Everything you can imagine is real.


I awoke this morning….very happy yet deep inside me, I was sad. I went to my window to catch the sunrise….then a bodaboda flipped right through the air…and my heart leaped with joy.

I have qualms with fb, first, the many abbreviations….lol, omg, lmao, FYI, btw…countless….it’s like reading an sms on computers….it gets to my nerves. But that’s not it; fb is the collection of all issues around the world. Am sick, he cheated, he turned gay, she hates me…please….WTF…one of my favourite abbreviations.

Good news, I finally got the album of the century. The one and only Wolfgang Amadeus, now those who have been reading this blog a while now, I said music is the key to the soul especially when in puberty. Apparently I never got through that stage. She says. And that’s another issue….can’t a brother watch his cartoons in peace…they are better than watching those weak telenovelas. But I got the music and my heart is at peace.

The week Bukenya’s son died, Kazini packed, and others kicked the bucket had Friday the 13th in it, now tell me, what more explanations do you need. It was cursed, freaky how these fellas died to. But yeah, if you guys believe, that’s that for sure.

What has happened to the blogsphere of recent, no one seems to be blogging, and I know it can’t be blogcks because it peak season for The Drama.

The Drama.

Ok, a friend sent me a message about how chics are restless unsettled bitches, till they at least get married. My experience has taught me that they always have guys on the side….

For the money….sugar dad
for the love……very weak dude
for notes…..cute guy in her class
for looks….cute guy he is into
for show…very rich kid

And to crown it all….for the issues…me
when I was still young, I learnt that girl issues don’t affect me, so am the one and on issue guy they come to and trust me, what more than to fcuk your therapist because he controls your thoughts. So this beb, she comes to me with her “issues”…and I sort them out. But the drama in this is the bloody issues she has…..

They all have the daddy issues
this one happens to all, daddy cares to much to minimise the pocket money they are getting because they are growing old. They complain….fyi…he is a sugar dad somewhere….duh

Boyfriend issues
Now ladies, do you remember the boy who cried wolf, that’s right, we are wolves, soon or later, we shall get you..the bu-many guys you were playing with shall all find out, when they all come in unnoticed…..and hence your bf issues…and start calling him your course mate, another your neighbour, another your bro’s friend. Now boys, let me get this, I hook my sister up with a friend I know knows the darkest streets in K’la. Hey…but am the therapist, am here to console you.

So ladies out there, men are the greatest, He created us first so please….the drama you like to cook up, will definitely backfire, and don’t tell me you love all these guys, you heart aint that big and your explanation for love shouldn’t be Chicken tonight supper or effendis on the weekend.

Sad news, am a superstar but this katebe I have sat on for a year now is killing me… too picky for life many women bore me before they say hi. My doctor thinks it’s the handsome complex (very hot guy syndrome)….they are stunned they forget what to say. I asked him for treatment, he said I tone it down, now doctor, how the bloody hell do I turn these looks of, get a car accident. No, I won’t. Put on weak shit, I tried….but I shone more….they started to drool. So what should I do.

My window.

I see the Aya hotel from here, I can hear the beats from steak out on any good night, I have the view to comp science building. Catching a fire from there is just ethereal…total bliss. A cigar( very true)….life never got any better.

After listening to rock for a while and strumming air and beating it too, i decided to think up what my band would be……tatatatatatata……we present….

My band.

What would it be like to have the first Ugandan rock band…the rogue voices deeply African accentuated…the ngalabi…the adungu and others, with me playing the triangle and humming in the background. I write these songs. Rock songs always have funny titles, like the day mu7 got shot at I was smiling… tired of school I want to go for Christmas….now this one will heat, from pre primary to campus, even the working class will make a version of am tired of work I want to go for Christmas. We shall rock all the joints, steak out, we shall be broke before we succeed, and write a book about it, we be kissing a** for Steve Jean to produce our album and drop the Blu 3 (who BTW, will be old hags now), on the street ,we shall wear skinny jeans like those dudes…big Gucci glasses with holes in them, our hair uncombed, them chics will be crying for us to autograph there breasts….our wall posters shall grace young dreamers walls. Our band. Its name will be…uhm….The ghetto rockers….yeah, something Ugandan and outside-ish. Ahhh our rock band.


One thought on “Memoirs….

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