A Phone Charger Willfully Left Behind

As part of my mission to write something seemingly intellectual (or lack thereof), I will teach you a very important life skill: never ever deliberately forget your phone charger because you don’t want to remove your shoes. Who would do that, you may ask rolling your eyes in a manner that says ‘what is he saying?’

I’ll tell you who would do that. Me. I belong to a long lineage of self-respecting men who do not subject themselves to dull indignities of abiding by a sick and twisted tradition (by which I mean invented by women) of removing shoes before entering a house. I’ll only do that when entering a ‘shrine’ because the blessings from a ‘shrine’ are worth any indignities.

Unlike you, a phone is not a valuable companion. A simple click and your whereabouts are revealed. I am not a criminal, but as a wannabe fugitive, that’s not something I would want. Being unreachable does not bother me anymore. Your woman would still think you are busy shanking another of her species even when you are in the ICU. While fighting for your life, you will get a thousand messages insulting your very existence. Ptoh! Fear women.

I was told to remove my shoes. I squinted at them closely because I almost bought them twice the price if the hawker could hold them for me and I decidedly said, ‘ptoh! If I ‘remove’ them I am dead.’ These shoes aren’t grand in any sense but they communicate to me a vital lesson of survival: ‘good things might pass you by when you are not ready.’ And then I again decidedly said, ‘a mere charger!!!” I wasn’t right in the head and I was ready and off I left.

And now I have to use chargers that only work at specific angles of elevation, 34.89 degrees Celsius, specific time of day and probably its mood, which has veto power. It means if the charger is not in the right mood, it won’t work even if you summon your ancestors in alphabetical order. I hate this charger. It has a couple of sisters – I don’t know if chargers identify as women but why not risk – who have also conspired with it. One discharges and the other gives the following info ’66 hours till full.’ I don’t desperately need a phone but waiting for a decade is a no.

In the meantime, I have to coax the working charger, threaten to cheat with its other sisters, and chant libations at the same time. But these chargers are goddamn resolute. It takes persistence, patience and every other word ever conjured by motivational speakers such as Atwoli.

My phone has to be on somehow, just in case I receive those texts that say, ‘hey mom, nilipoteza calculator. Tuma pesa kwa hii no. 008t3663545.’ These messages are close to those romantic messages you receive when your purported woman has realized her ‘main’ is cheating on her with his ‘main’ and has officially promoted you to the ‘main.’ I dare not miss them because there is nobody to miss these days. As such, there is no other viable option of wasting Safaricom’s text messages I occasionally receive when I purchase data bundles.

 

 

 

The B-word

I received a warning today from Zuckerberg's soldiers. I posted a single-word comment on a certain page I came across while 'sightseeing' on these streets. The word in itself did not strike me as particularly 'too strong.' Zuckerberg's made-men stated the repercussions of my actions, which, inter alia, included an 'eviction threat' from these streets.

I do not know how effective that would have been had it been my mission to go about slandering people. I would have simply created a new account and be back like nothing happened.

Although I accepted that I had made a mistake, I wondered deep down why the word was unacceptable. In my estimation, the word described perfectly the what was happening in the video.

The people (to be gender neutral) were not exactly bright upstairs. It is very okay (it is even a constitutional right) not to be bright. But it is very unconstitutional not to know you are not bright.

I know you may have seen a video of a certain Woriah who does not shit and quite okay with it. I must admit it made me a bit uncomfortable knowing that there are people who do not know shit and they have the right to vote just like learned fellows like some of us.

It is a bit disconcerting for me since my intellect, or lack thereof, was acquired mainly through corporal punishment. My teacher had a name for it - he called it flogging. I got whooped in a way that took something from me.

I have contemplated suing that teacher for causing PTSD. But then I can't imagine the line of questioning his lawyer will pursue - it will make me look stupid, negating the essence of the suit.

Back to the 'word.'

According to my estimation, I did not think it would a deeper meaning other than it being a perfect word to describe those who are not that bright.

But I assumed. The lawyer from Canada once used it to describe one of your female leaders of Kanairo. The lawyer is known for using the word demagogue, which made Larry Madowo imagine it was the worst insult in the history of mankind. It wasn't.

The trouble with not knowing the meaning of something makes it even more insulting. Your mind goes on overdrive imagining the worst possible meaning of the word that someone has used in reference to you, you who hold yourself in high regard.

I consulted google and find out the word was offensive. It ranked close to the N-word. As you are familiar with the rules that govern the use of the N-word, you have to be an N for you to use it.

I used a B-word and I am not a B . The B-word is not the one use to refer to dogs of fairer sex. It ends with a vowel and you cannot use it to describe an attractive lady who was denied a substantial amount of grey matter between their ears.

Have an offensive-free Saturday. Except Arsenal fans. You will not know what hit you.

#theropwrites

The Fall of Arsenal

I conjured up this idea a long time ago. The prevailing circumstances would make me appear like a bitter and grumpy human being with a grudge against the world. To be honest, I am bitter and grumpy that this idea might not be relevant today. And I blame it squarely on Arsenal because the idea is about Arsenal – the old Arsenal that served heartbreaks to Arsenal fans every weekend. Arsenal still serves heartbreaks, but it serves the wrong people. 

I must admit that a significant portion of my short-lived happiness comes from the misery of Arsenal fans. I have no doubt that the feeling is mutual among Arsenal fans. Although happiness was always short-lived, it was always worth it because it served one single purpose – Man Utd is the greatest team on earth and all planets that might support life. I speak for many a football fan when I say that the greatest and the happiest moment is seeing your rivals suffering defeat after defeat. It had been like that until a man from Spain decided to upset the natural order of things. 

The banter no longer sends Arsenal fans whimpering with tails between their legs like stray dogs. They are at the top of the table for God’s sake. And we are seeing their true colors. They are printing the EPL table and posting them side by side with posters of those waganga kutoka Kitui. Because some of us still have a few brain cells that have not been tampered with by substances, we patiently wait for the day they will be humbled.

It hurt my ego, a long time ago, when I chanced upon a kid clad in full Arsenal regalia. The kid was not even old enough to use the toilet without the help of an adult. According to my estimation, the kid’s parents were committing a punishable crime. I would have called the Kenyan equivalent of Child Protection Services. But I didn’t solely because I did not feed that kid, and neither did I help it use the toilet. 

In hindsight, I should have called the authorities. We do not need another Arsenal fan. The ones we have are already too much for us, especially this season. In fact, I wonder why scientists are yet to discover a device that predicts with 99.9% accuracy which club newborn babies will end up supporting. Those whose results will show that there is a negligible percentage that they will be Arsenal fans will straight away be condemned to be laborers. 

If you have gotten this far, I would like to let you know that I have nothing against Arsenal fans. However, I am pretty sure Arsenal fans have similar thoughts, perhaps even worse. Well, once we are done with petty distractions called football, we all become human again as we try not to starve, have a place to put our heads, and have a few coins left to finance our worldly obsessions. I am no better, except I believe I support a far superior team. Which is true as far as this article is concerned. 

I firmly believe that nobody should be coerced to support any team whatsoever. I can’t explain how I became a Man Utd fan. I can’t pinpoint the exact time or place where I made a pact with the gods of football to become overly excited by Man Utd’s wins and become really depressed when it loses. By God, it’s a team thousand of miles away, and how it exerts such unexplainable influence over people. It’s beyond me. It probably has something to do with drugs. 

As a young man who still thought the world catered to everyone’s whims, I had nothing better to do with my life except wait for the weekend to troop to watch Man Utd. I would make a solitary trip to Flax, the nearest shopping center, and feast my eyes on the magic Fergie had cooked that weekend. But when the old Scott called it quits, we realized how painful losing consistently is. We’ve barely won anything notable recently. And the fact that Arsenal might just win the league is unfathomable. 

But tonight, the elephant will tumble down the tree. I am looking forward to it more than anything else because peace, world hunger, and climate change depend on it. 

May the Pep win. 

Bandit Cops Of Nairobi

I have an unhealthy dislike for the police. It grates my heart and mind in a weird sort of way because I can’t turn this dislike into something useful. I am pretty sure scientists would have found a way to harness my hatred and turn it into electricity. Unfortunately, they are busy with important things such as searching for pictures of naked wires on the internet. It isn’t even a marketable 21st-century skill. 

I have been kidnapped (I can’t call it an arrest) several times by police. As per their usual MO (modus operandi), they ask you to pay ransom for you to secure your freedom. If you have never thought deeply as I have, freedom is the second fastest-selling product in the world after Jesus. And if you give a gun and uniform to a person to a person who uses his brains purely for aesthetic purposes, people will get arrested for peculiar reasons. For instance, a friend of mine was once arrested for allegedly walking like a Chinese. 

The reason for my last kidnapping incident is even weirder than fiction. I was kidnapped in connection with J.P. Magufuli’s death. I am not making this up. I am also not abusing any mind-altering substances. My conscience is crystal clear as I type this. The boys in blue appeared without warning, proudly donning their ugly uniforms and armed as though we were hardcore criminals. Thinking about it now, we actually were. Imagine a whole head of state lying in state. 

They began joking with us, pretending that they were humans. How they fooled us!!! A police officer can go from human to a police officer in approximately 3.59 seconds. You barely even notice it. All you notice is you being hounded into the back of a police pickup, escorted with the vilest insults ever known to man. It seems they teach it in their curriculum assuming they have one. 

The police are also taught one very important slogan: gari ya polisi haijai. We were forced to stack ourselves like crates every time they kidnapped more people. When they were satisfied, the police pick-up made its way to the station. It was then that we knew why we were being kidnapped. 

“Don’t you know Magufuli is dead!!?” One of them kept saying. We all kept quiet since we could hardly breathe. 

It was during the Covid period with the curfews and the social distancing nonsense. It beat logic that we were crammed in a police pick-up when we were required to keep social distance. But then policemen and women aren’t known for logic. It just isn’t their strongest suit, which probably makes them more qualified.

I do not dispute the fact that there are good cops. However, you will never meet them because they give the rest a bad reputation.  

I Am No Romeo

I am no Romeo, I suffer no illusions about my upbringing, there was no rodeo, down the Kerio valley, in case you are thinking you are Juliet, I'll be out there, looking for Chebet

Our forefathers saw no need of romance,

it hasn't been our tradition,

and if you think, perchance,

I'll join the red bandwagon,

let me make this clear,

I'll be out here, sipping traditional beer

find a way to bear with me

I am under no obligation,

neither are you, as you will see,

to join the hopeless bandwagon,

of those desperate to show love

I am a typical Kale, as you've read above

Advanced Rooster

The secret to being a great writer (I learned just the other day) is being constantly on the lookout for things to distract you. All great writers have been distracted by one thing or another. William Shakespeare was distracted by the absence of enough vocabulary, so he made up plenty of words. At the last count, Shakespeare had invented 1,700 words, which, believe it or not, were subsequently added to the English language. Shakespeare can be solely blamed for creating mediocre writers whose idea of good writing is using words no one has ever heard of. 

As a writer, being distracted by the need to create words is a massive waste of time. The Englishmen have since decided that there are already enough words in the English language. Besides, there are high chances that you are not a native speaker, and Englishmen do not take it kindly that you know their mother tongue better than they do. That’s why they force you to sit English proficiency tests when thousands of them cannot even distinguish there and there. Or your and you’re. 

Granted, you need simpler distractions. For instance, you could abuse drugs within your wage bracket. I must insist that these drugs should be legal or that you know how not to get caught. I have been arrested so many times because of this. If I weren’t so keen on doing things that do not involve writing, I wouldn’t have had a wonderfully rich experience of sharing a cell with criminals. I had always dismissed that single bucket that rules one of the four walls in a jail cell. It is disgusting. 

You could choose to travel. You could choose to gossip provided you are at peace with being the subject of gossip once you leave your gossip conglomerate. You could think about spending time thinking about starting a cult or a church. I have thought about starting a church, and I suggest you try too. It is not enriching but you will think about things that make people readily give their money to pastors. However, I will advise you not to go to church. The things that happen in the church are not as interesting as the things that people do before going to church to repent. As an aspiring writer, you do not need the latter. 

The thing about being a writer is that staring at a blank page trying to abduct words and force them to form an interesting story is a painstaking endeavor. That’s why very few people write, and even fewer are great writers. The rest who do not qualify as great writers end up being journalists. 

I have a new distraction. Well, this piece was all about this new distraction of mine. I am surprised that I could string this number of words when all I wanted to write about was that I joined Reddit the other day. I chose a name that I thought was funny. Advanced Rooster with four-digit numbers starting with six. If the numbers suffixed on my new avatar name represent the number of advanced roosters in the entire world, then there are more than six thousand of us. And that is not too comforting. 

THE END 

Mutura Aficionado

Mutura is one of those mystery delicacies that you must enjoy from time to time unless the doctor expressly stated, in writing and in presence of a lawyer, that you risk your life if you partake in this street cuisine. Well, there are also other rules handed down from generation to generation. I present to you a summarized list of these rules. 

Be fiercely loyal to your mutura guy

A man is supposed to be fiercely loyal to two things: a football team, a barber, and a mutura seller. When you think deeply about these things, they cannot be explained, which is the whole point of living. What is the point of living if you have to justify your obsessions? There is a reason why it’s hard to break into the mutura business – people are loyal to their joints. You open for two days, and close because people are used to a particular taste – and particular here means ‘not your taste.’ A man will trek three kilometers, as we often did, to that one guy who knew our taste. 

Do not order mutura in bulk 

Mutura does not brag. You do not order, say mutura ya soo at once. Nobody will think highly of you if that’s what you want. You order in bits of ten or twenty. You must taste it first. There’s always an off-chance that it could taste like a witch’s sock (which brings us to rule one since you have grown accustomed to his taste). When you are satisfied with the taste, you consult your wallet and if it agrees, you order another one. And another. And another….

All mutura must be eaten at the mutura base, on that chopping board 

I have seen people, especially ladies, order mutura and ask for it to be wrapped. That level of insolence toward a sacred snack is intolerable. You break so many laws of mutura. And you should be in jail. First, you will order in bulk, second, you do not let your wallet chase you from the base. No one worth his salt goes around carrying mutura. What if someone knocks it off? Have you ever asked yourself what could happen? You haven’t, clearly. 

Mutura must be eaten only after the sun sets 

You see, according to research conducted by Harvard School of Mutura, parasites aka minyoo also like mutura. You need to eat only in dark, when they cannot see. Otherwise, is there a point in making such a sacrifice? I doubt the research, though. However, I will not tell you what I saw during curfew and mutura guys would open at 3 pm. Ask a hygiene-nazi close to you. 

Do not ever want to see how mutura is made 

As far as I was concerned, the ingredients of mutura were a mystery to me. Not until a stupid mzungu shot a video about it to boost his dwindling YouTube views. I was disgusted at that mzungu for revealing the secret ingredients of a beloved food. On a serious note, you may hate mutura if you see how it’s made. The only consolation is that it is not laced with any chemicals as preservatives. 

There is no reason why you eat mutura

This is the last rule. There is no reason why eat or should eat mutura. There is no reason why you shouldn’t eat it either. Nobody knows the nutritional value of mutura. Research might even establish that it has zero calories. It cannot be a meal. You cannot survive on mutura alone. No doctor will either prescribe mutura or tell you that you shouldn’t eat mutura if you want to vote for the Hustler government to screw us all over again. I have only heard one guy try to explain mutura, “you are wasting mutura if you do not have a wife.” As I write this, I have never understood what he meant. It was his own reason and his reason alone. He does not represent any sane mutura-loving human being. 

Poverty Is A Sin

What if, pray tell, we discover one day that poverty was a sin all along? Well, it will be too late then but just think about it. As for me, I do not want to wait until it’s too late. An ancient Greek philosopher said ‘mapema ndio best’ and these words couldn’t be any truer now than it was back then. 

I have thought deeply about this like any man capable of thinking reasonably from time to time. For that matter, I expect myself to make myself filthy rich with the least amount of effort and within the shortest time possible. You do not have to have a particularly high IQ to reach such an intellectual conclusion. Me, I have purposed to be rich for the past three years or so years. Somewhere along the Adulting Road, I realized that my obsessions cost a lot of money. And just like the next person, I could use a million shillings. 

I do not believe that money cannot buy happiness. Or love. Anybody who tells you that money cannot buy happiness has more money than he ever needs, is terminally ill, or is dead. You must have too much money to make certain conclusions about money. As broke as I am, I am 93.27% sure that money will set me on the path toward happiness. Think about things money can do. Point of correction; think about things a lot of money can do. You could be a complete moron and people will still applaud you. In some extreme circumstances, you might even believe them thinking that you are a “person of the people.” However, when election results are announced, you realize that even your close family members pretend to like you. I think that’s the worst way to use your millions. 

It saddens me to think that there are people who still think that money cannot buy love. I do not blame them. Again, this is a rich-people problem, and they should never ever think that we subscribe to such nonsense. It has been proven scientifically that money can actually buy love. According to Dave Barry, a humor scientist who specialized in a branch of science known as ‘making things up,’ money can buy love – it can buy a lot of high-quality fake love. If you can buy fake love, what is the point of buying low-quality? 

Your worldview does not matter. Money makes life a whole lot better and easier. When you have money and you are bored, you could hire a hitman to kill boredom. And that’s not even the best part – the best part is that you can afford a lawyer (for purposes of this article, a lawyer is anyone who can throw a cocktail of big English and Latin words and wears suits). 

There are so many ways to make too much money and quickly. However, most of them are either illegal or scams. I have lived long enough to know this. There is no point in having millions of money and constantly hiding. It is the main reason we elect people with questionable characters to lead. They have been out there doing ‘shady business deals’ and when they cannot hide anymore they offer themselves up for election. It is the surest way to being untouchable and making even more money quite effortlessly. Pablo Escobar tried it but failed. 

I have tried gambling, only to realize, dismayed, that I was contributing diligently to someone else's next luxury toy. A job works the same way. I have also realized that schools indoctrinate people to accept slavery as the perfect way to live. They no longer have to forcefully enslave you - you willingly accept to be a slave, sometimes you even beg them.  

I know that I do not possess the right gene to create something as big as Microsoft or Facebook. I’ll settle for what has already been invented – religion. The last time I checked, no other brand has ever outsold Jesus since the five-day workweek. I plan to start a church, preach, and people will give me money on behalf of Jesus. And the best part of it is that I can keep it. Why, because poverty might just be another sinner they forgot to include in the bible. Living a good life isn't a sin, it is what you do when living a good life that might be sin. Like making others feel poor about themselves. 

An APP For Idlers

 TikTok is one hell of an app. If you have a few hours which you can dedicate to being totally and completely unproductive, then this app is here for you. TikTok has revolutionized how you can idle. It is more like a drug – in fact, it should be classified as a drug. A few minutes on TikTok will have you wondering how time flew by. And the best part of it is that you may never learn anything meaningful. 

It took me a while before I got around to downloading TikTok. I quickly signed up and began a blissful browsing experience. Each video would be more interesting than the last or almost always related to some videos I had watched elsewhere. For instance, I would watch Dr. Pimple Popper on YouTube when my mind suggests that something gross might be interesting. When I turned to TikTok much later, I would find the same gross videos perfectly lined up for me. I did not give much thought to it until the other day. 

Well, the answer lies in the terms and conditions we often blindly accept. We could sell our souls without knowing!!! It turns out that TikTok collects all your data from every possible source. It probably knows the type, make, and color of your underwear. That’s how serious that app is with your personal data. It even collects data on how you strike your keyboard. For what use? I do not know. 

I might say, which is just a wild guess, that TikTok does so to make its users addicted to the app. It is the same strategy that Facebook used. They needed a product that people would come back to it again and again like drug junkies. TikTok is using the same blueprint, only going a little further. Perhaps it is the reason why it has grown so popular around the world. 

One of the most remarkable things about TikTok is that China, where it was developed, restricts its use among its citizens. Chinese children use TikTok as a learning tool, not to showcase their posterior endowments or watch stupid pranks that have become the norm. It is alleged that China switches off the app at night. While the rest of the world becomes dumber and dumber, the Chinese are getting more and more intelligent. 

The only advantage TikTok has is that it has given people a chance to make a living. We recently saw TikTokers building mansions and driving. Well, you either are the consumer or the creator. When a product is free, there are high chances that you are the product. 

As for me, I plan to delete the app and resume life without it. I wouldn’t miss it at all. I need new ways to waste time now that the doctor has asked me to cut some beverages. 

An Idea For A New Church

At some point in a reasonable man’s life, he will think deeply about ways of making himself filthy rich within the shortest time possible. As a reasonable man, that point came to me about three years ago. I thought deeply and decided that I was going to start my own religion. However, just like Robin Cooper, I encountered one major problem – what to believe in.

Upon thinking further, I realized I would need a sacred book that would be a reference point for my religion, assuming I settled on what to believe in. It would still be an uphill task considering the fact that other religions have had centuries of a head start. It would simply be impossible to catch up with them.

But I dreamt on. I banked on one Greek philosopher’s wise words – no human is limited. Like a reasonable man, I called up my religious council into a secret conclave to contemplate the matter further. One of the members, which was I, brought up a very important question. He asked us solemnly:

“Supposing we start our own religion, we would need a religious book, right?”

We all nodded in agreement.

“Supposing we would write we own, how will we explain the mystery of man’s existence? What would be our theory?”

It was impossible, we said, but still wanted to know why the member asked the question.

“Well, I suppose that’s the only way to make it believable to the gullible masses.”

After a long meeting that lasted approximately three minutes, we all agreed that we need to have a few drinks. The matter was swiftly forgotten after the third drink. The meeting was adjourned indefinitely and we blamed it squarely on gengetone.

After a long time, we all reached a consensus that starting a new religion would be a daunting prospect. The reason was simple: we could not find a manual online!! We could not believe that Google could miss extremely important piece of information. Trust google to let you down when you need it most.

We assessed our options and settled on what seemed an easier option. We could start our own church. Looking around, we noted that there are churches run by people who are not that bright. How could we fail, with all our brains? We only needed it to stand out as much as possible. It is a business, we argued, and our product must be quite remarkable. It would have to outshine all other churches and make us extremely rich in no time.

As we think about the market entry strategy, the religious council (I, Me, and Myself) are out there to take one for the road hoping that we do not forget about this strategy.

Footnote

(You have seen how Owuor is filthy rich. Damn it, man. I wanna be that rich. I want to buy my second private jet. Pssst! The Enemy is Poverty, and Arsenal, and …..you may add your own).

Mollie's Irony

I may act alright, but deep-down Mollie’s words grate my mind in quite an unsatisfactory manner. I knew that she was predisposed to be strongly opinionated. But I also know, like anyone that knows, that extremely opinionated people cannot take strong opinions, nor even facts that prove that their opinions are nothing but hot air. When you are stupidly in love, you can ignore strong opinions because that would mean getting some action when the lights are turned off, or getting that unwelcoming cold shoulder. 

Mollie is the sort of person who will be quiet and then randomly says things. Often, what she says has no preamble. She can begin a story in the middle and fill it up with facts later. I remember that day we were just chilling, her absentmindedly making her nails while I read a paragraph or two of whatever story caught my attention. Mollie said, in a way a prophet might say, that ‘githeri, omena, and matumbo’ are symptoms of poverty. I turned her words in my head and concluded that they could only be words that come from someone named after the first cloned sheep. 

It did not bother me then. Mollie’s presence intoxicated me. Or, to put it more precisely, made me a remarkable fool. Being in love can make a grown man look like a fool because love was designed to look that way. Picture that tough man in your life and chances are that he looks and acts a fool in the presence of a female with whom he has no qualms about losing his inhibitions. It is one of the requirements of loving. 

Now that I am no longer stupid, I can turn Mollie’s words in my head and try to analyse them like a specimen on a scientist’s table. For a start, Mollie claims that she is a sapiosexual. I did not know what that meant at first but I got enlightened when consulted google. You can’t really think highly of a person who thinks so lowly of other people’s favorite foods. Because she was my favorite person, I nodded to her words and sought no further explanation as that would have made me a participant in her opinions. After getting past the talking stage and then into the intimate zone, you learn to stop being a participant in certain things. 

As I sit now, I wonder about the kind of research Mollie used to conclude that certain foods were a symbol of poverty. For instance, what was her hypothesis? What problem was she even researching? And she had the audacity to claim that she is a sapiosexual. Now that we are not together anymore, I can also say that pizza and fried chicken are symbols of ill health. 

Mollie

I loved Mollie until last Christmas. I cannot say that we were inseparable because there’s a way love makes people stupid. To say we were inseparable is to admit that I was stupid. Of course, I was, especially when she had no clothes on. I, a humble peasant, even promised to buy her a helicopter. And to prove that love makes people stupid, the daughter of Eve believed me. I guess I can conclude that the moment you become wise when in a relationship, you are no longer in love – it’s time to move. And to stay in that relationship after that is to invite bad omen, or, in severe cases, even death. Well, I am not qualified to offer any relationship advice anyway. 

Mollie and I were an item until I revealed that I enjoyed slaughtering animals for food, especially on Christmas days. I did not say it in a way that made it look like slaughtering animals was a hobby I derived immense joy. No. The whole process is arduous and unsightly. You have to deal with a lot of blood. And the insides of animals aren’t aesthetically appealing either. Well, not until they have been subjected to fire for a reasonable period of time. 

I remember the look on Mollie’s face. It was as though I had revealed a dark secret that would have enabled the police to nab a serial killer – me. She had asked me to repeat what I had said because Mollie was the sort of person who would make you repeat something she thought was marvelously stupid. I repeated it because I am not the sort of person who backs down from such a simple request. 

“You are a disgusting human being!” At that point and time, I knew she would have chosen to cuddle scum over me. 

“Why would you say that?” I asked feigning innocence. As a man, you have to learn to feign innocence when dealing with certain females you have been intimate with. 

“You enjoy murdering animals?!!” 

“How else would we eat them?” The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I had opened a can of worms. 

She held her head and took a deep breath for what seemed like an eternity. Women are fond of doing that when you say something a certified moron would say. I was not worried because I did not find anything wrong with slaughtering and eating animals. 

Mollie threw me a murderous look before she spoke. 

“I cannot be in love with someone who enjoys slaughtering animals,” she finally said, then sighed deeply. I watched her chest slowly retreat into a body before stopping in its usual place, the place I liked. 

“It’s not like it's my profession. I do not wake up every morning to murder animals,” I defended myself, even using the word I detested – murder. 

“Murderer.” She muttered under her breath. 

“What?” I asked as she does. I am the sort of person who plays against another using their own tactics to see how they like it. 

“Animal murderer.” 

Mollie was the sort of person with the most malleable belief system. Her worldview changed with the weather. I could tell that she had become an animal rights activist. Or desperately wanted to find a reason to break up with me. Women are sometimes like that. One day she loves you, the next day she finds the way you breathe a criminal offense. Knowing Mollie, I didn’t think she wanted to break up with me, at least not yet. The day would come, eventually, but I did not think that it would be that soon. She had professed her love a week ago, which, according to me, was reasonable enough to take me through the month. Unless I do something remarkable, which I rarely do. 

Mollie had turned into those people who hate meat. I have no problem with that. The problem is trying to recruit everyone into their sick and twisted animal-loving cult. It is not just animal lovers or activists. When you look around you, people are trying to recruit you into some stupid cult. Like that group with the funny-looking initials that start L. Can’t you love something without shoving it on everyone else’s face? 

I later learned that Mollie’s pet dog was run over by a car as she watched. Her sister Pollie told me. Although the dog was not hers, she had felt an obligation to join those who advocated for animal rights. for me, I believe that animals have one right – to be eaten. I told Mollie so and she spat me out of her heart, forever. It hurt since I had not projected that I would be on the hunt for another girl so soon. Now I have to wait until valentine's is over. I guess that’s when plenty of women will be on the market after being dumped or learning that they were being taken for a ride. 

Once A Millionaire

I have made peace with the fact that I will have completely nothing to show after a few months of being handed a million shillings. I make this declaration with a clear and sane mind, backed by the fact that laying my hands on a million shillings is realistically impossible. I am not gambling – I know there is always one winner, and it’s not me.

But then, as a self-respecting person, there is a shred of hope that someday I might land a million shillings without breaking too much sweat. People have become instant millionaires by simply being in close proximity of certain government parastatals. I could begin idling around these offices to increase my chances of being randomly selected to supply certain sensitive goods often referred to by the secret code ‘air.’

I would use a million shillings as much as the next man. I occasionally take time off my busy idling schedule (I guess the experience will come in handy when I begin idling around government offices) to fantasize about a million shillings. It is a step scientifically proven by scientists who have had more than six cups of keg.

What would I do with a million shillings? This is a question you should ask yourself. Then you make a list of priorities you would buy. Buy a car, a plot somewhere, and build a house. What will, remain, if any, you plan to travel to an exotic holiday destination, say Bermuda Triangle. If you closely look at the list, you will realise that you are completely stupid, not because that money is not enough, but because it does not involve an approved amounts of drinks and a party to let everyone know that you are the new millionaire in town.

If you are like me, I have had a little money that I have worked my ass off to lay my hands on. How did I spend it? Slowly, as I thought of something useful I would do. Didn’t the wise say that failing to plan is just a form ingenuity? Days down the line, I realise that the little money was not that little at all. At least compared to nothing, which is what I will have a week or two later.

It is then that I make a budget – no, a budget is something you make before you spend money. I make what I will call a reverse-budget. It is the process of outlining everything you bought and adding up. Often, there is a deficit that will gnaw your mind. Where did 20,000 shillings disappear to? This is the most illuminating question that reverse budgets always reveal to you.

Back to the million shillings, which, by the way, I do not have yet. I will reserve a fifth of it for an item I will term ‘where did 200,000 go’ just to be safe from the knowledge that I will recklessly spend on things I won’t need (I might code this as things that might probably kill me). That will leave me with just 800,000 shillings, assuming that the government doesn’t give me the reason of hating it more by robbing me a part it and disguising the blatant robbery with glowing terms such as taxes.

Then I will buy something that will remind me of a time when I had a million shillings. You need to do that, because everyone who has had a million shillings does it. Some pay for sex regardless of the scientifically proven fact that some girls like to have sex, for free, with millionaires. Do not do that. You have to pay for a high end hooker such as the first lady. It will give you immense bragging points that will last you a lifetime, assuming you do not end up dead in Ngong forest for your dare devil act.

I have not yet settled on something, but I am pretty sure that while I think of it, some of my close friends will lose their jobs. How, you may ask. It is simple, we will hobnob from one club to another, for one month straight. If you are my friend, you will not refuse the offer. Trust me, I am a millionaire. I could buy you another job, or idle with you by the government offices until you are randomly selected to supply ‘air.’

The truth of the matter is that I will go broke. I am under no illusions that a million bucks will serve me a lifetime, neither will I come up with ideas to multiply it. I’ll simply enlist a couple of guys (I might even tithe) to help me go broke. But then that’s not how it is, I will just be a millionaire, under the illusion that the status is permanent, treating my friends. Hell, I’ll even have a bunch of new fake-friends who will, when occasions dictate, sing me praises.

I’d like me just rich enough not to be arrogant. In the meantime, let me walk by the KEMSA offices, they might be in need of a new millionaire. I got to be ready all the time. You never know when it’s your turn.