Visit from a Relative…This means War!

Come on admit it. There’s that one person whose shadow you don’t want to see at your doorsteps. And it’s worse when that person is in some way your sang-meme. Because if they’re just a friend you can just say, ‘Ay, jerk off. Take a hike!’You cannot say that to a relative unless you are really dim witted. People take these things seriously. If you ignore family, you’ll be cremated when you die because there’ll be no space to bury you sorry ass in the village.

So, if you happen to know a woman who is your father’s step-grand uncle’s sister-in-law that always makes it a point to ‘keep up appearances’, you know exactly why I say that shit means war. I don’t know how they do it but they always show up at the very right time – for them of course. Like you could order liquor and they show up just when you’re pulling out your wallet to cash the bill. Or when on occasion you decide to fry 2kgs of pork (for own consumption) and they crash the party.

Personally, I don’t mind.

The part that fills me with an overwhelming desire to stuff my foot in her mouth is when she starts ordering me around. She wants me to be at her beck and call like I don’t have better useless things to do with my time. She looks everywhere impatiently, waiting with a sour face that even her mother would find hard to love, arms folded, tapping her feet, looking at the watch every thirty seconds and asking if the food is ready every 60 seconds, then when its ready do you know what the bitch does?

She takes a bite, smirks and asks why you haven’t got a maid to ‘do some of these things’ because you are apparently not cut out to pull it off.

Sincerely shut the fuck up.

It wouldn’t have been that bad if they weren’t boring. Very boring I must add; every moment I spend with y’all, I feel like I’m literally watching my life go to waste. It’s so bad that if we are to pit odds on the life of the naked insane nigger who’s picking up trash just around the street corner against my life, he would win effortlessly. There’s a relative I know. He’s either my nephew or I’m he’s nephew, I don’t know. Our parents thought we should link up so that I could give him a run-down on this whole campus thing because he’s a freshman.

First of all, I don’t know shit about campus. Sometimes I wonder what the fuck I’m doing running up and down this bitch. But I thought I could give him a run-down on where to score some weed, where to find the cheapest bars or the strip clubs that boast the kinkiest girls.

Stuff like that.

Secondly, I’m reluctant to let people into my life nowadays. It’s more like a gamble because you can never be sure who is going to elevate your life or who’s going to drag you down. Most of the gambles I take end up in the latter. Downtown Baghdad is serene in comparison with this thing that I call my life. There’s all these people who are shoving things in my face. It’s becoming a sort of cliché that my body is some sort of dumping ground for narcotics and some really dangerous mixtures for my friends.

And I take it all in good faith because I hate sobriety more than…I don’t know *insert something you really hate*.

This dude er, relative was weird. Well, mostly because he didn’t have any narcotics. He was just there to see me. Hmm, why do I find that weird? Do you find that weird? Because hell fuckin yeah, it’s weird. So since I’m yet to figure out how normal sober folk hangout, I hit it off with a lot of ooh’s and aah’s. I heard soccer is the best place to start an awkward conversation but sadly, I hate soccer. Okay, I dig soccer but I’m just not big on it. As in I’ll watch if you’re paying for the drinks.

Nope, that’s not the same thing as being a gold digger.

I know relatives like eating and stuff so I prepare the dude some shit in the hopes that he’ll leave after that. He finishes and he’s still right there. Two grown ass men staring at each other on a Sunday afternoon. Sighs. I couldn’t get a smoke, I couldn’t drink.

I.was.slowly.dying.

I tried to make conversation;

Me: Hey, have you noticed how really yellow those curtains are?

Him: Yep, I know! Is that yellow?

WIT (what I’m thinking): Dude seriously, you want to talk rainbows?

Him: Gwe, does your computer work?

Me: As a matter of fact yes…it does work!

Him: Do you have films for watching?

WIT: Films…when was the last time I heard that?

I did not want to watch anything with this motherfucker because first of all, I hate watching movies with people because they always talk too much and I want to get every line. Secondly, what kind of movie should I show this 6 foot package of boredom? I thought maybe Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan would be perfect because those guys’ movies don’t require a lot of attention and dialogue…guys just shout some shit and bang the brains out of theyselves.

By bang I didn’t mean sex you perv.

We settled for This Means War. Heard of it? Of course you have, this blog is for the known and learned. It’s an awesome movie…almost as good as the one I’m writing. See, you’re the first to know that I’m writing a screenplay for the best movie to ever come out of this dump of a country. Need a sneak peek? Follow this blog because they say good things come to those who follow this blog.

Okay, where were we? Watching some war shit I presume…

As predicted, he started talking at once.

Him: Mwana, it’s like that ka chic has nuggu on the ka other one.

Me: What?

Him: The ka chic, she has nuggu! Can’t you see?

Me: Yes, the ka chic has nuggu. (sighs)

*watching*

Him: Is that the man who was with the other ka chic?

Me: Yes.

Him: But he looks like the other man who died.

Me: Yes they’re brothers.

Him: Are you sure?

Me: No.

Him: Wama, you’re right. Eh, kale they look together (resemble). First rewind and we see ko how he died.

*I flash that sarcastic smile like Agent Mahon style*

Me: Ay, dude I know of a really nice short cut to your place. You wanna check it out?

Personal Note: I just made over 700 page views on this blog which is arguably the most awesome thing to happen ever since you started touching yourself at a tender age. I really appreciate all the support because without you, I’m just another alcoholic and/or drug addict. You have no idea how much it motivates me to know that I’ve people who read my shit. I love you. Er, no homo. Please keep reading and keep sharing!

Apologies from a wiseacre's idle mind

It hit me this twilight that I am an annoying person. And the good news is I am ready to change all that. The bad news is that old habits die hard. Most times we walk around all day, talking shit and not giving a rat’s ass whether we are hurting people in the process. They say friends are like backyard gardens, we always promise to tend to them tomorrow but we never actually get around to it. Before long, they are eaten up by shrubs and you realize how really alone and fucked up you are. So, I’m taking this time out to nurture our friendship. It won’t be pretty though. Chances are that 70% of you will hate me after reading this. If it makes you squirm and feel more important that you are in this category I just want to let you know, you are as relevant as an impotent man’s opinion in a brothel.  The icing on the cake is that the rest of you will love me infinite times over…probably to death. Ay, don’t get suicidal. The feeling is not mutual – I would never kill myself for any of you.

Okay now that’s out of the way. Here are some apologies for some of the fucked up things I’ve done to y’all. Leggoo!

Um, if you hit some drums, shouted like Straka the MC at a Besigye rally after reading that last line, you are the shit.

 *  *  *

I am sorry that you wrote me a colorful letter back in primary school and instead of getting butterflies in my stomach, I got my ass in my mouth and reported you to principle. Who later found another colorful letter under your pillow, addressed to my best friend.

I am sorry I fell off a tree while we played and you tried to treat my broken hand with methylated spirit when I was taking a nap later that afternoon. You thought it wouldn’t hurt that much while I slept. I’m sorry I screamed like a bitch because it really hurt like a bitch. I’m sorry we were supposed to keep it a secret but mum walked in on me screaming and whipped us both with dad’s belt. I forgive you mum for not taking me to hospital after that.

I am sorry I stammered when they found us in that old truck. It made it seem like we were playing mummy and daddy when actually we just wanted to be around each other. I’m sorry your parents caned you for that and mine didn’t. Which makes me feel sorry that we didn’t play mummy and daddy in the first place.

I am sorry I intentionally threw one of your shoes in the pit latrine. I am sorry I giggled silently while you searched the whole dorm for it. I am sorry I couldn’t not fight back like the other kids you bullied.

I am sorry I was supposed to be your wing-man at the Form four social but I instead opted to escape from school, eat Rolexes and drink Waragi at the last minute. I am sorry you got turned down by every girl you asked for a dance. I am sorry I tried to make up for it at the leavers’ picnic but all I did was get really drunk and embarrass you by trying to dance with a girl thrice my size before it even clocked mid day.

I am sorry I choked so hard when you gave me my first stick of marijuana. It really freaked you out and we almost got caught. I’m sorry I called you the devil and that you should stay away from me. I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the karaoke later with you for our collabo (encore – jayz ft. linkin park) as planned. My karaoke career died that day. My marijuana career set off the next day with me stealing some of your hash…

I am sorry you thought you had shown me by standing me up. I am sorry I didn’t care less because I was too busy taking lessons on being nasty from a really nasty girl. I am sorry I got near raped by her while you called to cancel. I still miss you but I'm sorry my target is improving. I’m sorry when I didn’t pick you probably thought you’d ‘shown me’ when actually you’d missed out on your first threesome.

I am sorry I called you a bitch in the middle of the night. If there was a time in my life that I regret, it was the moments that led to that. I’m sorry that you had to send me out on the street without a dime. I’m sorry you still hate yourself for that because I could have died.

I am sorry your shoes were stolen when you came to visit. I am sorry I didn’t mind because the time I spent with you is ranked top five among the most amazing times of my life. I’m sorry I still think of it as ‘reasonable’ collateral damage. I hope the feeling is mutual…

I am sorry I ditched you in a bar and took your girlfriend out on the day that you broke up with her. Even though we both know I was just trying to help her come to terms with it. I’m glad she made me pay for it by stealing my wallet and phone later that night at Casablanca as a way of getting back at you.

I am sorry I flashed you the finger when the lecturer looked the other way. I know you were just trying to make it seem like the gibberish on the board wasn’t as nightmarish and Chinese as it seemed but the truth is – it was.

I am sorry I told everyone that you’re probably preggers because I was angry at you for flying out of the country without so much as a farewell. I am sorry you were actually preggers and everyone high-fived me for being such an excellent gossip. I’m sorry we’ve grown so apart that we can’t be facebook buddies and our enmity is shredding any chances I had with your younger sister.

To mum, I’m sorry for everything. I believe God was trying to decide whom He hated more, you or dad when you conceived me. I’m sorry you have to put up with my shit day in, day out. I’m glad God gave me to you because any other parent would have slit their wrists by the time I clocked 5 years. I love you to death.

Are there some things you’ve done to people around you that you’re sorry for? Please don’t be a dick, apologize.

And while you’re at it, apologize to me for thinking of leaving this blog without sharing this post or any post that you liked…

Facebook - What I think...

Facebook – What I think…

Facebook is an awesome thing. Mark Suckerberg is just that -- a sucker. He’s a sucker because he came up with something for the whole of the human race to base their procrastination on besides drugs. I love and hate facebook in equal measures. I love the fact that I can chat with someone I’ve no clue about. It gives me a chance to interact with people regardless of whether they’re murderers, psychos, geniuses, artists or just plain boring. I’m talking to you boring. I recently received a request from some bimbo who can whistle in five different languages and can make fire with two ice cubes.

What?

Yep, guess it’s true what they say -- everyone is a super star on the World Wide Web. Of course that excludes Seya and the presidents of Uganda and Burundi. By the way, what does the president of Burundi do for a living? Besides of course taking siestas such as these

Put a pin on that we’ll get back to it.

Most of what I post never gets more than a like or two. And I like it like that because;

1. It takes certain minimum IQ levels to get my humor so the less comments I get, the more intelligent I feel. 
2. I never comment on other people’s posts so it is only fair.

If you saw facebook through my eyes, you’d understand why I don’t comment. But you probably won’t see that since you are facing the wall in that profile picture. That makes a whole lot of sense considering the fact that if you face the wall, everyone will know who you are because your ass is just that great and memorable.

I meant that sarcastically.

First of all, that skirt is too long for a mother’s union to be out of the question. And we all have that one friend who is there to make it seem like things are not as nightmarish as they seem. They’ll comment stuff like… “eh, kiKazi…tHE hAir!!!”

B*tch, is your caps lock having a seizure?

And to that slutty friend of mine, you don't measure how much people like by how many likes and comments you get. You are barely nekkid in that profile pic. We like the boobs. We don't like you.

Sometimes, I really want to comment but what the heck are you supposed to comment on a status where someone has been in a relationship with his twin sister and they are expecting a baby? If I’m to comment it will be something Riley Freeman-ish (no homo) like, "Look, fuck you, fuck them shoes, fuck them socks with the belt on it, fuck your gay ass ferried fagot accent, fuck them cheap ass shades, fuck your yuck mouth teeth, fuck your hairpiece, fuck your unborn kid/sister/brother, Fuck Guy Richie, fuck prince William, fuck the Queen. Fuck Indo-China where people fuck they sisters. Now get the fuck off my timeline before I have you exported naked to the Taliban. And if I see you in the street I'm slapping the shit out you."

Gross. That’s why I just sigh and keep scrolling.

Everyone has fantasies of becoming a celebrity some day so we all prepare for it by getting super star nicknames you know…like just in case. That is perfectly fine by me...here I am as a rockstar a million light years from now

 What the Suckerberg fellow didn’t bother to think up in all his “genius” maneuvers is a notification which lets us know that Mpererera Sweetness Yum-beta (Yeah, I’m better) changed her name to Kawonawo Chickydee Fashionista.

Unfriend

Are you sure?

Damn right I’m sure!

Then there are the Jesus Freaks. I love Jesus to death. But I hate it when my undying love is wrongfully exploited for commercial reasons. I hear, like or comment if not you are going to hell. I don’t pray that much but I’m pretty sure there is a special part of hell for motherfuckers like y’all.

Well, while we are still on the facebook topic…I’m still contemplating creating a twitter account and a page for this blog. I’m still undecided because just like a million other wacko-freaks I created a group almost as soon as I joined facebook. Either my posts were really bad or something because none of the members ever commented or posted. It was so depressing that I decided to leave the group because the only other thing would have been my neighbor’s call to the suicide alert hotline. By the way do we have a suicide hotline in Ug?

Y’know, just in case…

On realizing that I had shut myself out of my group…I sent a join request hoping that one of the members would check it out and honor my request. I’m still waiting to be accepted to date simply because,  well no one ever checks it out.

Aaww…that actually hurts like a bitch.

So please, lemme know if I should create a page and while I’m still soft and emotional, please share this post and all other posts that you dig. If you do, it will be the next best thing to ever happen to me since my friends organized a stripper for my 21^st birthday.

Adios Amigos!