This is the Fasting Season, not the Farting Season

A chap, high on the hashish, boards a bus…

Now, at this point, the story could take very many turns. The guy could refuse to pay the fare, he could rhyme to Bobi Wine weed song(s?) or he could try selling the half-stick of marijuana in his shirt pocket to the driver.

The story can go both ways – ay, that’s not a buffalo. We’re still waiting for Prince Cambridge to invent “thrice ways”. Until then, yuck it up.

But the chap is Arthur Wonny (until recently, aka Timmy) So the story will most likely be a lurid tale of anxiety. And cowardice.

*

I sat across from a sweet little dumdum. Immediately to my right, a fella without a lick of hair on his head shuffled in his seat. Half-wits don’t need Google Images to identify Muslims. Their hair has this high affinity for the chin and, apparently, likes to be called Side Burrrn.

Anyway, I’m high, hot chic to my left, Muslim to my right – basically, something which would make the perfect rap line. I’m still deciding whether to pull out my phone and tweet about it when all of a sudden…BA-BOMB!

A fart the size of Zaire upper-cutted my nostrils like POOFFFFFF-AAHHH!

Sweet Jesus, what the - hey! Can't you see the sign???

Instant.Amnesia.

I quickly turned and scowled my nose. Sweet Dumdum looked at me the same way Minnie looks at Mickey when they are about to have sex but Mickey says some inappropriate claptrap and Minnie pulls her panties back on. And Mickey pulls out a gun like

Bitch, you better gimme some

I managed a half smile – half scowl and pulled out my John Grisham. You’re a mutt and you deserve to die if you think I should have said/done something.

Like, “hey, is it you or is it me who just launched some massive weaponry of ass-destruction? What, me? Well Kudos to myself you fuckin muck.”

When I was a tween – which is just a teen who hasn’t given/received a blowjob yet – farting was a commonplace fool’s errand. We found that shit funny. If it wasn’t for my lack of memory (or, to put a positive spin on it, my surplus of forgetfulness), I bet I could remember all the members of Team Fart-In-People’s-Lockers-During-Lunch-Break.

So, I let it slide. Perhaps he was having a tough time keeping things together – what, with all the fasting and everything. I looked at him with quiet, feigned, empathy like the whole thing was a wonderful misunderstanding.

Before long, the guy raised his foot and about four seconds later, the sneaky little fart sodomised my nostrils – Again. I swear to God, I’m not lying – the guy smiled.

Oh, so it’s like that motherfucker?

I wasn’t going to sit around inhaling whatever daku (spelling?) this Willy Wanker had stuffed at dawn because I’m trying to be nice because this asshole is having a bad day? Or should I say that this asshole’s asshole is having a bad day?

I was going to manufacture my own fart and send it right back.

**You can place your bets here**

I tried. I focused. I thought about food and bog and everything that has been associated with farts. 

But Weetabix and weed give lousy farts so mine came out kinda like a kitten purr. No one heard it, not even my neighbours, Pretty Dumdum and Boldhead Farts.

I felt small and embarrassed.

To make matters worse, he let out another bazooker. And he had this amused look like he was making my day by shooting bughatti farts at a rate of 5farts/km.

I’m a coward. I didn’t have the language to express my feelings but questions were running through my head like;

Did I wake up this morning and say to myself, ‘Self, what would make your day?... Hitting the lottery?... Becoming a ninja?...The unexpected death of Justin Beiber? Sitting on a cross-country bus inhaling Muslim Farts? Why, yes, that would make my day. In fact it would make my life worth living!’

Paris Jackson, please walk me through one of your suicide sessions. Thank you, you may now kill yourself like you’ve always wanted.

*

I don’t know a lot about anything but I know a little bit of everything. When it comes to fasting (and farting), I believe you are supposed to keep it to yourself. As soon as it clocks 6pm – immediately, on the dot, the fella announces that he has been fasting and orders for a stick of meat chops. Like dude, you’ll be home in 15 minutes, would it make much difference? Matter of fact, why not go like 3 or 4 or 40 days like Jesus?

Wait, Jesus was a Christian

That sounds funny. Almost like saying Arthur was a Kukuss.

I’m out of stuff to write. But if any of this offends you, or you happen to love puppies and kittens and the infirm… well… I’m impressed. I don’t like you much, but I’m impressed.

Okay, bye.

By the way I speak Koisan. We use click-click-clacks to keep relationships. So lovers and haters, do click Like Kukuss Blog on Facebook and Follow Me on Twitter. You'll be in niceness itselef. 

We do a lot of Things. Love is not one of ‘em, you feel me?

Okay, I lied. My heart is in my pants so feel free to fall in love.

A few months ago, my friend Freddie introduced me to her friend *insert name here*. Facebook requests were sent, numbers were swapped and Whatsapp messages started flying back and forth…blah blah blah, you know the drill. I had no intentions whatsoever of sleeping with her – at all.  

But as always, Vodka happened.

You must sleep around a lot

The three of us linked up in Kansanga – it was the second time I was seeing my new friend. We drank a lot that night. At some point, we bumped into Bizo, my future Alcoholics Anonymous session mate. He bought us booze, let me touch his girlfriend and invited us to crash at his place.

There were only two beds in the room. Bizo crashed with Freddie and I crashed with her friend. A few inappropriate touches led to some really amazing fellatio. I’d noticed she’s rather calm and quiet in character. So I didn’t introduce my Jimmy to her Jenny because we all know the quiet ones are screamers.

We left it at that.

In the morning, Bizo woke us up with Leading Waragi. We spent the whole Sunday drinking, playing cards and smoking cigarettes. By lunch time, I was drunk enough to let her blow my wang’s imagination away one more time. She did it four times – once in the john.

I'm not sure if it was some sort of World BlowJob Day but she just kept going at it like;

At around 7pm, she told me that she had to leave. I told her it would be selfish and unfair of me to get blown by a babe and not return the favor. So we left the party and went to my place and Jenny was introduced to Jimmy.

When I woke up in the morning, I took a really good look at her. I didn’t know a thing about this girl. For the first time, I noticed that she was like four times my size, I noticed her tomboy character. I realized that if there ever was a relationship between us, I would be the bitch. I had intended for it to be a hit and run but I was scared that if I told her, things might go south and she would beat the living crap out of a brother.

Now the rule is, More Sex = No Death. Okay?

So I decided to play it out a little longer. I hoped that we’d interact and I’d know something about her that doesn’t entirely involve procreation ammo and alcohol. She turned out to be nice. I found out she was kind, generous (four blowjobs, duh) and temperate. The best news was that she wouldn’t, in a million years, thump me even if I said the barmiest shit.

After semester closed, I travelled back to Mbale. We kept in contact. I jokingly told Freddie to come see me out here. I didn’t think she would show up but lemme tell you something.

Freddie.is.one.Kukuss.bitch

She came with my chubby friend and her girlfriend.

I was broke, as always. I called up my hommie Jef and told him that I was stuck with two lesbians and another big girl who might or might not also be a lesbian. He checked us into a room at his motel and got us a Uganda Waragi.

It was a fun night. We went to club. Freddie introduced my chubby friend as “Arthur’s girlfriend” and I played along. I couldn’t help noticing the wry smiles that my hommies threw at me and my brand new “girlfriend”. I don’t know how to paint this picture – me all scrawny looking and skinny and everything and a gargantuan babe by my side. Just know there was something awfully wrong with that picture.

I loved the attention though.

After tipping back a few,  my mind was working along the lines of;

Also, Freddie’s girlfriend was "kinda tired". So I took the girls back to the motel. We left Freddie trying to talk Jef into donating some sperm to her because she thinks he is just so handsome.

I had earlier intended to tactfully break things off with this babe because we were just not compatible. Like I really enjoyed her company and everything but I am way too small. I didn’t want to lead her on when I knew that I didn’t feel that way you know. Bitches have done that shit to me many times before and it hurts like a bitch. A girl leads you on and just when you think you’ve got a thing going, she tells you that you listen to whack music and your dong looks funny and ‘go fuck yourself you fuckin feral broke ass clown’.

But I couldn’t just break up with someone who had travelled more than 300 friggin kilometers to see me. I had to have sex with her like the good host that I am. So I’m on this titanic bed with Freddie’s girl on one side and my girl on the other. I start making out with my girl and things get a little heated and we realize (with overwhelming disappointment) that Freddie’s girl won’t join us.

Things I pray I'll never have to say >>

Newton must've wrote a rule against saying that shit

We shift the party to the bathroom. 

I don’t know what happened in that bathroom but Jef tells me that the toilet needs to be repaired.

I think break-up sex that runs along the lines of a broken toilet is more than most people get. I hope she reads this. I hope she understands. The fact that our whole relationship can be put in less than 1000 words is proof that we can’t be together.

The worst thing about this break-up is that I now have no one to think of when I masturbate. She had mad skills yo.

Show me some L.O.V.E. people. Like me on Facebook and Follow me on Twitter.

Yours,
Drug Addled Poindexter. I put the E.R. in Nerd.

Take a Hint, People Don’t Like You

We live in civil times. Manners and courtesy are emphasized and violence is often discouraged. Nowadays, even rappers stop at lame lines about the female anatomy and fake jewellery. You don’t have to pick up a piece (gun, fool) to ‘pop a cap in damn foos’ to sell a record.

Just tell kids to stay away from drugs and promote gay rights, your record will fly off the stands.

Dream Chasers’ Lil Snupe was shot this week over gambling or something. Pretty sure it wasn’t over his rap genius. If a rapper is too angry, and I mean really angry, he’ll take the rival rapper’s mother for shopping and, depending on how much they drink, will sex with her.

No harm, right?

Welcome to the 21^st Century

Somewhere in between, we trek the fine line that divides being nice and having the overpowering, tremendous desire to stuff a shoe in someone’s mouth.

Honestly I don't like you, please go away!

People don’t wanna be rude or hurt nobody so they become “yes people” and suck up to a lot of other people’s meaningless twaddle (read bullshit).

Someone may smile sweetly at you but in his/her mind, (s)he is irately throwing a truckload of bricks at your head.

I do it all the time.

People are annoying. I am a prime example of that fact. I wouldn’t want to be in my company after a few bottles of counterfeit alcohol. I feel like I am at this grand TV talk show where I can talk shit and use sarcasm to slap people in the audience.

Like, “Ay Wonny, you’re drunk. Close your head. I feel a lot of BS coming out of it.”

“Oh, shut up you fuckin nothing. What, you want me to spit Newtonian Mechanics? I’m sorry, bullshit is all you’re getting tonight ‘cause I’m all out faded. Also, you look like 7 different shades of bullshit.”

And he’ll still “like”me the following evening. Yet he actually feels like screaming;

And that night, I will hook up with a fat, older woman who should know better than to dive in a bottle of Uganda Waragi before 8pm. I tell her to sit on the counter because I am the boss and because I want to embarrass and piss my friends off.

I have no idea how she squeezed into that really short miniskirt but…yeah, you know about fat girls in short miniskirts sitting on bar counters and drinking alcohol.

Mini strip show

I love you, get wasted with me please...

And they’ll still “like” me the following evening.

That night, I sense the negativity because no one will get me a Nile Special on credit. I grab a Coffee Spirit because it is cheaper than dirt and because the manufacturers are not yet sure of its percentage alcohol content. Or is it acohol percentage content?

A little mathematics >>

Coffee + Alcohol = Overwhelming desire to celebrate like Sevo after a Cranes game. So I climb on the pool table and scream at my opponent (turns out he is the bouncer);

“You call yourself a bouncer? You are such a bitch!”

Then I try to skid on the cushion Rooney-style and I fall off and I have to be escorted home to my worried mother.

And they still “like me” the following evening.

That night, from their bland smiles, I know word has got around. Arthur is a kukuss embarrassing asshole and any attempt to let him loosen up should be avoided at all costs. 

He didn't have to chase me. He gave me the dead beat eyes and mentioned something about swamps and I took the hint. I drifted to the malwa joint where I called someone a crook and they told me to learn how to;

Well, they weren't white though...

Nowadays, I’m a Persona Non Grata in most circles. So I spend my evenings smoking pot, trying to earn some Tweet Cred and lying to my parents about the internet.

I know sometimes you feel like doing this as soon as you come here;

Ever felt like doing this to a Page?

Just know I'm staying up, waiting to make one more person happy like;

Just one more "Like" and I'll go to bed

Like Kukuss Blog on Facebook and Follow me on Twitter for insane posts, updates, facts, wtf questions, pics and everything that can’t fit here.

Merci mesdames messieurs

Grappling with the First Move - By Nimusiima Edward

Curse words and bad mother jokes are what defines this part of the blogosphere. However, tonight we have something new. Something fresh, drumroll please. Allow me to introduce my bradda from another mother, Nimusiima Edward, whom I call Ed...whom I've never met outside the internets and who's one of the most talented motherfuckers of our age.

He is such a badass, he doesn't use a pen or a paper, he just thinks up stuff and it lays itself bare on the page like that woman I woke up next to last Sunday afternoon. The only difference is that his work is stunning and she is...well, as beautiful as a woman can be after countless bottles of counterfeit alcohol. 

This piece will most likely leave you hitting on everything in a dress (including mannequins). And most likely, you'll get slapped by everything in a dress (including mannequins).

Enjoy

"Grappling with the First Move"

Making the first move to a girl has been bloody hard since when God was a boy. It is tedious and hard and needs one to bring his bravado to the fore. It scares me shitless. I grapple with it but then again, every sod who pees while standing can testify to it; one needs to exhibit infinite temerity and confidence to put his foot before another to pursue a lass.

Why is it hard, for chrissake?

I had a friend of mine at a certain shindig; a highbrow shindig. We slouched at our stools with glasses of our favourite poison nestled jealously in our hands. We sipped on our drinks slowly and jabbered a lot, with booze slowly embracing us in its frigging grip, and shooing us to typsy-ville.

My pal is this sharp bloke; sharp like a whip, hustler extraordinaire and he was blessed (or cursed by) an insatiable appetite for women. Who doesn't? Show me one and I'll show you a homo, or a moron.

It had been a while since we last met. We last met before the world moved on and we tossed to good old days. He had an obedient beard to which I was on a lookout to see an animal slither out. He was good looking to boot; quitessential male charm with cobalt eyes that turn ladies into putty, like Daniel Craig eyes. He still had his penchant for garments with instincts of a metro-sexual; smartass. A skinny tie tied studiously in his neck; it looked like a camel's tongue, that tie. He looked like a black version of Harvey Specter in Suits. He's shaven close to his scalp.

He would lethargically throw a swig at the back of his throat, squirms and spews about something corny, mainly women. He was fiercely single, he whined as he emptied his glass. I chortled, looked away and laughed hard. He tapped my shoulder and pointed at the door.

A lady shadowed the door; a pretty little lass teteered in high heels that made her dwarf everything; she was poised on her toes, literally, like a deer about to run. Tall, slender with an ungodly ass.

He bit his lower lip, my friend, leaned closer to me, noses almost touching, and hissed, "She is mine, that girl!".

 The lass sauntered in and ambled gently as if she's brittle, that she would veer off and shatter her beauty. She curled herself at the far-end. She had sexy oval-shaped eyes and well oiled luscious lips with her bustle trying to catch up with her; a rare gem, that pretty little thing.

 My friend fumbled with confidence. His heart throbbed in his ears. And even though he was already in typsy-ville, he was as scared as bat shit falling through the night sky. 

He wanted to pee. "Shit, I gotta go. Watch and learn." He said, gently as he twisted his tie slightly, the way James Bond does before whining, "shaken or stirred". He was afraid to put his foot before the other, afraid to indulge, to push the boat, whatever gongs your bell. His knees drifted, and turned jelly.

He gawked at her, more intently, like an archeologist's staring at a treasured stone. His stiff face melted with phobia and a slight smile stretched his cheeks. I cackled with mirth. He cleared his throat, stepped off his stool and waltzed off.

He instead bundled outside.

***

Before you do anything rash, I suggest you Like me on Facebook and Follow me on Twitter. There are a few pointers on how to dodge slaps there.

I'm Just a Goodfella, Don't Call Me Funny

You know, I always bump into people and they tell me that they like this blog and they think it isreally funny? Umhuh?

I wonder, funny how?

Please, explain yourself...funny how?

One of my most favorite movies of all time is the 1990 movie, Goodfellas. My favorite character is Tommy, played by Joe Pesci, the short dude who also starred as one of the villains in Home Alone.


Check out this excerpt from the Goodfellas movie. Tommy is hanging out with Henry and the Goodfellas at the bar and Tommy is a real funny fella, wisecracking and all; Here's how he responds when Henry calls him "funny".

***

Tommy:          I had a back job over in Dallas and this nut job comes over to me slaying dominoes, he’s like what the fuck are you doing? I tell him, ‘I’m resting.’

(Nut Job) Hell yeah you’re resting.

(Tommy) I’m resting. I know I’m resting!

Tommy (continued): He starts saying all sorts of things you know asking all kinds of questions. He (Nut Job) says, ‘so tough guy what are you gonna tell me?’

I tell him the usual, zero, nothing! What should I tell you? The fuck?

He says, ‘no, you gonna tell me something today tough guy.

I said, ‘Alright, I’ll tell you something. Go fuck your mother!’

*laughter*

Tommy (continues narrative): So now I’m coming around you know, I start to come out of it. Who do I see infront of me? This pricky gangster, he says what do you wanna tell me now, tough guy?

I said, ‘Bing, what are ya still doing here? I thought I told you to go fuck your mother!’

*laughter**

Tommy (continues between laughs): I thought he was gonna shit!

*laughter**

Henry says between coughs, ‘you’re a really funny guy! Really funny!’

Tommy (takes on a more serious note): What do you mean I’m funny?

The rest are still chuckling but the mood is getting a tart more serious.

Henry: W-well, your story y-you know…you’re a funny guy.

He takes a drink, a little intimidated. Others think the act is still a part of the joke.

Tommy: What do you mean? Like the way I talk?

Henry:            Y’know, y-you’re just funny…it’s y’know the way you tell the story and everything…

Everyone is now silent and attentive, they notice that Tommy is actually serious.

Tommy: Funny how? I mean, what’s funny about it?’

Anthony (One of the Gang stars): Tommy, y-you got it all wrong…

Tommy: Wait Anthony, he’s a big boy, he knows what he said. (Turns back to Henry) Funny how?

*silence**

Henry: J-just—just you know, you’re funny…

Tommy: Wait, lemme understand you ‘cause I might be a lil’ fucked up maybe, (leans in closer), but funny how? Like I am a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh? I fuckin amuse you? What do you mean funny? Tell me, how am I funny?

*silence**

Henry: Y’know…just— (lost for words) y’know how you tell the story…

Tommy: No, no I don’t know. You said it. How do I know? You said I’m funny. How the fuck am I funny? (Raises his tone a notch). What the fuck is so funny about me? Tell me, tell me what’s funny?

*loud silence***

All the gangsters are quiet. They know any moment now, Tommy is going to pull out his gun and whack Henry because getting whacked is as easy as telling someone they‘re funny when they don’t wanna hear it. Everyone pay attention.

Henry(throws his hands up in resignation):            Get the fuck outta here Tommy!

Whole table bursts in laughter.

Tommy (shouts): Motherfucker, I almost had him! I almost had him! (laughs) You stuttering prick! Frankie, is he sweating? Was he shaking?

At this point the waiter leans over so that his head is level with Tommy’s.

Tommy (to the waiter): What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought I was getting pinched already! He’s hanging around my fuckin neck like a vulture! Like a pending day, whaddayawant?

Waiter (Discreetly): This guy’s worried you know, he wants you to go over and get check y’know, thought you’d take care of it y’know.

Tommy: Sure, no problem, go put it on my table, of course.

Waiter (apologetic): You see, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You know it’s seven fuckin big ones mehn. Seven fuckin g’s you owe me mehn.

Tommy takes a sip, obviously irritated and feeling embarrassed in front of his colleagues.

Waiter (continues): Seven g’s men, I don’t mean to be out of order but—

Tommy: You don’t mean to be out of order? Of course you don’t mean to be out of order, you just want to embarrass me in front of my friends. You want them to call me a dead beat y’know.

(Pulls the waiter, Sonny’s tie) You know Sonny, you’re a real fuckin muck’

Sonny: What do you mean I –

Tommy: You know the amount of money we spend in this fuckin ---

By this time he’s pulling on the guy’s tie. A real Nigga moment is about to happen. Sonny is all shaky and apologetic.

Sonny: Comeon, Tommy don’t be like that—

Tommy: What do you mean don’t be like that? (Pulls down Sonny, keeping him level).

Now, he reaches out in a swift movement for the bottle of liquor and swerves it straight at the waiter’s head! The whole table laughs as Tommy, who’s like 5ft tall, kicks the waiter’s butt as he scampers away.

That’s gangster.

Tommy: Can you believe this prick? (Bustling with self importance), that’s funny huh?

There’s a guy putting on a Hawaiian shirt, standing there and obviously shocked at what he’s just seen.

Tommy (to Hawaiian Shirt): What the fuck are you lookin’ at? (Hurls a tray at the dude!) You fuckin moron.

The gang stars are literally in multiple fits of laughter.

Tommy (continues): can you believe this prick?

Henry: You’re a funny guy!

Tommy pulls out a gun and points it at Henry.

Tommy: That’s it Henry! That’s it Henry! You’re a dead man!’

***

Don't call me funny, just enjoy my shit and hit that share button like you're the shit.

Shout outs to my Good Fellas, Jeff, Joel, Alex and the whole crew over at Club El Tanjia. You make it possible for me to skip work and go clubbing at 12 in the fuckin afternoon and I think that's some badass shizzy. Shout outs to Koku, SlumBorn Entertainment y'know wassup! 

Like Kukuss Blog on Facebook yo!