Wednesday, November 28, 2012


The gloves came off a while ago. It became a two horse race and then donkeys joined and then donkeys became the good guys and vice versa. The very foundation of this presidential race continues to befuddle many Kenyans daily. It's never politics as usual in this great, sovereign nation of ours. Presidential campaigns involve a whole lot of ass kissing. You head to a new place and promise the people a whole lot of things you know you will never ever deliver while they scream their hopeful little lungs out. Then you kiss babies and dance to weird traditional music and sitting on low stools to be installed as an elder or watchman or deity.

A Bouquet Of Miraa For Your Consideration
But the trend is changing and this wind of change is being brought on by the opinion polls. They keep showing a pretty tight race so all 1,965 candidates have shifted their game to accommodate smaller groups and more specific niches. This was all kicked off by the rather disturbing image of the Right Honorable Prime Minister reaching into his jacket to retrieve a wad of miraa and proceed to chew it court the Meru vote. After all when in Rome.....

So to keep up we might see new things on the news for the next couple of months. I can imagine some random politician dressing up in a watchman's attire and walking around with a huge torch and black mamba for a photo opportunity. This would obviously mean he/she understands the plight of the lowly security agents    and would thus make pledges about heated cubicles for those cold nights, coffee makers for that adrenaline rush and obviously zero rating of mosquito repellents, torch batteries and bicycles.

Thursday, November 22, 2012


The sniffing had us scared for a while. The swarming was uncomfortable and the smell was getting much worse. I picked out the biggest guy I could find in the cell and made a beeline for him. This was going to be my guardian angel. Well a guardian angel who had been mugged by a bunch of drunk sailors and nibbled at by a hungry cat.

Pulling up my pants (boy was I missing my belt) I stood next to the guy. Lets call him Killer. Why? Check your dictionary. His mugshot is under the word killer. Killer was just staring at the wall. Barely moving. If he wasn't on his feet I would have assumed he was asleep. I inched closer and his eyes strayed from the wall and landed on my shoes then then travelled up the length of my body to my face.

"Una fegi?"

He asked it like it was the most logical thing to ask. The question caught me so offguard that I actually reached into my pockets to check. Nothing. Then I remembered. I don't smoke. I tried to figure out what to start with in terms of conversation. Hmmm. What would Killer's mind be stimulated by. What would he find palatable in terms of jail small talk.

"Ulifungiwa nini?"  My less than perfect translation of every prisoner's pick up line: "What are you in for?" I swear this was the translation of his reply. "I was robbing this woman and she wouldn't give me her bag. So I beat her up. And the cops found me beating her up." The tone of his voice made him out to be the victim. Like somehow the woman didn't understand the etiquette that goes along with the mugging. Like she was just a complete lunatic for not going through with the process. Like she owed him. I took a step back. Killer was crazy.

A few minutes later the cop in charge started calling people up. One by one, they would walk to him, whisper furiously outside the cell and then they would disappear and not return. The hawker was first. Then a steady stream disappeared. He called my name and, completely petrified, I walked to him. He said something incredibly complicated in Kikuyu and I stared back at him. He repeated it and the same blank look stayed on my face. Despite everything my first impulse was to laugh. Why would this man naturally assume I understood him. Exasperated, he threw me back in the cell and finished with everyone who spoke the lingua franca.

Thursday, November 15, 2012


Since the terrorist activity started in the country we have become accustomed to the constant checks by the security apparatus. It's become a way of life. A manner in which we all give up a bit of our privacy so we can get felt up for the greater good. Kenyans are actually happy to go through this inconvenience if it means making their country a bit safer.

That said though the security guards over the last couple of months have painted a rather interesting image of what terrorism is like.If you have no idea what I am talking about then  I will ask you to recall your last pat down or car check as you were entering a public building. Remembered? Ok. If you have watched any of those detective or crime shows you will know that they come up with a psychological and physical profile of the unsub (suspect to you lesser mortals). From the actions of the Kenyan security guard we are able to draw a fairly conclusive image of what the Kenyan terrorist looks and acts like. Join me as we descend into this murky world.

1) The Kenyan terrorist only drives crappy cars. He is never seen in flashy cars because that will obviously draw way too much attention to himself. That's why when the Range Rover drives up to the security guards they salute and wave him through while the guy in the old Peugeot has his jalopy checked from hood to exhaust. You can never be too careful with these people.

Monday, November 12, 2012


There we were. A bunch of misfits all squeezed up into the back of the pick up. There was an eerie silence. Like the first day at school and everyone was trying to find their place on the pecking order. Everyone seemed terrified. Well except the hawker who just looked like this was his original weekend plan. He sat in the corner and quietly counted his money. Then after a few minutes he took a wad of cash and stuffed it down his pants. Yeah that was the look on my face too. I thought he was bulking up his junk to look more impressive in jail. Misplaced priorities. But I was wrong.

I was by far the youngest law breaker...well if you don't count the crying toddler. But I am pretty sure he hadn't been nabbed on his own. That said I wouldn't put it past the City Council to arrest a 2 year old for jay crawling.The silence persisted while we drove around town picking up more people. They had the same confused look every time they would get forced into the back of the truck. Why am I here? I have a date/child/wedding/class to attend to. 

My friends kept calling to figure out where we were. We were everywhere. The City Council were basically being Noah and this filthy little truck was their ark. They were determined to get at least one of everything. When we left town the conversation suddenly picked up. It's like somehow some volume knob had been replaced and everyone found their voice. Topic of conversation? How innocent we all were. The charges ranged from the ludicrous to the laughable. They all involved potted plants, alleged littering or breathing on the wrong side of the road. Or as kanjo would refer to it: CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY. In fact the only person who looked completely guilty was the hawker.

Friday, November 02, 2012


I would like to start this story with an important caveat. This actually happened. It did. How do I know? I was there. As you will see from the story.

Two of my biggest fears: Motorcycle & Kanjo.
My friends will have you know that I have a very very unhealthy fear of four groups of people. One is midgets but that's only because they play sinister characters in movies and can punch me in the groin in a fight. The second group is Kenya Power technicians. Why you may ask? Well when I was young I had a great understanding of electrical engineering.  So when Kenya Power would disconnect the power I would promptly reconnect it. And from then I would freak out about hearing that motor cycle because the evil men would be coming to sentence me to a life of darkness. To this day the sound of motorcycles sends me to the bathroom where I curl up into the foetal position and sob like a little girl. Just in case anyone from Kenya Power is reading this, I stopped doing my electrical moonlighting when I was about 13 after a particularly nasty shock. It's not exactly painful. It hurts you in ways words can't quite describe. At any rate you couldn't make me touch a postpaid electric meter with Eugene Wamalwa's nose.

Third and fourth are held by the cops and kanjo. And that is the point of this whole story. It all started one bright Tuesday morning. *Fade into flashback* My friends and I were going to Coast and we'd decided to take the train. (Second class is pretty awesome when you have friends to travel with.) So the meeting point was the Hilton jobless corner. With about an hour and a half to the train departing, we were waiting for the rest to arrive. Some of you will know that some of the concrete seats there are broken. The one I was on had the bottom part broken so I was seated on the top bit. My first mistake.

Minutes later some woman walks towards our group. My first assumption? She was lost. Then she walks past my group of friends straight towards me. My assumption now? She is incredibly lost and I am the only person who can save her. So she walks up to me and takes my hand & asks "Hivyo ndio wewe hukaa kwa nyumba yenyu?" Taken aback I shot back in the only way I know. Sarcasm. "Ndio!" But she got the last quip. "Basi hii si nyumba yenyu!" Then she started dragging me. For a second I thought of struggling but there was a huge guy behind her. One of those burly dudes with a hairy chest and top three buttons undone with a gold chain hanging there.The idea of struggling evaporated.

Monday, October 22, 2012


There is romance in the air. A story that would put any penned by ol' Will Shakespeare to shame. Romeo and Juliet? It would make that read like those rambling compositions we wrote as kids where the sole purpose was to throw in a mention of tom tom drums. It's a story spun and told by Kenyans and the only thing I can compare it to is that opium of the prepubescent girl, Twilight. Don't ask me how I know what prepubescent girls read because that's irrelevant to the topic. That story is the tale of one William Ruto. And the tale is called Kenyan Politics.

So for the lucky among us you may have no knowledge of either Kenyan politics or Twilight. You are blessed. Stop reading. For the rest of us I will try to draw similarities. First Twilight is about a disturbed girl (Heavens I hate Kristen Stewart) who can't decide between an old crusty guy who happens to be a sequined vampire and a younger one who just happens to be a werewolf. So yeah, just normal teenage filled angst. Same thing happened to me when I was 13. I was the werewolf.

Then there is the second scenario. A politician being pursued by two suitors. And we are loving it. We are eating it up like ugali saucer from Mama Benta's. The media has us glued to out screens every single time they follow one Bill Ruto from random hotels and in people's homes trying to figure out what his next political move is. This dude could just be having an affair with multiple women and we would be none the wiser because all we want to know is whether he was meeting Raila or Uhuru.

Hope the similarities are coming out clearly. The only problem is I can't figure out who Edward or Jacob are in this case because people go crazy over that whole Team Edward and Team Jacob stuff. Which is the same thing we do with our political leaders. Even our Jacob and Edward have had beef from back in the day. Way way back. Their daddies had issues and they just carried it forward. Ultimately Bella (Who I hate more since she showed up on my blog) makes a choice and kinda has to live with people on both ends trying to make a meal of her.

That's where the similarities end. No one here is an innocent victim waiting for salvation. That said the Kenyan political scene is way more savage than a pack of werewolves or vampires could ever imagine. And thus the die is cast. It looks like the next president is going to be chosen by Bella Swan while she tries to figure out who will tend to her needs better. 


Kudos to women empowerment programs! They are reaping big time. Today, more and more women are getting empowered through jobs and self employment too. Those who thought it was an impossible task can now take a back seat and let certified drivers take the agenda home.

On many occasions when I board a matatu to and from work, I found myself an endangered species. I am with at most two other men. The rest are ladies. If my boy was to call me and he starts jokes especially on women stuff, I would not continue the conversation for sure, lest I do not value my life. I certainly do.

I had some conversation with a lady friend of mine who said when she asked her pals, they, men, told her that men are now becoming more self employed. I told her without blinking, that bullshit. It’s a whimsical explanation and holds no water. Men today are becoming hollower by the day including doing traditional functions for themselves or the family.

I walked into an organization for an appointment. I noticed there were more ladies than men. In fact, over the hour I was there, I met no man. After our official conversation, they told me there are two positions up for grabs. They had been vacant for a while. Now it’s about four months down the line. The positions are yet to be filled. All the men who have attended interviews there have not made the cut. They are insisting on having men take them because the gender disparities are just too much.

I take it that something is certainly not right. These two illustrations may not be good. I have many in my head but these two stood out. Many at times the women are referred to as the fairer gender, they probably get more ‘favors’ from time to time. Some may actually sleep their way to jobs or tenders or opportunities in general. It is their choice. Today, it more about putting food on the table than moral imperatives... But there are those who would put morals first and actually have a rough time going up the social and professional ladder.

Many at times today in life it is about being smart than just working hard. Some decide to seek higher education to give them leverage. Others decide to change careers and get something they have a passion for. Others decide to employ themselves. It is about what makes you happy and this is good.

Somewhere along the years the boy could have been neglected. Perhaps he became too big to be handled and was left alone. Somewhere, the girl was given more attention than the boy. And the boy could have decided to rebel. Somewhere, something did not or was not done right.

Positive discrimination does help in giving a certain marginalized component an upper hand to bring it to par. It is what seems to be giving ladies better choices and decisions in life. There should be some checks and balances though to ensure t he one who had an upper hand also does not go to the drain. But choice is what matter most. Where do you place your bet on!!

The onus is on you to decide whether the shift should lead to the opposite imbalance or should be at par when the goals are met. You decide!!

Guest post by Ole- Shitemi. Follow him on twitter at @shitemikhamadi and read his blog at

Monday, October 15, 2012


To Make Things |Interesting!!
It's been confirmed. The presidential debates are a go. After years of watching the American version of this verbal jousting, Kenyans have finally decided that they can partake of this hallowed tradition. But while we strive to ascend the very highest peaks of Mt. Democracy, we still plan on keeping it Kenyan. I am honestly excited about the prospect of being able to ask the candidates questions about what they intend to do for this great country. All 3,635 of the ones who are in the running to become America's next...oh sorry. I meant running to be president.

First of all I am hoping no one drops out of the race between now and then. The circus is made funnier when there are more clowns running around. All this talk of alliances has me a bit disheartened because it means the field will be whittled down to just a few polished guys. Think about it. A stage with Kingwa Kamencu crying her eyes out at every question, Wakoli Bifwoli muttering under his breath & Kalonzo shuttling between everyone to see if he can lead some alliance. It would be comedy gold.

The format has already been agreed upon and I am pretty sure they are planning on making it incredibly mainstream. But I have a few ideas about how they could make it way more interesting. Top on that list involves getting rid of the elections and using that stage to pick the country's fourth president. It would save us money & the entertainment value would be amazing in comparison to stuffing a piece of paper into a box.

We could have a friendly game of Russian Roulette where the person who ends up with the bullet gets to run the country for five years. Either that or thumb wars. The strength of one's thumb should be able to decide your electability. It makes more sense than running around the country making promises you can't keep. We could take it a step further and just turn it into a mud wrestling competition. Despite the fact that they are used to the mud, I doubt many Kenyans will want to watch that. The idea of RAO covered in mud...ewww.

Saturday, September 22, 2012


Bond. James Bond.

Probably the world's most iconic and most popular introduction. Ian Fleming unleashed a cult classic to the world which has spawned countless hit movies. 50 years. That's how long the super sleuth from MI6 has taken us on a trip around the world cracking codes, foiling terrorist plots, rescuing a bevy of stunning beauties and all this done while being the absolute definition of dapper.

And he is back. 5 years after the release of Quantum of Solace, Heineken brings you the new installment of the franchise. Skyfall 007. The upshot of it is after a botched mission, Bond (Daniel Craig)  is MIA and presumed dead. MI6 head ,M, is also placed under scrutiny after identities of active spies are leaked onto the internet. Bond's reappearance makes for a fast paced movie as he seeks out Raoul Silva who has both him and M in his cross hairs. The trailer promises a fast paced and revealing look at the man beneath the spy as well as his mysterious, and thus aptly named, boss M.

With distribution in over 170 countries, Heineken is easily the world's favourite international beer lager and with a partnership with the Bond franchise that spans 15 years, they are at it again. Here is where premium meets a global presence; qualities shared by both brands. On the 31st of October, the beer giant will sponsor the simultaneous premiere of Skyfall 007 in the East African market i.e Kenya, Tanzania and Uganda. In Nairobi, this will be at the IMAX theatre.

And Heineken, known for their fun and exciting events, promises that this will be a premiere like no other in a manner that only they can pull off. The build up to this Skyfall 007 promises to match the excitement, glitz and glamour of a premiere in London, Paris or LA. Heineken's core consumers, who have grown up on this franchise, know James Bond and want to him. Thus they are given the chance to be walk in 007's shoes by unleashing the super spy within us all. The premiere in East Africa not only promises to be the premier of the year but the event of the year.

On the list of events are action stunts from the movie and a spy experience from Heineken dubbed Crack the Case. This is an online experience that begins with a clip of an average guy who is mistaken for James Bond and is thus recruited by the new Bond girl, Severine, to crack the case. He does all this while being chased down by the bad guys. Seeing as he drinks Heineken he's not quite so average which he shows with his fantastic feats. Still stuck on how he makes a replica of the Kremlin using a deck of cards. And here is where you come in to help crack the case. It puts you right in the movie with your pictures thrust into the action.
Don your spy hat and crack the case here via the Facebook page.

Give this great experience a try and join the world in the countdown that leads to what Heineken promises to be East Africa's greatest movie moment yet.

The return of Bond. James Bond.

Tuesday, September 04, 2012


Before you whip out the pitch forks and other farming impliments associated with angry crowds just hear me out. This is obviously a very unpopular stance to take on this quite heated topic but unlike most Kenyans who view this with tunnel vision, I will offer you a different approach. If at the end of this you don't agree with me then you can stick that pitch fork anywhere you want. Wipe that grin off your face. I didn't mean there.

The pay hike is deserved firstly because it reinforces the 'Robbinghood' mentality that our 210 honourable members swore an oath to perpetrate. This requires them to steal from the poor to feed the greedy. They stood in front of a national audience and read from an oath that we hardly pay attention to. If you remember keenly there were bits where they were whispering. And lastly was the whole 'So help me God'. It's not help us or help them or help that weird guy at the corner who I have to have my bodyguards push away. It's simple. So help ME. If they broke that promise then they would face the wrath of the Big Guy upstairs and no one wants to be struck down by lightning. It's not a good look.

In fact if Robinhood had been in Kenya today, he'd be deemed an enemy to the state. A terrorist. He'd be found dead in his house with a gun planted in his kitten's paw. Either that or he'd be strung upside down and tortured with replays from the president's speeches. The 210 swore to plunder the resources of this nation and little things like complaining Kenyans shouldn't be a problem.We currently hear from the media (which is biased & should be ashamed) that they are amongst the highest paid. And if the Olympics taught us anything, it's that Kenyans just want the gold.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012


I don’t know about you but I love the bad guy in movies. We share a whole lot. He is misunderstood and clearly has delusions of grandeur. But other than that we have just one purpose in life. Taking over the planet. *Insert nefarious laugh here* I mean how simple is that. Taking over the planet. It’s so clear and focused. People go their whole lives trying to figure out their purpose in life. Their path. Their destination on this whole life ride. But the bad guy figures it out pretty early. And their reasons vary but always point to some hidden pain in their past. Maybe the overbearing big brother who makes you feel like a tool (Scar in Lion King), the misunderstood faceless wizard who just wants to breathe (Voldemort), the asthmatic dude who just wants to let his hair down (Darth Vader) or just being Russian. (Like most bad guys in Bond films)

So while the good guy is trying to figure out his humanity or how to raise his kid to become king or how to fight the Matrix, the bad guy is already on his path. He has already figured out which pet to get for that moment when he will turn around in his swivel chair and announce “I’ve been expecting you!” I mean how cool is that? I tried that a couple of times but without a bunny and on the floor. It was nowhere near as awesome and I got a bum rash I couldn’t explain for a while. The bad guy is a bad ass. He gets awesome lines. Consider this from the 007 spy films:

                James Bond: Do you expect me to talk Goldfinger?

                Auric Goldfinger: No Mr. Bond….I expect you to die!

Thursday, August 02, 2012


The Olympics are rigged.

Proud of these chaps.
That simple. I am going to prove it. Pretty simple really. It's like day 5 of the competitions and USA and China are running away with the medals while some countries haven't even seen the medal table. They aspire to have their names written in the general vicinity of the table. In fact if there was a medal stool or couch they would settle for that. Here is how bad thing are. In the couple of days that London 2012 has been going on, China has bagged more medals than Nigeria has gotten in their whole Olympics history. *Jaw drops* Not that Nigeria sucks that much (we are way better than them na haturingi....) but WTF would account for such stats.

I think I have it all figured out. It's all well choreographed so that we think it's a level playing field but if you pay keen attention then it's all a farce. (Farce is such a cool word. It's like farts without the t. Hehe..oh farce) But back to the serious business. The conspiracy starts at the very beginning. The Opening Ceremony. (Cue the crazy woman screaming in the background.) Where do we start? For those of us who stayed up to watch ceremony (Past 3 see like 2 seconds worth of footage on Kenya...bastards!!) you totally know what I mean.

Friday, July 27, 2012


If you've joined in the national search for the ever elusive Phillip moi then you must be wondering what the deal is. After a whole lot of research our moles figured out the top ten reasons for why this dude simply can't be found and why Pluda will spend the rest of her life looking for him. In reverse order of likelihood, they are:

Blurry but the resemblance is uncanny.
10. He is Big Foot and thus comes out only once a year to feed and mate. This is also the time when random white guys go into the woods to try get blurry images of the dude. If that's the case we have 11 months more of waiting. Coincidentally the scientific name for Big Foot is Phillipus Disappearancicus. Coincidence? I think not.

9. Philip Moi is a spy and thus his true identity and whereabouts can't be revealed. His last mission was to infiltrate a super secret organisation known as M.A.R.R.I.A.G.E which stands for the Multiple Arrangament....(It's too complicated.Take my word for it.) He is thus in deep, DEEP, cover and won't be coming out soon.

8. He is chilling out at a Kenyan police station. That's the last place they would ever think of looking for him at. He just sits there all day seeking some form of service and they keep telling him to wait because they are out looking for Philip Moi.

Wednesday, July 04, 2012


“Can’t someone invent something for us men to marry other than women?”

Those were words from Fred Flintstone after a particularly frustrating episode with his wife.
They say women are from Venus and men from Mars. This is in apparent reference to the fact that we can never quite understand what is going on in the minds of our female companions. The advantage though of having female friends though is that they talk. A whole lot. The things women share are scary. Absolutely terrifying. But that’s a story for another blogpost. Suffice to say that while a guy will shorten a sexual experience to “I hit that!” the woman has broken it down to her friends in terms of size, shape, length, girth, direction of lean etc etc. The caveat though is that this is very general or I have very slutty female friends. Hehe.

So I decided to look at the opposite side of the penny. A woman’s perspective on the idea of the first date. And the stories I got were hilarious. So I figured maybe I would try to help out both sides of the divide by sharing the mistakes guys make during those first dates. The question I posed was simple enough. What do guys wrong during the first date? These are some of the responses. 

The overtly sexual guy.This the guy who shows up on the first date and already has a nickname for the chic’s boobs. Hey the twins are looking good today. He is the dude who will linger too long on rubbing the shoulders or slip his tongue in her ear when he’s kissing her good night. Sure there might be some good sexual tension but that doesn’t mean you should slip into the chic’s car at the end of the date and growl about how you must simply touch her. That’s rape territory buddy.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012


So the MP’s (affectionately known as MPigs…come on. Well love pigs right?) are at it again. They are looking out for the common man by changing up the constitution to fit their whims. And Kenyans are pissed. Because all we’ve ever known from our legislators is kindness and saintlike selflessness.
Yes we can achieve this!!!
These guys have been absolutely awesome…(dissolves into flashback)…Remember that one time they increased their salaries and they refused to pay their taxes? Yes. As MJ would say, that was for you and for me and the entire human race. 

I am actually tearing up right now thinking about how much sacrifice these guys make for us.If the MPs were Zack, we would never had let them leave. We would have tied them up here, smothered them with love, affection and a sizeable pillow. And a silencer to make sure they are asleep. I guess my story is falling apart… 

At any rate I figure we should just allow them to get away with whatever. After all it is their parliamentary seat. A personal possession which they get to take home and do random nasty things on it with their spouses..(dissolveinto..err never mind about that scene.) So because we are a helpless society that thrives on being kicked in the nuts, we are going to help our MPs with more constitutional amendments.

Thursday, June 07, 2012


Hot Monday afternoon and an interview panel sits across an expansive oak table. The CEO, the HR manager & the Head of Department leaf through files arranged on the paper. As one interviewee walks out, the secretary scans the list for the next individual. 

“Kent,” she calls out “Is there a Mr. Clark Kent here?” 

She repeats the name but no response. Then she walks back into the conference room to inform the interview panel that Clark Kent is unavailable only to find a rather strapping young fellow seated in front of the panel. He turns back to look at her and smiles warmly, instantly ridding her of the scowl she had on her face. 

                “Are you…?” she begins to ask to which he nods.

                “I am Clark Kent,” he says rather loudly. “But you can call me Superman.”

He turns to the panel and their mouths are agape. He is still in his Superman costume complete with the cape which, despite the lack of a draught in the room, seems to be fluttering in some invisible wind. He is seated up. Ramrod straight. His chest puffed out. His eyes fixed on the three members of the panel. The Head of Department still has her hand on her chest, breathing deeply. Then the question begins.

CEO:      Yes Mr. Kent….

CK:         Please sir….Superman…Mr. Kent is my father.

CEO:      (determined) MR.KENT…I see your resume information isn’t exactly what we would call…normal.

CK:         Well sir. That really depends on what you would define as normal.

CEO:      You listed “Everywhere” as your residential address. What does that mean?

CK:         Well when you can move at the speed of light you can pretty much live wherever you want. I woke up in Arkansas this morning and had breakfast in New York, rescued a lady in India two hours ago and was just busy beating up thugs in Moscow. That’s why I was 3 seconds late. I apologise.

HOD:     (breathing ever so slowly). You listed “super strength” under your strengths…

CK:         (walks up to HOD and lifts her off her feet) That’s what I mean. (he sets her down and she goes into more of a daze)

Tuesday, May 22, 2012


People keep trying to remind me I am Kenyan. It is the oddest thing. I will be sitting there, having my dinner, trying to come up with the answers to world peace (like every Tom, Dick and Harry) when some guy showed up on my tv screen. Then he prattles on and on about how what being Kenyan means to him. I hardly ever listen to him because...well because being Kenyan means I tend to ignore people when they tell me stuff I already know.

The first time that happened I was thrown into a complete panic. The dude got on my screen and finished the whole speech with "Mimi ni Mkenya. Wewe ni Mkenya. Sisi ni Wakenya!" Dude, I just freaked out. I remember diving into my wallet to find my ID card like an addict looking for a fix. A politician looking for a sound bite. A high school girl looking for Trey Songz' lyrics. See? Utter chaos. I fished it out and stared at it. Yes. Turns out the guy on tv wascompletely on the money. Turns out I am Kenyan.

So now I walk around town and see stickers with 'Mkenya Daima' emblazoned on them. I am assuming it's a campaign directed directly towards me. I tend to wake up every morning with this crazy idea that I am Polish or German...What? One of those really tan German or Polish people. Don't be racist. They exist. I go around town being polite and handing out flowers and ribbons to little children and feeding the poor then someone just jumps out of the bushes and proceeds to ask me weird questions.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012


"They have diagnosed me with cancer."

It started with that simple text. A text. Individual words on a screen that didn't draw much of a reaction from me. But as a a a reality it got me quiet. Scared. Shaken. Then I saw the missed calls. Six or seven with the red font staring back at me with a whole lot of judgement. Why didn't you pick up the phone? Where were you? What could have been that important? I sank back to my bed. I had fallen asleep early. Phone on silent. I just wanted some time from the world. But the world was having none of it. And then I scrolled down. Dialing mum......

"Hello?" she answered rather hesitantly.

"I am coming home."The only words that made sense then.

"Ok." She said and the line went quiet.

My hands ran through my hair. Truth is my experiences with cancer were limited. It mostly consisted of movies and tv show where some woman fights the disease while her family rallies behind her. Those heart warming stories of courage and perseverance. Unfortunately for me my only hands-on experience had been just a few months before. My friend's brother had succumbed and I had been there for his funeral. Barely in his twenties...and I had watched her struggle with his condition and his ultimate demise. Read that here.And then a new, alien feeling. Panic.

It's a weird feeling when you get to the age where your parents are no longer superhuman. When you can see their faults and flaws and you begrudgingly accept that they are human. Then you start seeing the frailty. The delicateness. The humanity. And that scared me. Terrified me.

Two weeks later we were driving from the hospital and there had been a huge thunderstorm. We were stuck in traffic and lightning just lit up the inky darkness. Night became day. And I watched my mum flinch with fear. And then i thought back to my childhood. I thought back to when I had been running scared about the lightning and thunder, she was the one who had comforted and consoled me. Told me everything would be ok. Had she been scared as well? And it dawns on you. She is superhuman!

Crazy runs in the family!
Family meeting and for some weird reason there is nothing but laughter. Mum has turned breast cancer into a little joke. She will take anything that bugs her and make some odd reference to it. For example the food will take too long in the kitchen and her voice rings out: "You guys are starving me and I have cancer?" You can tell she thinks it's inappropriate but the jokes are funny. And the discussion runs lengthy as we talk about everything from my late dad's weird names for all of us (My sister's was 'Pajero' by the way) to  my brother's possible names for his first kid.

The day after her mastectomy, her family and friends stands around her bed. She has that smile on her face again. Showing off how many more visitors she has than the other people in the ward. She says she doesn't want pity. Those who came with pity might as well take it back home. You'd think nothing gets to her but I assume under all that is some level of fear.

Later we find out that insurance won't cover the cost of everything. There's the drugs, surgery and then months of chemotherapy. Mum chimes in that it won't even cover the cost of the wigs when she starts losing her hair.

If you feel emotionally blackmailed then my work here is complete. I want your money. All of it. For real. I am not kidding. There's a whole lot to raise and not much time. So if you feel sufficiently philanthropic (ewwww) then you can reach me through 0728831340 or Take a moment and think about it.I am not trying to cure Cancer. This is as selfish as requests get. Thanks.

Tuesday, May 08, 2012


I am coming to terms with the fact that our lives are moving to cyberspace. Where we are unable to hold an intelligent conversation when face to face with someone but can prattle on and on about whether or not @Rosemisstaylor was touched by old men online. It gives us a chance to start all over again. To cast that huge forehead aside and pretend to be someone glamorous with very few problems to deal with.

Facebook was our chance to get it all figured out. Our time in the sand box where we could work on the modalities of it all. And now twitter is where it all comes to fruition. Where those hard earned hours coming up with an amazing status update can now be turned into a blow by blow account of those crazy lives we wish we had.

Those new to twitter will be glad to know that there is actually order in what seems to be a very very chaotic world. And lucky for you, I will take you through it. Here is what you need to be a successful Kenyan on twitter. You can thank me later.

Monday, April 30, 2012


Mental conversations for me run long and lengthy. Of course I have no idea how long the average person sits and talks to himself or even if they do but I assume my internal banter becomes a little long winded. They always seem to take a question and answer format as if in a great debate in front of some unseen audience. Each member straining to here every word. Each answer the deciding factor between life and death. The questions remain the same. The answers are ever changing.

This thing called life. Confusion becomes the order of the day. Every day becomes a different insight into just how little we know. I sat today and tried to look at life from the perspective of a complete stranger. Is my blue your blue or is it just a shade bluer? Are my tears more painful or do you cry harder? Does my heart and yours beat in tandem? Are we dancing to the same rhythm?

I saw people and imagined their stories. Simple things changed what I saw. Words and actions, even the minutest aspects of them, affected the image quite greatly. One moment I was seeing an old woman who was struggling to fend for her family, the next I was seeing an old trickster conning an individual. One moment I was looking at a pastor, the next I was looking at a man weighed down by his own beliefs. And so on. The examples were numerous. I wondered whether my seeing them had changed their path. Their destiny. Did it have any impact on them? Any on mine?

Wednesday, March 28, 2012


Fresh from reading an excerpt of Ted Kennedy's letter to the Pope prior to his death, I was struck by the frailty of the human spirit. Here was a man powerful enough to have the leader of the free world hand-deliver a letter to the leader of one of the biggest religious institution in the world.The full text can be found here.

This isn't a eulogy to the life and times of Ted Kennedy but rather the humility which his letter shows. A man with power. A family that was seen to carry the hopes and imagination of a generation that believed in dreams. Here was a family that was linked to Camelot, the legendary kingdom led by Arthur. And with his death is the question posed; is the happy ending dying? Are we as a human race losing faith in the ability to be dreamers and be happy?

Pessimism is slowly creeping into our collective consciousness cleverly disguised as realism. If you expect the worst then there's no way you'll ever be disappointed, right? This culture has gone through every facet of our lives and is best illustrated in the popular media. Remember the days when the end of the movie invariably constituted a happy albeit metaphorical walk into the sunset? If Cinderella was adapted to a feature length movie then it would probably end with her being sent to work in a sweat shop somewhere in a East Asia.

Thursday, March 15, 2012


We know they know.......
It's been a weird couple of weeks for the country when it comes to the international media. If you are wondering what I am talking about then you need to quit hitting the snooze button and wake the hell up. Firstly, the Daily Mail went berserk with creepy descriptions of Langata. It felt like a script straight out of Hollywood. The story was that Charlie Grieves-Cook basically sent death a personal invitation the minute he set foot on Langata Road. The descriptions, which were apparently sourced from British expats, made you wonder why any of us are still alive in this country where apparently death stalks us around every corner. Read that here...

A few days later, CNN hopped onto the crappy journalism bandwagon by implying that we were busy hacking each other to death since that's what us Kenyans are famous for. Well apart from that whole running side gig thing that we do to get lunch money. We all then got pissed off and patriotic and went into a crazy diatribe on social media demanding an apology for being described as animals. Then it took an ironic racist tone but that will be a topic for later.

So I wanna broker a peace deal and go all Koffi Annan and bring both sides to the table. The ignorant idiotic news conglomerate and Wanjiku. Think of it as therapy. Chicken soup for the troubled marriage.It's pretty simple really. All we need here is to open up the communication lines. So what I will do is provide a translator for both parties. So you will understand what is happening and nothing gets lost in translation. Since Wanjiku is the aggrieved party lets do this from her perspective. The first part is said by Wanjiku and the second is the translation by the international media.

Wednesday, March 07, 2012


The political world has been turned upside down with the news of the most recent opinion polls released just yesterday. In their most recent findings, opinion polls have listed 'Johny yule kange wa 44' as the man to beat in the upcoming general elections. Yes you heard right. The Kenyan political scene has completed shifted. The poll released by a cross-section of research and polling firms under the banner of 'Who Cares Who Rules This Country Anymore?- Initiative' released the results to a room full of people who we are assuming were journalists.(since they had pens and stuff)

This new entrant into the political scene has taken the country by storm and yet so little is known of him even as we went to press. In fact by the time of publishing this article, most journalists were still trying to find his facebook page which was proving hard due to the fact that no one can figure out his second name. In fact most political pundits are even doubting that his first name is Johny. But that said, he is leading the polls with 68% of the vote followed by Bikoli Wafoli with 3% and the rest shared evenly between the other guys who have been running around on telly.

Artist Rendition Of Johny
Johny (if that is even your real name) has been described as a nice kange who"always remembers to give me back my change." This was from some guy who was standing next to a 44 matatu. A woman standing next to the same matatu said he usually gives her rides for free and sometimes they are even in the matatu. His physical description has been said to be 'big but small when you see him from far' and 'funny if you are quite drunk'. He is rumoured to be about 23 or 57 years old depending on who you ask and is said to speak fluently in sheng only. (We have been asked to confirm that it's not Rapho-type sheng). Johny is also said to have a limp but only when he is not walking and a British accent when he is asleep.

Monday, March 05, 2012


When I was a kid (And no this isn't a story from last week), we could tell the time based on what time tv started. I just saw the younger generation pass out from confusion about the very notion that tv had an 'end' and a 'beginning'. Back in those days we actually used to play outside because video games and social media hadn't been invented. In a way, neither had tv. Then 4 o'clock would come around and KBC would start up and the entertainment would last till midnight. On weekends, the fun started at noon. The national anthem signaled both the beginning and end.

The best shows from our childhood were things like Derrick, The Littlest Hobo, Due South and Star Trek. Back then wrestling was a family affair. Tuesday night. When guys were Rowdy Rowdy Piper & Hacksaw Jim Dugan (sp?) ruled the ring. That was before we knew it was all choreographed so everything was just madly real. The undertaker would give us sleepless nights while some in my family would wonder why we were watching this saitan.

 Remember Nguata Francis posting the weather at the end of every news cast? The weather forecast was awesome. The little symbols would fall off and he would have to pick them up and stick them back to the Kenyan map.That really had me confused for so many reasons. First Kisumu always had the same weather. It was always 'vipindi vya jua' in the morning and 'ngurumo za radi' in the afternoon. Secondly, it was the picha ya satellite. To a young kid, it made absolutely no sense. It resembled one of those fuzzy sonogram images where you can't tell if you are looking at the kid's eye or big toe. To make things worse, I grew up in Riruta Satellite so I was pretty sure as a kid that every hood had it own picha hence:

Monday, February 20, 2012


In the months leading up to the elections, cracks are showing up again based on political ideologies. Wait a minute, I will rephrase that. In the lead up to the elections, cracks are showing up in the Kenyan social fabric based on political PERSONALITIES. The first sentence assumed that Kenyan politics is evolved enough to sustain ideologies. The closest you would have to look to understand this is the fact that each election cycle will always see the conception and birth of new political outfits and alliances. Go on. Think about it. Who are you supporting? And what are you basing it on?

Anyway back to the cracks. The amount of rhetoric hitting the airwaves has me so worried. The question continuously posed is whether or not things will be as bad as they were last time. And more and more people seem confident that we know better. I keep hearing how we know better and that we will never be divided as a country again. But still the vitriol is poured and the bile continues to affect us as a nation.

I think the lessons that we learnt in 2007/8 are being forgotten. I watched 'Kenya's Darkest Hour' the other day and I honestly couldn't believe that that was the same country I call home. I had forgotten all the stuff that had taken place. The screams, blood and tears. My baby niece should be a constant reminder of that though. She was born just before that period. The offspring of a Luo mother and a Kikuyu father. The drive to the hospital was fraught with anxiety as we tried to figure out who would be a victim of the gangs patrolling the streets. Thankfully we encountered no such gangs.

This morning someone said something really profound. He said as Kenyans we confuse activity for achievement. Think about it. I was blown away. From a personal standpoint I think this makes immense sense.How so? Scour social media today for all the pages and groups that purport to bring Kenyans together. They are there by the dozens. Well meaning individuals who bring people together to talk about how awesome it is to be Kenyan. That is the activity and there is a lot of it. We are so far from achievement.

Thursday, February 16, 2012


Articles, blogposts and prayers have been written about how social media has changed the very face of dating. That is as obvious as the fact that Njuguna Ndung'u is a deer caught in mathematical headlights. (Slight deviation here: WORST CENTRAL BANK GOVERNOR IN AFRICA? Really? Wow. That must really suck. How do you get worse ratings than Zimbabwe? Do they even have a Central bank or there's some random dude in a basement who gets up and guesses whichever exchange rate they are going to use? Egyptian CB governor was dodging bullets and still did better than you? Oh well.)

So now relationships begin on the web as opposed to in clubs after bacchanalian sprees.(look it up. Usiguess ati unafikiria unajua ni nini nimesema.) I miss the good old days when you'd hit on a girl simply because she lived next door to you hence you had no choice. She was the closest thing so you had to make do. Despite the overbite that would make it possible for her to eat stuff in the kitchen from the comfort of the living room. It was a far simpler time. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

But it's all new now. The worst bit? Everyone is a veritable celeb in some corner of the planet. You know what they say about everyone having someone? Social media has kinda made that true. Evidence? Remember that girl with the overbite? Check her pics on fb now. There are hundreds of guys drooling after her. Whispering creepy nothings and telling her how she's God's gift to the scorched savannah. It happens. Beauty is in the eye of the cross-eyed beholder.

Ok so you have talked for weeks and in that time he/she has charmed your socks off. And now you have no socks on and you are planning that first meeting. After late nights of chat and whispered conversations on the phone, it's finally that time to put your money where your mouth is. You are curious about whether she looks like her voice or whether she smells like her words (flowery words jameni) etc etc. Here's a simple guide about that first meeting.

1. Meet somewhere really dark and isolated. Why? So you can get your head hacked off and your guts harvested by some random collector. (I really have to stop watching some of these college-based horror movies). But for real. Make it a wide open space. Why? So you can get a whole lot of space to practice the martial arts move you saw on telly.

Tuesday, February 07, 2012


I haven't been single in a very very long time.Lets just put it this way, the last time I was single, Kenya had no IDP's or a Prime Minister and Mike Sonko hadn't entered into our collective conscience as a synonym to stupidity. Yes it was that long ago. But what happened? you may ask. Well it all started thirteen years ago. I was young. Fresh from a journey of enlightenment on the lofty slopes of the Himalayas in Kathmandu. After months of herding mountain goats and fights with sherpas, I was finally on the way to a better life. On those freezing slopes, I had met the love of my life.

And it all came to a screeching halt a couple of days ago. She busted me in bed with another girl. But it wasn't what it looked like. Here's the true story. The true Hollywood story. There had been a storm. A bone chilling storm. And this woman had stumbled into my tent seeking, nay, needing refuge.And so I had nursed her back to warmth. The rest, as they say, is history. Lets just say what happened next involves a very sensitive appendage undergoing frost bite and getting stuck to a metal pipe.

So now I'm trying to pick up the pieces. Trying to see if anything can be salvaged from this broken heart. It's a totally different dating landscape from what I remember. Back then girls weren't so tall. But then again that would be because they used to be kids so that came with the territory.

I haven't had any expectations. It's simple. I just thought things would kinda work themselves out then years later I would tell my kids this funny story about how I met their mother. Hmmm. Where have I seen that before? But alas! it hasn't been smooth sailing. Apparently women have no idea about what they want. I asked around and here is the idea of the ideal man. In brackets are the ratings.

1. Tall (which i am...if she's a midget), dark (extra melanin to go around) and handsome (ummm...errrrr...ask my mum) I actually got a rough average figure. basically you gotta be taller than her so she can check how clean you keep your nostrils. It is the standard by which hygiene is judged.

2. Must be sensitive which means he can listen to you (Understanding is optional), cry when touched (not touched by someone but rather when overcome by emotion) and to share their feelings (which can never be whiny or sad.) So you gotta be a talkative guy who listens.It doesn't cut the mustard when you nod, smile and say she is absolutely right despite the fact that she's told you that same story 53425 times before.

3. Must be in touch with his feminine side (which means he can cook but not be accustomed to singing along to Avril Lavigne or dancing with hands above his head). Research has found that women are 23 times more likely to run over a guy who dances with his hands over his head than not. This is actual research undertaken by real people and not at all by figments of my imagination fuelled by a long day.

4. Should be a manly man(meaning he should have all the positive attributes of masculinity without the grossness, farts, belching and scratching).This means he should be available for football, rugby and wrestling and is totally banned from knowing anyone who plays tennis.

5. Must be amazing in the sack. (Am I? How would I know? I've never slept with myself. Uliza watu wengine) But the caveat here is that he should be good but not TOO good otherwise he takes lessons and extra tuition which might not be good for the relationship.

So it's official I'm doomed to a life of singlehood because apparently women have no idea what they want. Actually they do. The only problem is that it's just not me. *sits in the corner and sucks my thumb* I got my eyes out for cupid. That fat little bastard is going down.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012


Whenever earth shattering news hits the airwaves, we always seem to remember where we were and what we were doing. We tend to sit down afterwards and go over those details. It happened with the assassination of JFK (I was still a glimmer in my parents eyes), September 11th (Random Tuesday in class eight), the 1998 bombings (ushago for a funeral) and the swearing in of Mike Sonko. (curled up on the bathroom floor crying.) So the events of 23rd January are bound to follow the same pattern. Where were you when the ICC judges announced their verdict? I was in the loo...doing errrr...loo-ey things.

The media has had their Christmas and New Year's parties all rolled up into one over the last week. It's been a pretty boring news cycle and even the sinking Italian cruise ship couldn't help.(I'm sure it was orchestrated by the Kenyan media to find something interesting to focus on.) So this was the moment we'd all been waiting for. That moment of anxiety that can only be rivaled by that moment when you take that first bite of ugali to figure kama imeiva.

So at 1.25 pm, the country was hurdled around radios and televisions. Joshua Arap Sang was hurdled around a newspaper. At the Hague, the judges were making their final decisions. It was tough in that little chamber. The wheels of justice were grinding along slowly. Ekaterina Trendafilova (I swear this chic is an escaped convict. There is no way that name is real. No parent can be that mean), tossed the final coin. Heads or tails? She looked at the coin, smiled and then wrote the final verdict. That short dark one is so screwed she mused.

Back in Kenya, yet another journalist fell off the roof of Ruto's house. He giggled. He was kinda getting tired of his meals being broadcast to the whole nation. Uhuru was going over his dad's speech from that Kapenguria six thing. Veve was being passed around Muthaura's house. He was pretty calm. The retired Major General kept polishing his gun. Sang was dozing off. He had lost track of how many times he'd seen himself on tv. And it was time for his afternoon nap. And finally Kosgei was trying to figure out how to import more cars. All six were accounted for.

Friday, January 20, 2012


Kenya has gone into another frenzy. Pangas are being sharpened and we are all sitting around our radios waiting for word. Our every waking moments...and even some sleepy ones are dedicated to these thoughts of the impending doom and gloom that are coming. Or at least that is what the media would have us think. It's been a full week of ICC previews. The headlines have been so imaginative to go along with this mood set up in the country. Sample some: GSU on Red Alert, Judgement Day, The Hour Of Reckoning and Escape From Transylvania.

Ok so maybe I made up the last one but the point has been made. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Citizen sent Alex Chamwada over to the Hague and the guy has been roaming around the streets trying to send us updates on something that isn't really happening. I can imagine him sitting on some random corner trying to figure out how to twist things so that it doesn't sound like the same drivel he told us the day before.

" the judges didn't make a ruling but tomorrow they might. Or they might not. And whether or not they do, we will be here ready to bring it to you LIVE!" he says with that self-satisfied smile on his face. In his head all he is thinking about is one more day away from Nairobi. I'd love to know how much Citizen is paying to keep him there. I'm sure he started out in a nice place and with everyday he is being downgraded and by now he must be living in hobo's SQ to save money.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012


Get it? Huh? Huh?
The new and improved judiciary came out with a landmark ruling last week. It made it illegal for guys over 10 to wear supras and the ruling also allowed the cops to shoot individuals who contravene it on site. But the story that made it to the front pages of all the local dailies was this whole thing about the election date.So apparently the court, which is made up of sane people, ruled that we might have elections in 2013. Actually they said a whole lot of stuff that sounded pretty important but the bit that we took away was that we might go to the polls in 2013.

The country reacted in the normal fashion. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth as reporters went around the country seeking the opinions of 'the frontrunners' in the presidential race. They all said something about respecting the rule of law. Sorry I wasn't quite listening. oh and then the other MP's chimed in about how we should respect the constitution because they might get three extra months' salary before we send them back to work on their phot farms. (Think about it. Only stoned people would behave like that). Then that night, Primetime news featured opinion questions like: "2013?" "Tutaweza kweli?" or my personal favourite "WTF?" They picked a sample of the responses and the general reactions were "Tutavukaa border" and "GFF, woiye, acheni mchezo!"

But the realisation is slowly starting to sink in. Like that hot piece of ugali stuck in your throat scorching your gullet as it goes down, things are fiery and thick. But don't be afraid. Actually be a bit afraid. If we have another year to go before the next elections then there are a few things we will have to put up with. And that's where it all goes downhill. If we had a bunch of sober people housed in parliament, then maybe the ruling wouldn't be so bad. But as it is, here is the breakdown of why March 213 polls would cause Kenyans to jump in front of moving trains.

Friday, January 13, 2012


Who does this apply to?
I wasn't near a television last night so I missed the news. This morning I woke up to the Kenyan twitterverse bursting with news about Beth Mugo's visit to the United States for cancer treatment. On the bus ride to work I threw in my little barbs on the topic. The irony that the two ministers mandated to cater to the health a whole country had both been struck by cancerous misfortunes. To this point you may sympathize with the individuals. But the moment where that sympathy evaporates like dew in the morning sun is the point where both ministers had to seek treatment beyond our borders.

I'm tempted to throw a fit of righteous anger but then the story changes when I get to the office. On the phone is my colleague and friend. It's just another day in what has been an emotionally and financially draining journey. Her brother was diagnosed with cancer a while ago. I would not claim to understand all the details but he had a form of bone cancer which kept him up at night in pain. My colleague, lets call her G, would show up at work completely worn out from nights spent up to massage her brother's legs so he could catch a few moments of sleep.

In his early 20's, her brother was spending more and more of his time within hospital corridors. Instead of chasing after skirts and enjoying the freedom that comes with university, he was stuck in consultation rooms and going through chemotherapy. His life was being stolen. Then a couple of months ago, some good news came through. He was declared cancer free.G practically waltzed into the office. She was beaming. And what followed were days with her basically floating on air and facebook updates thanking God for the good fortune.

Monday, January 09, 2012


It’s been an interesting political week. In so many ways we have been lucky because we have had so many distractions such that we have not been treated to the weekly drivel spewed by entities like PNU and ODM. In fact, I’m thinking one reason why the media so relentlessly followed the Nancy Baraza story was so that they wouldn’t have to find out which party William Ruto had migrated to that particular week. I was hoping the ‘gun incident’ would have been more dramatic. That way we would have missed the whole election and focused on whether or not the Deputy CJ should have worn a ski mask and also robbed the guard because she didn’t wanna be felt up.

 Ok so while we are on the topic, I figure the whole issue about having her resign is hogwash. We live in a free country. What kind of world are we in if a woman isn’t allowed to go gangsta on another woman for patting her? It would be chaos. Utter anarchy. I want my kids to grow up knowing it’s cool to put a toothpick in their mouth, turn a gun sideways, wear a durag, grab their crotch and rep their hood.(I’ve seen the CCTV footage. That’s how it went down)

But the man that managed to steal the spotlight from all this was one Miguna Miguna. The man so controversial you have to say his name twice. Statistics in the last week have shown that there were 3425 suicides among the luo community who watched the interview and didn’t feel arrogant enough to live. (Can we please have a moment of silence!...Shhh in the back.This isn’t funny!) The nation is in split about whether Raila took someone else to the prom after promising to go with Miguna or he slept with his date. Either way, there is a dossier and one of our moles got an advance copy. Yes. We have moles. And rats. And other rodents. Point is we have the scoop.

Wednesday, January 04, 2012


My holiday season wasn't that great. (Thanks for asking). I spent it looking at a bottle of some very questionable liquid while singing along to the lyrics of songs only heard in serious chic flicks. *Cue the water works* (All by myselffffffff....don't wanna be all by myselffffff....anymore) *sniffs*. Suffice to say it was an odd time of the year for me. Don't be afraid though, I'm seeing a very qualified shrink who is also helping me with this really weird habit I've developed lately. I would tell you but then you would never look at me the same again. lets just say it involves squirrels and a ridiculous need for speed. And two French journalists. And tonnes of oil. I fear i have said too much.

Actual reenactment of me sitting in the office working!
Onwards though. I'm not a fan of the holidays. The genesis of this loathing began twelve years ago. I was thirty five, muscular and had just graduated from Arm Wrestling School. It was a time of happiness and big forearms.*dissolving into fuzzy flashback* Actually it's pretty simple. I grew up watching random kids shows that taught me that Santa only goes to visit good white kids because we don't have chimneys. From then on I vowed to track him down and kill him and his little elves. Anyway while I find Christmas totally pointless, the holiday that takes the cake has to be New Year.

For real. What's up with that? Yay! It's the first of January! Wow this feels like de javu. I wonder when this happened again.  Last freaking year. Same thing happened. This is exactly how my countdown went. It's an actual reenactment. So step back in case you are scared of blood.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six (Really hope the Mayans were right) five, four, three, two, one. Then I closed by eyes tight and started waiting for that tsunami from the movie 2012. Nothing. Then I noticed my watch was ten minutes fast. So while I was safely on the other side, I still had to wait for the stragglers to catch up. Trust Kenyans to be late for a year. The clock strikes midnight (again) and everyone starts going crazy. Kissing here. Hugging there. Groping the wrong butt. (Dude I saw you touch me) And then I'm like congratulations. It's January. You're all screwed!