The epidemic that is blogger 'blogcks' seems to have spared a select few and I'm only saying this because I wasn't left out of the 'fun'. My brain is constipated but thanks to the inventor of shame and remorse I still come here, comment where I can, then try to compose something and while at it, look out of the window from where I admire the generous behind that was planted on the Multiplex lady and before I know it I want to display my God-given gluttony at lunch.
Well today I'm already done with lunch and the Multiplex lady has taken refuge from this melting sun under the huge umbrella from where I cant gawk at her. Doesn't mean I have my brains back yet, they must be vacationing themselves silly some where in the Caribbean sun, getting drunk on coloured cocktails and hurling obscenities at Puerto Rican babes in gomesis!
Hence this;
THE ONLY PROM RULE:Enjoy dancing in the daylight heat, eat so little for once in your school life so as not to scare your date away, only IF you must, don't get a hard-on while dancing, and please make the most of the darkness and the walls. The walls especially: LEAVE THEM DIRTY!
UNWRITTEN RULE: Don't wipe your date's sweat with your palms...she will smell like the plate you used at lunch!! If you manage not to do that, then don't spoil all your good work by handing her her your dad's phone number if you don't have one. Posta still works and now they have express delivery so get smart.
My brain. It cant be this bad, can it?
Let me ride on and see how far it will take this post.
I believe we guys never pay much attention to any blemish on our physicality until maybe when you are consistently teased about it. But still you smile about it before with the help of evil thinking, you tactfully turn your guns on that guy who has also been haranguing you about anything small yet he is blessed with a bean-shaped head and probably looks like he was a prop in Babylon 5. It is a mean strategy, that much I know but if you live in that world, your life is bound to get a lot messier than not if you choose not to employ evil! So the jokes have been flowing of late about the size of these two rounded mounds of flesh that God gave me to sit with, take quinine injections and endure kiboko from teachers...what they universally call an arse these days.
See my 70s hangover mom is still obsessed with the Pepe Kale style of wearing trousers so much that it reduces her to near tears that I can’t wear trousers halfway up my chest. But you know what, I'm not going to blame almost senile her! While she grew up in an era where made-up Congolese men were idolized, I'm dreaming of ways to be as cool as Ozzie Osbourne minus the drugs.
Now to get this ancient trouser style going, you need a sizable chunk of arse which I'm not exactly blessed with and frankly don’t mind having. Actually I'm rather happy not to have, not with all these strange Kampala men offering to buy you a drink if you arent in the company of a lady while at the bar.
Its simple. You are a guy and your boxers don't slide down your arse unless tugged at, be happy. You don't want to lose the only virginity you have left.
I mean no offense to the menfolk with anthills on the backsides!
The rest of us meanwhile will be out there looking for women like her to mate with and give the future better arses where they don't have to endure taunts.
And I'm now gone. Off to bait my brains to return home before they contract a Caribbean STD!
