Side Dishes

Who goes to a restaurant to order a side dish? Do you?

There’s this term young girls have coined to rather simplify the notion of adultery and fornication it irritates me every time I hear it uttered. “Oh, I am his side dish!” And then she goes on to elaborate how the wife was attacking her but it is not her fault the man likes her and what she brings to the relationship and to top if off, she’s gallivanting about the numerous places she’s been to and the amazing things she’s gotten from the man. Oh how I fucking hate side dishes.

This new species has taken our society by storm, and the worst part is, they are proud. They claim they are a valid contribution to our society (I really wonder how) and that without them, marriage would be boring. WHAT THE FUCK! Marriage boring? Since when? Who grew you? You know the famous adage that I think I might have just coined “Only playas get daughters”, well, I think that the side dish eventually gets what’d coming their way.

It pains my ears to hear a lady brag about her linen, very dirty linen, of how she spent the weekend with a married man and how he promised to leave his wife for her. Oh Jesus. She even has the courtesy to go to church. I hate to judge, but if you even find this concept even slightly acceptable or even excusable, then go fuck a tree or something.

And the fucking men who have side dishes, what the hell are you thinking? Is it that hard to keep it in your pants? Were you that dumb when you married that gorgeous lady. Promised her the world. Gave her children. Gave her a house. Made her believe in happily ever after. What were you thinking then that has got you straying like a caged dog? It is absurd when a 50 year old man goes out with her daughter (side dish) and promises whatever he promises.

Humans are weak. If you even think for once you can disassociate sex and emotions then go get checked machine. And if its about sex, oh well, what got you attracted to your wife in the first place. There shouldn’t be excuses in marriage for cheating. You work at them. This young generation that was born in the 80s should learn from their parents who are still together. The importance of stability. Grow up people. If it is not working out, end it. Start afresh. Still, spice shit up, take a trip, renew your vows, go get counselling. Twakowa ba guy who claim that the sex is boring, ati she’s boring in bed. For fucks sake, what did you get into? She changed? And you didn’t?

Oh well, I am all for the main dish. The side dishes are the exes that you should be done with. In fact, I am in for the main course, be it a three, four or five meal course and she should be all that. Make it count. Otherwise, your children will bring that old flame you were side dishing with as their baby daddy to your wedding day.




Stop it now. I said stop it. Don’t. Don’t do it!

When Ugandans decided to blog, there was simply two feelings, alright, and fuck me!

The alright was mostly on the fact that people had decided to start writing. Who wouldn’t want to see progression in their society in terms of writing and putting to paper, a moment in time, something we would later refer to as either being revolutionary or plain dumb stupid. But I was glad.

The fuck me was the sceptic in me. I mean, Ugandan bloggers writing. Someone who can barely compose 140 characters is/was being tasked to make at least 200 words of consecutive and coherent sentences! How? I mean, I’ve already answered the why bit. So, why the fuck me?

1. We love to give reasons why we are writing. Don’t we? Read any blog, and for some unbeknownst of reasons, we always have blogcks and are giving reasons why we are finally back! Oh, I was here. I was busy! I was travelling. Life sucks. I mean, someone spends three whole paragraphs trying to explain why they are not writing. Just do us a favour, shut down the computer.

2. Shitty titles. I think the key to any blog post is in the title. Sometimes people get it write, pun intended. Other times, well, don’t bother reading.

3. Personal. Yes, blogs are personal but they should at least have a semblance of objectiveness or persona in them. Not everything should be about how or what you spent your day doing.

4. Editing. For fucks sake, edit the fucking blog.

5. As I was taught by my predecessors, the magic is in the first 500 words, and beyond that, you are fucking kidding me.

6. Images! Not every blog post needs to have images. Most times they are not even coherent. Shit I just used coherent twice. But yes, most times the images are baseless, pointless and space filling. You don’t need images, you need imagery, if you get what I mean.

7. The thematic. Oh the fucking thematic. Like your writing, your blog can’t afford to be ugly. Pick a nice theme or at least, let it be good enough we can skip the badly written posts.

8. Mystery. There was a time when we didn’t know who was blogging or writing, but we met them in their posts, in their images, on their fucking blog. And it was fucking amazing.

9. Proof reading. Please do that, again for fucks sake.

10. Fuck you. But thank you for reading none the less.

11. Have I forgotten something? Uhm!

Keeping Up With The Kardashians

I am rather fascinated at the religiousness with which this show is watched at home. Puzzled in fact at how my mother begs us to set the timer for it. I tried asking her why, but well, I am not ready to keep up with a kardashian.  My mother has been more than fascinated by these people’s stories she watches it like a devotee catholic going to church over the Easter weekend. She’s not abashed by the ideas of their worldly lifestyle or the danger they pause to world peace. Anyway, long story short, she’s still going to watch it, whether we like it or not.

Every day, when I wake up, I ask myself, isn’t there a simpler way to make something out of this life. Can’t we be paid for just thinking about the things we are employed to do without actually doing them? Why should we struggle to live a life we shall eventually question having lived when our time finally comes. The fore sight for this being that whatever we work for is just a legacy, a legacy you hope will continue to exist. But any ways, the kardashians have found the magic in being paid to do nothing literally. Fight, gossip, cry, cry, cry some more and voilà, the family pulls in an amazing $100 million at the end of the year. Whilst, I sit on my laptop, day in, day out, scribbling, sketching, reporting and still very broke.

I have a dream. I need to be on the Forbes list at some point in my life, and rather sooner than later because I do want to enjoy my money whilst I still have the mental capacity to. Which is also quite surprising, because there’s literally no black man in the Top 50 richest people in the world and if we take the black women who have graced that list, they have done it in showbiz. So how’s a mere me supposed to get on to that list? Can I really keep up with the kardashians.

In all truth, when you remove the gossip, the crying and the silliness, these kardashians have built an empire by fooling the world of their inherent existence and maybe too I should focus on fooling the world of mine. I mean, if you can’t be it, fake it till you make it. My struggle continues, and hopefully, I will have that number on the forbes list and whence I do, I shall be called by that number. Trust me, it should be worth it. The sleepless nights, the tireless man hours and finally, maybe my mother shall keep up with that lifestyle she so desires.

Remember when we were young and watched Dexter’s Lab and wished we had an underground lab, minus the nagging sister, well, it’s time I woke up from that dream and …

What? Is she for real? Fuck Kim! I hate Keeping Up With The Kardashians but I must one day be on the Forbes list.