A dash of Hydrogen, 2 Pieces of Oxygen

We have a water shortage! And by “we” I mean the country and by “shortage” I mean that… well, there’s a shortage of sorts. This has basically resulted in a great deal of power cuts and numerous articles or stories or whatever dwelling on the same theme.
None of these have been solution oriented, everybody has been coming out and making noise about this and that and asking for more money for an extra car, but nobody is willing to put a foot down and say, “Here’s what we should do…”

Here’s what I think we should do…

Stay out of the rain.
Realistically speaking, every time you get soaked in the downpour you are in fact taking what little water could be used to generate a unit of electricity. Imagine if you would, what would happen if you stepped aside as the rain fell. Can’t imagine? Me neither, but I reckon the water should be able to embark on some long odyssey that will see it either in some far off land or better yet, the dam…

My recommendations; Stay the heck out of the rain! If the guy on radio says it looks like rain, give him the benefit of the doubt and stay indoors. If you happen to be in a taxi at the moment, then stay put. Granted you may go well past your destination before it stops raining, but it’s a chance we should be prepared to take as patriots…as people that want, nay, NEED electricity!

Q: What if I happen to be outside when it starts raining and there’s no visible shelter?
A: What are you? 12? Carry a phone with radio playing capabilities and listen out for the weather forecast. Should you fail and in fact get drenched in the process, go to the dam and jump off the bridge. That way you will return the water you have accumulated and we as a nation will be one non-patriot less…

Stop drinking water.
If you thought about it, and I’m sure you have countless times before, water tastes bad. The education system is playing with you when it says that water has no taste. Think about it. If you went out hanging with your pals and asked for a shot of transparent Zappa/ Sambucca/ Vodka and they handed you a glass of water instead you’d know! It has a distinct taste! As an aside, you probably know by now that it is not “colorless” either. If it actually had this see-thru quality, you’d never know what hit you when it rained,
“What the? I’m being hit by something, but I can’t see it? What sorcery is this?”

My recommendations; don’t touch bottled water. Do not drink water at all. In the event that you go over to pay someone a visit and for some reason are offered a glass of water, slap them and say you’re a patriotic Ugandan and you’d sooner take a glass of beer before selling out to this great land of ours.

Q: What if I’m done with a meal and I need to wash it down?
A: One word; SALIVA! If you put saliva to task to produce its Curriculum Vitae, you’d find that one of its skills or abilities is washing down food. Look carefully under the line where it unashamedly brags about being featured in a song by Nameless. “I wish I was the saliva in your mouth, so I would always touch your cheeks, ooooooo!” (edit: its actually something about tasting lips)


Don’t bathe.
No doubt you’re thinking this is harsh. It’s not as bad as you imagine. Look at pigs. They don’t bathe and they are so bloody desirable. The same should ring true for you. Plus as a guy you pick up that masculine smell that women in porn flicks love (cummon, you know you’d settle for a porn flick chic any day!). Also as a chic you get to test just how far a guy will go with his love. Screw climbing the highest mountain, will he love you if you don’t bathe?

My recommendations: Don’t bathe!

Q: But how can I go through life in that state?
A: Guess you’ve never had the misfortune of sitting next to a “conductor” in a taxi…

Use loads of Vaseline.
How does this work? Well, it’s actually quite smart. You retain what little water you have in your body right, and you don’t get as thirsty as all those upper-class stiffs strutting around sipping from the Mineral Water Bottles like it’s all the rage or something. Anyway, using Vaseline will also mean that you have no need for water when you need to wash food down. When placed on the tongue properly, Vaseline makes it such that the food glides all the way down the esophagus and the smug saliva is of no use.

My recommendations: It’s usually a good idea to explain why you are carrying a great deal of Vaseline around. Its also a smart plan to move with a member of the opposite sex rather than one of the same sex lest there’s some concern.

Q: Wouldn’t the frequent use of Vaseline make me glow?
A: It depends on how you look at it. Some may even look at you and think you’re quite BRIGHT.

My Friend, Why You Are Not Kona-Dancing…%^&* You

Hitmen don’t do crap! Builders scare me more!


Yeah sure, if for some reason a hitman put a gun to my forehead and while sputtering uttered the words DODGE THIS (because they need some sort of catchy phrase to sign out with!) I’d pee on myself because in my mind’s eye, the visual woud be that of a builder. Specifically the guys building the house next door. They have visited every form of suffering (and then some) on me. Heck! That’s why I have not blogged for a while.


Time check; 7 am (in the morning for the underprivileged that can’t see “AM” glaring at them…like the blasted buiders!) I’m still taking a leisurely stroll in slumberland pickin up Tulips and all. What? In my dreams all the hot women are inexplicably called Tulip…even the strippers! Suddenly the music in the strip club changes to THAT ANNOYING SONG! The patrons in the club are sort of shocked, they are looking at each other like, “WTF?…whose dream is this?” To be fair, one patron seems a little pleased that the attention is being drawn far far away as only attention can be drawn.Its the Crazy Frog, fresh from his tour of Camp Swampy. (when will that stupid frog CROAK?!)


Anywho, so I’m drawn out of slumberland with minor injuries, I’m back to the land of the living and clearly not-so-bright. Dudes are pretty much outside my window. I contemplate swinging the window open and emptying a round. I can’t do that, because that would downgrade my neighborhood to level 3 which as you may or may not know is a very bad place to stay. Like, say, Straka’s hair…or under Oprah’s feet.


With no warning some dolt going through the voice breaking phase in life decides now is the time to check whether he can sing. He CAN’T. He won’t let that deter him. He is a man on a mission. I don’t know what the said mission is,but my gut’s telling me he is messingup the ozone layer. My gut also told me about other guts its been hanging with. Some are not too bad.


The karaoke is over and done with but so is my sleep. It left me a note saying I know where to find it in the event that I get serious about it.


What happens next is pretty much expected, the builders get to working. Breaking up stuff in their wake with the stuff breaking equipment. And for effect they turn the volume knob on the said tools to the maximum.


Its something of a bitch, but I have to deal with it, because half the neighbourhood credits these cretin with getting them to work early. Seeing as I don’t have a fixed hour for work, I couldn’t give a rat’s ****!


This has been happening for quite a bit and its never been a nice song. Today though, it got bloody annoying when some idiot shouted out for what could have been the whole city to hear,


“My friend…why you are not Kona-Dancing?!”

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Life’s Not Really A Beach!

So…

We were hanging out and I was, when you really think about it, up in the sky with birds. Then my pal comes over and says there’s some kick-ass plan. Depending on your expectations in life, “kick ass” can refer to anything ranging from poking little toddlers to going out and getting wasted at a grad party with decent looking folk… it rarely takes into account The Beach. In my inebriated state it actually sounded good…

When I woke up with no trace of a hangover, I still had traces of “beach-proggie” on the brain so I called up my pal to confirm that it was not something I’d seen on the notice boards over at cloud 9. It was really going to happen and the fact that I was fresh from getting my toe worked on in an entirely non-metrosexual way was not going to get in the way of this KICK ASS idea.

The ride to the beach was nothing out of the ordinary. The road continued to move under the car as its been known to since some guy called Henry Ford put a couple of bolts together with circular things and said he’d call it an Automobile once he found some place to sit.

When we finally got to the beach, I realized that my attempts at bringing back the whole hat to the back fashion blunder made back in the day was futile. There was a bunch of guys who were already doing it and totally pushing it back to the brink of extinction.

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We got hungry, and…wonder of wonders…asked for fish. It kind of made sense. How often have you gone out, asked for, oh, I don’t know, PORK and the duration it takes to get to you suggests that the waiter was tasked with going to some farm, sending Babe off to meet his maker and then gutting the bastard while following some 230page manual page to page (wow! Three instances of the word page!!) on how to roast pig, then finally delivering it across town to you. This time round, I found Nemo.

The One with Loads of dots

I went to an internet café…Its been ages, but clearly I haven’t missed much. The keyboard I’m using feels kinda sticky so it simply follows that after this thing I will have stickyfingers…I would have added a hot male with sticky fingers in a bid to reference my email address,but that would not work coz then I’d have to prove it so…

The air in this place is, for lack of a better word, thick with fumes I can’t quite make out. I suppose you’re reading this and wondering why I came to the café in the first place…well, it had something to do with some pix some one put up, but that’s all I’m sayin…

Seriously, this keyboard is really getting to me. I can’t stand it one bit..and I have to keep glancing over at my neighbour to make sure she is not harbouring any plans to borrow my phone for like… I don’t know, forever…

Anywho, it comes down to this…he smell of this place has also gotten to me… how do people surf in such conditions with there webcams on? How do you smile through it…

Tell you what, I’m going to post more soon as I get home. I’ve seen the said pix and I’ve put one up of my weekend experience…

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Ain’t that a beach?!

My Green Mile

Typically, the Green mile is the stretch a person takes on their way to the execution room…or place or whatever…Mine, it’s the stretch I have to take on my way to the clinic to go through what Darlkom feels comfortable calling “that which we may not mention”. The rest of you can join me in calling it The Thing…

Yesterday I took the Green Mile. I was not excited about it. In fact I was properly frightened. Yes, I know, it’s a very unattractive quality in a guy, being afraid and all but sod it! This stuff freaks out EVERYONE. It’s not the sort of thing you’d wish for someone, not even that kid in fifth grade that broke your oh-so-cool pen after you’d pointed out that it was a gift from my mum and that she would not be pleased if I went back home without it. Damn you, Janet! You just couldn’t settle for the bloody bic, could you?!!
So anyway, I kept stalling. And by stalling I mean the usual routine of playing video games with the prerequisite amount of blood and gore that we all love to see splash all over the screen provided, of course that it’s a game and not some other viral video from Iraq with some guy’s neck being cut off. I’d tried watching movies, but that didn’t quite cut it. Then again, it could be because I was watching House and the sight of needles makes my heart pack its bags and make its annual trip up my throat.
My friend Paul called me up and asked me whether I’d made it to the clinic and I glanced at my watch before fashioning an excuse…
“Man, I couldn’t make it. I . . . look at the time man…”
He wasn’t buying this routine and told me he would give me a push. Resigned, I hang up, dropped my control pad and got ready for the Green Mile…
Incidentally, Paul, if you happen to read this, I am calling your motive(s) into question. I am not buying the whole “it’s a birthday gift” angle.
ELSEWHERE
-“what the heck?! This rash…it…it’s an STD isn’t it?”
-“oh that, yeah, it probably is…Happy anniversary sweetie!
Back to the piece already in progress…
So began my descent to the clinic. Nervous laughter permeated the air and my heart was slowly setting up long term plans of residence in a new locale.
As luck would have it, the doctor wasn’t there. At this point all I knew was it would be a lady. I looked at the time and asked the nurse whether she honestly believed…in her heart of hearts… that the doctor would make it. She said she would have called ahead if she couldn’t… (Bugger!)
I took a walk down to an internet café in an attempt to prolong the inevitable. It was probably the same thing as the last meal by a death row inmate…
After the meal was over we went back to the clinic and found that the nurse had a new face…sorry, there was a new face sitting with the nurse (my oh-snap moment!). Thing is, she looked a little un-doctor like…I’m looking at her and thinking, why doctor, I could die in your arms tonight….
So she asks whether she can help me and I’m thinking, can you?!
Anyway, she says she wasn’t prepared for me (it just keeps getting better) and asks whether I’m in school at which point I am tempted to answer that with “hell no, I’m legal, do with me as you please!”
What I did say was, “will it be less painful, if I say I am? Coz then I could easily be in nursery school, nay, day care!!”
So she looks at me square in the eye, which was a mean feat considering my eyes were not looking at hers….and asks whether she looks like she could hurt me and I’m thinking, “do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry…” and saying, “no, but …”
So she says we’ll do this tomorrow, and I smile and say thank you.
…guess I live to die another day…

How’re You Doin’ ? Good? Tomorrow’s my birthday…

I’m in pain. So much so, the rest of this piece will be written in the style of a Telenovela…

Pains of Life
I’m not okay. In fact, I am not well. You see, the thing is (gratuitous use of a term of endearment coming up) my love, I am in pain. And its not just any kind of pain. Its coming from without, not from within. Its not the pain of my spirit, my love. Its…(tension inducing background music) My TOE! (If I’ve done this just right, you have an “oh-shit”-esque expression on your face right now)
Yes, my toe. You see, I actually believe in keeping my nails short. This is because…they, are easier to manage that way, and, my darling, they become easy to manage. No no no, its not only that, but, I don’t have to keep buying a new pair of socks because the old one got torn under mysterious circumstances. The truth is, my love, my sweetheart, my dear…I think that cursed Adolfo Cortez is behind this.
He will rue, no, he will pay for this, this uh, this shit! Yes, I said shit, thrice in the same post…alarmed? Quite frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. For you see, I may have forgotten to tell you. I have a nail retreating…and its not retreating quietly like Lorenzo did when he made that girl from that poor family of..of poor peasants…with no money, even poorer by condemning her to (cue stroke-inducing background track) a life of…MOTHERDOM. Yes, yes, I said it, Motherdom..what do you mean it doesn’t make sense?
Does anything ever make sense? Has anything in this piece made sense?
I am slated to meet with a doctor today. Its a lady so I think the sensible thing to do is to avoid flirting. See the thing is, she will be holding a blade, and if there’s anything I’ve picked up from Kenyanchick. Its this… women don’t take crap from people… I also picked up the same sentiment after watching the first Basic Instinct…and BOUND..
I’ve tried out fear, Its not something I wear well. I think people can see it on me. For as far as long as I can remember, people have been able to drop hints…
Before an examination; “If you read you wouldn’t be afraid…”
Meeting my parole officer; ” Looks like you did something wrong..”
Traffic Officer: “If you’d had the sense to use a seatbelt you wouldn’t be scared… (damn, man…I’m on a motorbike, that’s a stretch…even for anyone reading this…)
Fear is nasty..it makes you go on and on about nuthin. just to prolong the time to your fate, but before you know it its here…you can do squat about it in …THE END.
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