This is the next post but i couldn’t resist doing it today…i just couldnt…

So like I would like to make my addition to the fight against HIV and AIDS.
This here is the absolutest foolproof strategy to make sure (in my old school we’d have said “ensure”) that we all survive the Virus and this is how;

The ABCD Strategy.

A is for Abstinence.
If you can’t handle the shit, stay outta the swimming pool.

B is for Be Faithful.
Find the right person, fall in love and stay true to them. In truth and deed. In thought and action. Perv all you want as long as you do nothing about it and you do not be as if confess…confessing your bu thing-things to your significant other.

C is for Condoms.
Ushs 500 for Protector, Ushs 2,500 for Rough Rider, Ushs 5,000 for Durex. Available at all reputable pharmacies, clinics, shops, dukas and those chicks who sell roast g-nuts and fags outside da club. Condoms cost Ushs 500, “Morning After” costs Ushs 5,000, y’all do the math.

D is for Dildos. & Vibrators. & Rabbits.
If none of the above work for you, fear not, there is an alternative as I have lately come to learn. D.I.Y; that means Do It Myself. Sorry, Yourself. Last Sunday a close friend of the family came home, walked into my room as I lay in bed polishing off the last few episodes of the first season of LOST. She proceeded to lay a gift package on my bed and ask me to open it. Upon doing so, I spied in plastic packaging what on first inspection looked like a huge purplish-pink lollipop. The expression on her face indicated however that this was anything but a lollipop. So I asked, “what, my fair lady, might this item of suspect origin be?” whereupon my fair lady implored me to open it. So I took another look. And did a double take when I realized what it was I held in my hands – with nothing but a thin sheet of plastic to keep us apart.

Disclaimer;
When I watched “300” I identified with Leonidas, not with Xerxes or the Arthenian boy lovers that my hero, Leonidas, scoffed at. Therefore just because I held in my hand what to all intents and purposes was, is, a dildo/vibrator/whatever, does not mean that y’all can now make value judgements about me and my orientation. I can still kick muthaf..king ass. But then again, so can Wentworth Miller aka Michael Scofield, and I know he’s Vin Diesel’s babe.

So I looked at my lady friend and asked what y’all must be wondering, “WTF?”
She laughed her dainty laugh and flounced off leaving her business on my bed. So obviously, there’s a bunch of sisters out there (yes you and the one sitting two seats over) who be taking care of business for yourselves, holding it down and keeping it real like that. Fellas, the next time you catch a sister buying Double “A” batteries in the supermarket, I wanna bet it ain’t for her alarm clock or TV remote, more likely it gon be for her “rabbit.”

Spring Cleaning

Wednesday June 27, 2007
12:35 am

My girlfriend’s boyfriend passed away yesterday.
Death is funny like that; just when you get round to planning to actually go see the people you wanna see, especially when they’ve been ill, the beautiful Angel of Death comes along and walks them into the light.

Even more poignant for me is that this is not the first time this kind of thing is happening to me. Many years ago, whilst I was a disillusioned student at Makerere, counting the days until I could leave, my friend Nsangi’s Jajja Mukwaya passed away after a prolonged battle with cancer. And the week she passed away was right before the weekend when I was finally going to go have tea with this legendary woman that I’d heard so much about. And she me as well. To this day I regret … I went to her funeral.

Then there was Tim my cousin when we were like ten years old. He was like my first best friend. Which is funny considering that we really aint blood cousins, our mums just went to campus together and were best friends or some shit like that in Africa Hall. Then like parents are wont to do, they expect y’all to be tight because they are. Tim and I were tight for real. I remember he used to make fun of my 10 year old Little Johnnie “morning glory” every morning when we’d queue up, toothbrush in hand, at the bathroom sink (by the way you owe me for that Tim). I don’t remember what I would tease him about; there wasn’t much you could use against him, he was just cool like that.

And as for his siblings, well, we’re still working on it. One of them is like going to have a baby next month, they aint told me yet and are acting like I don’t be needing to know. No baby presents for them then; afterall, I “don’t know.” Tim died in the second term holidays of p.5, days before we were going to get together for the holidays, I think it was his turn to come to my house in Jinja. To this day, every time I go to St. Andrews Bukoto – which is like never, and only for funerals – I remember Cowboys and Indians with Tim in the bush that is now Total Bukoto, just before the Brown Flats. Adieu Mon ami, fare thee well.

And as for my girlfriend’s boyfriend, I visited him in hospital with her a few months ago and was entertained with the entire history of their relationship dating back to her primary school days, when he “inherited” her after her elder sis grew too old. People, do me a favour yeah, if your dad is still alive and on the wrong side of …40, please pretty please get them to start checking out their prostate gland. You might cringe at the thought of your daddy looking into the state of the family jewels, believe you me that does not compare to the utter devastation, the immeasurable and incomparable pain of losing him to prostate cancer. So for Derrick and your family, I thank God for your father’s life and even more for y’all, perchance we’ll get round someday soon to having that chat we talked about outside your dad’s room ages ago.

Dear Professor Rukare, Rest in Peace Good Sir, and until we have the opportunity to hang out together again, I’ll take good care of your girlfriend for you. Say hi to my Dad, Tim, P-tech, Jajja Mukwaya, Mr. Waiswa my P.5 English language teacher, Aunt Berna, DJ Berry and Luther Vandross for me please.

It’s been real.

17:31 pm EAT
Monday June 4, 2007

As I speak, nay write, an autograph from the greatest man him-u-self, Sir Richard Branson, is currently on the Mombasa Highway on its way to Jomo Kenyattaa where it will board the evening Kenya Airways flight to Entebbe and thereafter will be delivered to me personally at the start of the working day tomorrow.

To say I am chuffed is to put it mildly; t’would be like saying that Uganda was pleased with the outcome of the Uganda Cranes vs. Super Eagles game the other day. Now that was a match munonga. I am not merely excited, I am so beside myself that I am afraid I will go off and do something really … Bransonesque … like attempt to glide from the top of the building that houses the boutique – which I was informed is actually a fashion house – using only the dressing room curtain.

I’m so excited that I’m posting again.

In other news, my first and oldest client will be returning to Kampala, Ug tonight after being one of only 2 Ugandans invited to attend the launch ceremony of Virgin Atlantic in Nairobi. We’ll be launching her newest travel product later this week. Anyone wanna fly down to Mozambique for Christmas? Call me, I got the hook up.

i love my girlfriend.

I love my girlfriend, so I do not kiss her or fondle her or in any way act towards her in a manner that will lead her to sin. Sounds like a bit of an oxymoron, does it not? I mean, you’d think that if I loved someone then I would do everything in my power to make them happy, even if that meant, yes, kissing them and all.

I want to be a DJ like Alex, play the guitar like Carlos Santana, swim like Ian Thorpe – no scratch that, I don’t want feet like his, dude got feet like a yeti – I wanna swim like … Jimmy Alemiga, be witty like Ernest Sempebwa, write like Frank McCourt, cook like Sam Patel and yes, drive like Sam Ssali. If Sam was driving today, believe you me, you would not have a Zimbabwean fresh out of his teens – Conrad Rautenbach – showing matures like Emma Katto a thing or two, like, a few hundred metres of dust. But more than all of that I want to be the best future husband to my girlfriend, fiancée to be exact, but she don’t know that yet (there’s the small matter of graduation, weaning her mother of her, asking her dad for her hand, and, a small chunk of sparkly carbonized coal).

So being a good future husband, current boyfriend, to my future Queen, my beautiful sapphire, my priceless … how blasé is it to describe the woman I love in terms of stones? Yeah I know, moving right on. Like I was saying, being a good man to my woman, means I must by rights deny her the pleasures of sin. Now we’re entering the twilight zone. What is sin and what is it that I doing would be classified as sin? I’ll tell you, kissing her. Yes, kissing her. And there you were thinking that I was going to say something really horrid like … gluttony, envy, sloth, avarice, pride, voting for the Movement and the other seven deadly sins. Mbu!

My faith does not encourage close encounters of the physical kind betwixt unmarried young ‘uns. My interpretation of my faith that is. I know … treading on eggshells and running the risks of alienating a friend or two here … people who don’t share my (newly) puritanical world view and by the way, some of them are more “conc” than I am. So there, the next time the worship leader goes like, “lets just raise holy hands and begin to praise the Lord…” you might want to ask yourself if those hands have lately been praising the Lord’s creation, gliding over a cheek here, stroking an upper arm there, hesitating at the point where waist meets hip , you get the picture.

The part that I don’t get is how you date, kiss, canoodle, snuggle, fondle, yada yada yada and … don’t get all the way to home base. I just don’t get it! (expln below) You cannot just be there chilling in the twilight zone without getting bored and wanting MORE! I don’t get it! That’s why there are so many young unwed parents in the church. You be there chilling after bible study or cell or fellowship or whatever, then y’all start kissing, then – after a few weeks/months of doing that – you just get to the point where she gives you a certain look or your hands find the f-spot or dammit dude, you’re just too damn horny to care that Jesus aint gonna be too thrilled so you … get your nasty on. And being the good Christian that you are, of course you did not have protection, you’re not that kinda person, so nine months later the white stork – is there ever a black one? – delivers a lovely bundle of joy. Now you’re standing at the pulpit looking out at the KPC central auditorium wondering, Pastor Chris next to you, his face a study in feigned pained disappointment, how it all came to this.

Therefore, in conclusion, I love my girlfriend and because I love her I will not put her in harm’s way, however much I want to just kiss her ohsosoft luscious cherry red lips. I have just one condition – who gives God conditions? That’s right, I do – I will be wed in a church that allows the Pastor/Reverend/Priest/Rabbi/Guru to intone these most magical of words, “you may now kiss the bride” at which point I will plant a smacker on her passionate enough to make Lady Chatterley herself blush like a ripe tomato.

(expln) I do not speak from ignorance. I speak from the pain of experience. Some demons are better left asleep or else, like Samantha in Sex & The City, you will have to feed the monster. Repeatedly.