Two W.E.A.K Dudes

Flukers and newcomers, if this doesn’t make sense to you, see the previous posts and accompanying comments.

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In a secret meeting in a secret basement in a secret … ah. You know the drill.

A tall dark handsome W.E.A.K dude walks majestically into standing in a room packed to the eaves, full of Recovering Rolex Addicts.

“Hi. My name is DK, and I have been rolex free for two minutes. I had six rolii last night and it was the taste of heaven.

This club is officially dissolved, so get your sorry behinds out of here and go get yourselves some rolii.”

I have this habit of buying a large Splash Mango or Guava when I go home at night, and drinking it in phases during the course of the night ( I sleep really late ).

Sometimes I don’t finish it and leave it there, continuing where I stopped the day before. Of course I keep it sealed and cool, what do you take me for, a slob??

Yesterday, I got back home, saw the Splash, rushed gleefully to it, ignoring the fact that for some reason, the top wasn’t sealed. I took one huge gulp, chocked, eyes bulged open…

and promptly spat out a large cockroach …

For those of you flukers peeping through the windows, if this doesn’t make sense to you, see the previous post and accompanying comments.

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Excellent. Now that we’ve all introduced ourselves, we’ll get the meeting underway.

As usual, we had deliberately dimmed the lights so that our faces are not recognizable, but since all of you came in here screaming your names and waving excitedly, you have defeated the purpose.

LIGHTS!

*looks aound balefully… eh. Nga we’re many!

Pamela, welcome, whoever you are. Put down the socks, and go register in that corner.

Safyre, stop waving and sit down, this is not a classroom. We are respectable people here. We have a problem and we’re not here to get excited about it.

Miss Cheri, focus. This is not AA or Ganja Planters Anonymous. The same goes for you, Streetsider, you pompous addict you.

Nev, welcome. You have obviously been an ardent student of our Ten Point Manifesto. Keep up the good work, and spread the news! Rolex is addictive!

YZ, Get out!

Streetsider, go sit in a corner quietly and smoke a joint. Not a Rolex joint!

Princess, we do not facilitate nor encourage the consumption of Rolex in this meeting, but it is my understanding that Musilamu of the Nateete stage is starting to Fedex Rolex… har har… that rhymed. Contact the Emrys for details.

TRP, stop squirming. Stand straight and proud like the Rolex Addict you are! Ssentongo’s sigiri? What nonsense is that? You have not tasted Rolex until you have been to… wait… *ahem.

Petesmama, Get out! You are sowing seeds of dissent and anarchy!

Sleek, come here. *whispers fervently into sleek’s ear and slips him a bitaano coin.

Ug Girl, like I told Princess, we hear Musilamu is expanding his business interests to a more conducive international market, but again, we do not condone the consumption of Rolex!!

Lulu, Get out!

Walkonby, we have friends in the Hygiene Police, we shall get your license back. Wait… what the heck am I saying?? Get out, you perpetrator of Rolex crimes!

Emrys, dude, you’re late. Any news from Musilamu?

In a secret meeting in a secret basement in a secret building on a secret street in a secret town in a secret district in a secret countr… wait… in Uganda.

A tall dark handsome stands up in a room full of obscured faces.

“The first meeting of the Recovering Rolex Addicts will now come to order. I will start.

Hello. My name is DK and I have been Rolex free for two months, six days, fifteen hours and 19 minutes.”

There’s Bolting, and then there’s kamanyiro.

Bolt is kamanyiro I swear!

Bolt - Pure Kamnyiro

I’m with Sleek!

Banange bolt can bolt!

And he can POSE!!

Eh! I’ve swallowed.

For Streetsider and Dee, thanks for insisting, you miserable haters! A real post would be too embarassing and I have a rep, so I’ll let Afroman do the talking. Or… singing.

And because I can’t embed the video, check it out here.

(some dude in the youtube comments says “Afro Man looks like a charcoal burner from Mau Forest…”). Nuff said.

PS. If you find this post cryptic, it waan’t meant for you.

And one, two, three, lalalalala lalala.

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Afroman - Because I Got High Lyrics

I was gonna clean my room until I got high
I gonna get up and find the broom but then I got high
my room is still messed up and I know why
- cause I got high [repeat 3X]

I was gonna go to class before I got high
I coulda cheated and I coulda passed but I got high
I am taking it next semester and I know why
- cause I got high [repeat 3X]

I was gonna go to work but then I got high
I just got a new promotion but I got high
now I’m selling dope and I know why
- cause I got high [repeat 3X]

I was gonna go to court before I got high
I was gonna pay my child support but then I got high
they took my whole paycheck and I know why
- cause I got high [repeat 3X]

I wasnt gonna run from the cops but I was high
I was gonna pull right over and stop but I was high
Now I am a paraplegic - because I got high [repeat 3X]

I was gonna pay my car note until I got high
I was gonna gamble on the boat but then I got high
now the tow truck is pulling away and I know why
- because I got high [repeat 3X]

I was gonna make love to you but then I got high
I was gonna eat yo p**** too but then I got high
now I’m jacking off and I know why
- cause I got high [repeat 3X]

I messed up my entire life because I got high
I lost my kids and wife because I got high
now I’m sleeping on the sidewalk and I know why
- cause I got high [repeat 3X]

I’m gonna stop singing this song because I’m high
I’m singing this whole thing wrong because I’m high
and if I dont sell one copy I know why
- cause I’m high [repeat 3X]

Yesterday, I entered the house through the back door (anti it’s the one through the kitchen and some things in life are more important that others), switched on the lights and saw a family of rats posing on the loaf of bread I have been plotting for the entire day.

The stupid things were so snug and comfy that you’d think they were my invited guests. When the lights came on, they froze, paws on loaf, bits sticking out of their pointing nosed mouths.

One even looked at me, and took an extra nibble! I was impressed!

It was a magnificently sculptured brute that The Emrys would’ve been proud (and justified) to flee from in sheer terror. Let us call him Bruce. Bruce was shaped thus:

We stared at each other like gladiators, eyes narrowing, pulses racing, adrenaline surging (do rats have adrenaline??). Bruce started inching towards the exit, shielding his troops, and I, inched towards the old sapatu I keep for such thrilling occassions of rodenticide as this.

My hand touched the sapatu, and Bruce froze. Like it knew! Its eyes narrowed and all hell broke loose.

Bruce scattered left, into the dining room, and the family scattered right, out the door, Bruce’s baby-momma heaving and wheezing with the weight of survival. I debated for a split second, wondering which group to chase after. Then I remembered how big the kapo rat was. I turned and dashed after the don himself, almost breaking a tooth when I slipped on a kaveera that some fool had left lying on the floor.

The pain that shot up my right elbow and knee was inconceivable. You know how back in school they’d wet your but-tocks with cold water then whip you senseles with a lugga? Now imagine being injected twice (with quinine) in the same but-tocks after being whipped.  That’s what the pain felt like.

I saw Bruce vanish around the corner at the end of the corridor.

Nursing my hurt appendages and cursing rodents the world over, I rocked back and forth on the floor, unable to believe my misery. Until Bruce crept back around the corner for a peek.

And then, Bruce started creeping back, inch by inch towards me. The nerve! The bloody rat knew I was incapacitated! It was like it was laughing in my face!

Suddenly one of the room doors opened and one of the neighbour dudes who’d been chilling in my cousin’s room steps out, sees Bruce, screams like very minions of hell were after his soul and lands a very well place kick on Bruce’s but-tocks.

Oh my. The sight of Bruce soaring through the air was gloriously magnificent. I grinned the evil-est grin as I watched Bruce sail through the air for a long two seconds. He hit the wall at almost two thousand kilometers per hour ( I measured ) and emitted such a painful, mournful music-to-my-ears squeak that I will never forget.

Gathering his wits about him, Bruce scampered… well, more like hobbled back into the kitchen, and headed out the door.

Forgetting my pain, sapatu in hand I limped after him, intent on finishing the job that had been made significantly easier.

I opened the external kitchen door just in time to see a fat familiar tail vanishing into the neighbour’s cat’s mouth…

I swear I have never felt so cheated in my entire life.

and so in keeping with the faith, this is definitely a W.E.A.K post. and without further ado, i present some of my W.E.A.Kest moments of the past two weeks.

i have these neighbors. some of the coolest chaps i know. i mean we play soccer on sundays and well… thats just about it. lately i have grown into the habit of leaving home 30minutes late(some of my best bathroom antics are taking longer nowadays, if you know what i mean :-)). so anyway thats about the same time neighbor dudes be chilling for work as well. so everytime they find me on my way to the stage they insist on giving me a lift to town, which is all good except that they leave with their dad(who happens to be the driver of the car) who from what i gather from the looks we give each other, doesnt approve of me and my awesomeness. now, y’all know what it feels like to be given a lift by someone who doesnt approve of your awesomeness.  on top of the awkward silence, dude could decide to crush the car just coz yo in it. ok, so thats the background, now onto the W.E.A.Kness….

last week, there i am minding my own music, and  laboring uphill to the stage which is about 50metres from home, i look behind and who/what do i see…neighbor dudes’ car. i look left, right and there’s no hiding place(the bushes have recently been shortened). then i look forward and like a rhino charging, i  put usain bolt to shame, am telling you i broke the 50metre record if there’s one. i get to the stage all sweaty and dusty but exhilarant from my triumph…or so i thought. soon as i reached the stage, i heard a honking sound coming from behind me and on turning its neighbor dudes and their dad. i get into the car all sweaty and stuff and the first thing the dad asks me is “so why were you running like that?”  “  i mumbled somethin about running after a taxi so it wouldn’t leave me behind, but dude’s son had the audacity to point out to me that there were no taxis at the stage. as if i didnt already know that. “shut ye bollocks up, i was running from you guys!” well thats what i wanted to scream out! so now am on a mission to leave home earlier and this morning, well they got me again.  dang!

last week again, i had a meeting with some agency in town. come the day and am all dressed up in a tie(of course with other things). i walk into the agency reception and lo and behold the receptionist believing nobody was due anytime soon had let rip a nasty piece of work. am telling you it was humid up in there. i was obviously choking and all she could say was, “eh, allo its very hot in here, lemme switch on the fan” while i nodded in agreement and fumbled with my tie trying to loosen it up. i couldn’t speak while trying to hold my breath. chic if you are reading this, you killed me for those five minutes i spent in your presence. i shudder to think what an hour with you would be like. true story.

on friday, i had to do a bajaj from town all the way to ntinda. so i get this one chap and after alot of haggling and threatening to never use him again, we eventually settle on four grand, and am thinking for all that dime, dude should offer me a helmet or failing that atleast a soda on that dime. needless to say(if its needless to say, then why the hell do we go on to say it anyway), the guy jammed, so i had to settle for just the ride alone and no ebigenderaako. we get to wandegeya and thats when i start to smell something nasty like dude had just given me unwanted ebigenderaako. from wandegeya all the way to ntinda, there was a perpetual smell of fart in the air. either dude was doin it constantly or he had just sharted. for those who dont know what sharted means, lemme endeavor to explain. it is a phenomenon where you accidentally shit while trying to fart, hence the term. anyway i digress, it was so bad that when i got to ntinda, i had to first go to the toilet and check to make sure it wasn’t me…. and no it wasn’t me! truer story.

recently i was out chilling with my friend fat bizzy. fat bizzy is so fat, he bleeds chocolate milk. infact to put it into ugandan pespective, dude is so fat, he needs two stools at the steak-out bar, one for each butt cheek. funny thing is, he is a firm believer in losing weight and thats why i like him. see fat bizzy believes guzzling down wine will help him in his endeavor to lose weight, and every single time he feels like a wine binge, he knows am a call away. see i like him for his determination to lose weight not for the wine. what kind of homie do you think i am, eh? so anyway last week, there we are on one of those binges, while ogling some PYTs and wondering whether fat bizzy would be able to find them were they to get lost underneath him, when suddenly we both turn and look at each other and then burst out laughing, for we were thinking the same thing.  some dude had walked up to one of them fine things and from our vantage point, dude bore a striking resemblance to a sperm. honestly. and no i dont think it was the wine, we had only gone one bottle and besides we moved nearer for closer inspection and yap! truerer story.

there’s this church right next to my  home. i’ve been seriously considering attending it. reasons being that they are really vibrant and of course i could just get up on sunday mornings and haul my groggy ass over there to continue my sleep in church. that way i will not feel guilty for cutting church on sunday. there’s only one snag. see this church has a korean pastor and is targeted towards the sudanese as well as the few locals who care to attend. the korean pastor doesnt know english and how he managed to get a korean speaking ugandan, i shall never know. these guys being ever so nice and sweet decided that they would cater for all and sundry. this means that they have two translaters up there with the pastor. one translates from korean to english for the sudanese(tho we can really never be sure whether he is lying to us or not) and the other from english to luganda for us mere mortals who do not understand either language. so my snag is with all those translations and interpretations, how am i expected to continue with my sleep amidst bouts of laughter coz i honestly find it funny.

alright folks, thats enough for today. i have job. now go away!

…

Pause for dramatic tension.

…

Yes, BHH rocked. It was the Antipopness!

Actually, it was the Antipopness shy of being bigger than the one in which the lovely Miss Fyne graced us with her presence, leading to a mad manly stampede of testosterone at the singular most happening event in BHH-dom. Moto Moto style.

Spartakuss word-up! Dawg you almost broke a chair, dayem!

Come on guys, no hatin’.  Y’all know ya’ll turn(ed) up in droves just to check out the fyne ladies.

Both times.

Fo sho.

I ain’t complainin’ either. Them girls be fyne!

Now, without further ado.

We, the management of this auspicious blog, on the 24th of July in the year of our Lord 2009, AD, convened and reached an amicable consensus in which we deemed the worthiness and readership value of aforementioned blog to have been irredeemably diluted by mushy, painful, sentimental and irrevocably redundant mind-numbing pseudo-intellectual dribble, said dribble having drastically reduced on the potential financial proceeds we expected to get from our faithful readers by way of donations of small currencies and exchangeable trinkets of obscure value. And the occasional Alvaro.

We therefore unanimously (albeit under a very small amount of self-inflicted duress) declare that this blog shall be cleansed of all its non-weak evils, and such non-weakness shall be relegated to the depths of focus (aka our sister blog, The Rogue King) where they shall pass the remainder of their days in mirthless oblivion.

SoloDawgKing, wassup! No hatin player!

It’s aaaall part of a plaaaan. Let’s put a smile on that face!

Cue ominous music.

Cue cackling maniacal hysteric laugh.

Cue spluttering cough.

Cue muffled curses.

Fade to black.

E&OE. All you journalists, newspaper editors, and wanna be writers, thou shalt not judge my impeccable grammar, elocution and diction. Yes. Diction. Sue me.