BRING MPs BACK HOME.PLEASE

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.

SUPERMAN INTERVIEW

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?” 

                Silence.

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)