my christmas

Yeah, that time of year when you get to over indulge in food, spend quality time with family and buying expensive gifts that you rather have not. when we get to pretend that we care about each other yet we spent the better part of the year disjointed. Anyway, Christmas is not the same as it used to be; maybe I have outgrown the joy and happiness that came with the season. Oh, it used to be so much fun, not anymore.

So I am just sited in my favorite chair, thinking of Santa and his deer, of how they may be stuck in Antarctica due to the rising fuel prices or trapped in Las Vegas where he gambled away all the gifts for all the little children. Maybe he is wandering the streets of Nairobi as a homeless hobo after being swindled of all his possessions-except that ridiculous hat by our very own sisters. I mean, seriously that thing looks hideous. With the numerous no flying zones all over the globe today, i doubt he ever took off.

So Santa is a big fat loser and a pathetic attention-seeking twit because, he just comes around only once a year. What is the point of making a kid happy only once in 366 days when you can do it every day? Nobody really cares or even thinks about you on June or any other day of the year except December. We just love you because of the promise of ‘free gifts’ and reduced rates on booze. Yeah, I hate to break it to you, nobody really loves you Santa, sorry.

Speaking of gifts, maybe this year Santa should trade them for clothes, food and drugs for the poor people in refugee camps and shelters who really need them. No more cookies and milk next to the chimney for you old man, you should keep your weight in check this year. Children may start thinking being obese is cool. Please don’t behave like a big bearded baby that you are, throwing tantrums over free food.

This year, I’m ‘trying’ to be good and so is Santa I hope. Oh yeah, that’s right I am turning over the proverbial new leaf. I never got any presents last Christmas, so presumably I have been a bad boy which I highly doubt. Santa can back me up on this one if only he knew the exact location to my house because he has NEVER EVER dropped in since FOREVER. So who is the bad boy now?

love drug

When they say heart break only makes you stronger, that is just hokum as I found out the hard way. The reality is that it makes you come to terms with the loser that you already are and not a better person. When someone you always thought will always be there for you walks out on you, how can you move on? They were your hope, your worldly purpose and everything else that kept you sane. Please tell me, where are you supposed to move on to exactly?

This gets one thinking Love is just another marketing gimmick like Christmas intended to capitalize on frail hearts. When you realize how crazy you get, spinning out of control, falling heads over feet all the while craving more and more of it, like a hopeless junky with his weed, hooked for life. Withdrawal from it shatters your senses reminiscing on when you were love drunk as you wallow in a nerve wrecking hangover that lasts forever.

I guess I am done with this love business, because it is not meant for me and neither is it written in stone. Everybody expects you to love and be loved but what if you are not that kind of person, is it a prerequisite? I do not think so; love is not a daily dose for curing loneliness but a fatal remedy for concocting psychological disaster. I guess it is about time I officially went on emotional lockdown like George Clooney and stop chasing around what is not meant for me.

POLITICALLY INCORRECT

It comes naturally of course when we loath and shy away from politicians. They all seem to be doing some dirty business behind the scenes away from our prying eyes and later emerge with million dollar smiles or sometimes bloody hands. If not stealing maize, it is votes they are stealing and they always manage to get away with it. That is what we call genius people not barbarism.

For the past few days it has been extremely hard or shall I say inevitable to escape the clutches of these esteemed citizens. They seem to jump out of any crook and cranny as you walk in the street to shower you with promises which we both know will never ever come to pass. Anyway, like any civilized member of society, I humbly gulp down the crap they feed my tiny head and it goes right through me. I had to endure one in the library floor as he ‘convinced’ me how he would make the campus party run for a whole week. Poor guy forgot that the library was badly in need of books and sitting space which I was hot on my heels after.

Some care so much for their student supporters that they are much obliged to buy them a pot of ‘busaa’ to keep them awake as they preach their agenda. A few hours later, the whole entourage is dead drunk, sprawled on the floor. When they come around they probably will not remember who bought the beer or how they got their in the first place. The newly recruited supporters will be found in a certain eatery the next day confidently chanting slogans to another political aspirant or receiving money from yet another philanthropic politician.

A small encounter nearly changed my perception of the politicians and their antics. This very well dressed gentleman winged by a bunch of burly guys had the audacity to stop our scholarly ‘gang’ as we trudged to class oblivious of the fact that we were running late. I offered a hand shake but got an embrace and a ‘hello comrade’ instead. Oh yeah, you do not get that every day from a complete stranger now, do you? It was more of a bear hug really and I give him an E for effort for trying to look human. Let me just say my honest compliments always land me in trouble but it is not my problem, I am just a victim really.

Why politicians look so different a species from their fellow Sapiens is a question that has puzzled philosophers and scientists alike. The hate and obscenities that dog them are as old as Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great. Funny thing is, they are the people who command loyal armies to kill for them and comprise the crème de la crème of society and I wonder who is pulling the other’s leg, the voter or the politician or both? . It got me thinking, hey, it is a democratic thing and every man is as vile as the next but these brave men and women have to draw out the best out of them to rally that kind of support for their despicable behaviors. It takes guts and I must give credit to whom that deserves it.

riots, riots, more riots

I do not find it peculiar that our dignified lecturers are rioting all over town, actually it is the hip thing now and everybody is doing it. Egypt started it, Libya did it, and Syria is still doing it. The Occupy Wall Street thing in US has no real agenda but in Kenya, we give new meaning to ‘protest’ in our own cool way. If you do not know how to strike, dude you are so ol’ skul and you should…seriously, MUST get lessons from You Tube ASAP. Yo, this how we get down and dirty around here bro!!

It is humbling when your tutor comes to you seeking handy strategies on how to organize and execute a ‘safe’ running battle with the police. Tactics of laying boulders on the highway and hurling rocks with accuracy were formally instructed to our eager lecturers. Who will turn down the assurance of better grades in the dreaded State and Development class? They must have planned this for a long time, fine-tuning the onslaught to the very tiny details with the precision of ‘operation Linda Nchi’.

In their plans, it seems they overlooked one crucial aspect of their physique. Advice: you cannot exercise your right to riot if you never exercise. We will have to rely on the reformed police/thugs to knock some sense into their heads that they are not as nimble as they used to be. Who are they kidding, with their beer bellies and vitenges, these people are no match for our new and improved law enforcement force. The idea of Mr. Musisi and the flamboyant Mrs. Anyonje running from a mob of bloodthirsty GSU officers brandishing rungus is unfathomable. To think that Ole Kamau will be able to subdue the anti-riot police with his threats that make me dread every Monday morning is just horseplay. 

As the lecturers meant to mentor us are busy picketing and mouthing profanities in the streets of Kakamega, occupants of room 118 are wondering why the work study students were left out. Obviously, they are the ones who get the peanuts of the peanuts paid to regular staff but heck if anyone cares.

For my part, I just wish we riot against more important things like, the high price of chicken since we are in Kakamega. Maybe we also riot against this girl who thinks dumping me makes the world a better place. Lady, look around, it is not like you turned down the heat on global warming and Kim Jong Il is not retiring any time soon. Last time I checked, the shilling is still behaving badly so come back and maybe we can do something about it.

finding me...

I have been roaming around the net and I made a life changing discovery; everyone I know has a lil something about themselves. So I thought maybe I should too, because for one, I really need a couple more ‘real’ followers in my blog. Actually I have only one-an affiliate of the Russian Mafia- and very soon he might start asking for protection money!!

Anyway, I thought it was pretty easy writing about me only to find out I don’t know NOTHING/NADA/ZIT! about myself. I have been with me for around two decades yet I don’t have even a tiny clue who I really am, which is a little bit weird…okay, dreadfully weird.

I guess it is time I put my shit together and blaze my own trail in saving the planet or ruling it, whichever comes first although I prefer the later because I recently perfected my super evil laugh. It is like nothing you have ever heard before, a cocktail of the most formidable, blood cuddling villain cackles that ever existed. It will make Ming the merciless speechless and it will surely wipe out The Joker’s smug grin.

Oh yeah, I am going to revolutionize the wicked laugh industry for ever my dear friend. It is so gruesome, I cringe in fear after delivering it and it has taken some time getting used to it. I am pretty sure even superman’s chivalrous heart’s antics will be cut short at the slightest snort of my laugh.

So I guess the only thing left is to laugh my way to full control of the world, feeding on the fear in my nemesis’ souls. I mean, how hard could that be? I will surpass all the medieval men who tried to take over the earth and failed, rewriting the books of history, filling their pages with my awesomeness.

 My heroic deeds (or wicked, depends on the parties involved) will be the stuff of legend and murals will be erected at every street corner in my name as the grandest monarch that ever walked this earth. PwahahaHahahahaha cough! cough!

growing pains

Baby brawl

I had the task of baby sitting my one year old sister- this little bundle of joy that never smiles- and really learnt a great deal of stuff I always took for granted. For instance, not all kids are easy to please, my ‘goochi goos’ work like magic on others but only meet half eyed cold stares from this little monster. This is before she breaks into this teary squeal like she is about to get butchered. In fact, she prefers punching, kicking and tearing off my hair as a favorite pastime that I helplessly comply with lest she falls back into her nerve wrecking tantrums.

LESSON 1: Changing a diaper

      To be honest, mom made this feat look easy and I did not even dwell on the specifics until my moment of reckoning came. Putting it on was the easy part because all the three steps were on the ‘Pampers’ package, though at first I fitted them inside out. I’m done securing it when I feel some warm lump on her bum and I’m like, “oh no you didn’t!” and she is like, “Nye Nye Nye” which is baby for, ‘oh yes I did!’ pampers should seriously consider adding a step 5 and 6 for removing the darn thing because I ended up covered in baby profanities all over my face and t-shirt. I have officially filed a complaint and I’m suing them in court.

LESSON 2: Baby lingo

      We all know babies do not speak nothing, they just do it, taking the adage actions are better than words quite literarily so to speak. When Nduks wants to piss, she just sets her self loose and bawls like I’m the one who did it. In case she was roaming around the house and there is some eerie quiet, that girl is up to something terrible. I’ve come to master the calm before the storm because there is nothing as creepy as warm piss trickling down your back, into your shorts to your legs.

LESSON 3: Feeding kids

      Oh yeah, seems easy but they do not like food but prefer eating dirt, garbage and especially anything on the ground that can fit in their oral cavities. Sadly, they do not discern that they are hungry and thus come the task of forcefully shoveling it down their throats. I find it a little bit extreme but we do not want Nduks starving to death now do we? The whole ordeal leaves a huge mess that needs washing her and thoroughly cleaning the battle field and not forgetting me.

LESSON 4: Love drug

      It takes more than guts of steel to stand the stress of raising a child but just a dose of love and patience completes the equation. It beats me how my mom managed to raise all three rowdy boys and one silent daughter without strangling any of us to death and I now have much more respect and love for her. To all mothers, like Beyonce says, you run this world and we just live in it.

The whole experience ultimately made me know that I will never ever get hitched, not now, not tomorrow and not in a million years. I do not want my wife to labor with kids just because I asked her to be my sleeping partner till we die but heck if she wants; I’m prepared to give her a perpetual pregnant matrimony.

of boys and girls

WOES OF BEING A GENTLEMAN

I was just walking along when I spotted this damsel in distress and being the lam that I am, yours truly was obliged- albeit half heartedly, to come to the rescue and save the day. Well, it was a pretty sorry sight as the lady tried to salvage her books from the ground, struggling to stay upright on her wobbly high heels all the while making a futile effort to conceal her precious cargo from the passing public.

I have to admit as a matter of fact that she was undeniably a beauty. Anyway, the miniskirt, which was more of a scarf I should say, provoked the attention of any normal man’s prying eyes to attempt getting a glimpse of the hidden treasures underneath. Her bosom’s occupants were really feeling the pinch of real estate scarcity as the top was clearly fashioned as a cost cutting measure. It seemed her tenants would pop out at the slightest intrusion, what with her distressing efforts to bend over in very precarious positions at the same time juggling with the weave that was constantly blocking her view.

To add salt to injury, the morning draft was scattering her papers all over the place. Out of sheer pity and a little chivalrous heart, I went out of my way to chase the damn papers across the football pitch, over a fence and into some thickets. Our damsel just stood there looking pretty, impatiently twitching her heel while making a very important call about making a seat reservation in class but I did not mind at that moment, until now. When her little serf was done, the young miss just stuffed the papers in her huge purse and left.

Oh yes, not even a pat on the back, let alone a teeny weenie smile or a much deserved ‘thank you’ but evidently where women come from, you do not get thanked for doing your job. Even dogs get treats when they play fetch but I settle for a cold dissertation and a hurt conscience for the troubles I go through when trying to be nice for a change but it gets mistaken for a petty cry for affection. Whenever a guy tries to help a pretty lady out, it is as if there is this huge banner on his torso shouting “HOOT! HOOT! Watch out, Hopeless romantic coming through!”