficient was he, the neighbours had also enlisted his services.
The other proof, if ever such a word was so unjustly used, was the fact that he could afford liquor… add to that the fact that he was well dressed all the time and you have yourself a case against an innocent albeit, occasionally inebriated soul.
It’s amazing what it takes to rip the strands that come together to form the fabric of sanity, the list achieved what the alcohol and other substances had failed. It put him down.
Such was its effect, Lil Jim decided the only way around this was by leaving the house and going far far away.., for good!
For the first time, he was not making sense without the assistance of a toxic substance swimming through his veins. He was off his rocker…gone.
When I got back home the other night, ( I reckon it does not matter when exactly), I was informed that the madness of Lil Jim had taken a new direction with him saying that I had paid him to leave. The accusation went thus; I said he was a thief, paid him and said i did not want to see him when i got back. I have not seen him in about a week, so this is clearly, untrue.
Yesterday, he donned his best clothes, said goodbye saying he was going to meet up with someone who would pay his fare for the journey back home, and be on his way. Said person did not see him until this morning when he turned up at theirs and said he could not come home to his room, because someone at ours had asked him to leave.
He was not wearing his shoes.
Some of the people at home saw him off this morning, wishing him a safe journey. I could not bring myself to face him. The nasty case of food poisoning I seem to have picked up not being the cause. It felt pretty depressing to see someone who had once been carefree, reduced to this. Paranoid and convinced he was alone.

There you have it, the story of a man,
A man who carried himself without a plan,
Without a care in the world,
A man whose life in moments few,
Has come undone,
This is the other story,
Of the drunken watchman.

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One Afternoon, not too long ago. . .

“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.


Comin Up
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.

Random Instance Of Thought _ Its kells!

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.


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!

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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!