indiscriminate only because i do not want to say random

So this place my new work place, it has taught me this one thing. That nobody is safe from office gossip. You see, every time somebody goes out the door, we (yes, me inclusive) go ahead and tear them to shreds. So for a while I was enjoying the whole trashing people behind their backs, until I realized that I might (very likely) be a subject of it as well. Anyway, that has not stopped me gossiping though. There is a certain thrill you get from hearing all those mean things said about your workmates! Hopefully they enjoy my session as much as I enjoy theirs.

There’s this guy I know that does not like sports. Mary does not even watch soccer. So as a concerned supporter of the Uganda Cranes I asked him this all important question. “Why not?” So he says that as a child he had a traumatic experience with the football. You see, when he was in primary three (note: that is the age when every boy is asking their parents to get them a leather ball at Christmas), he attempted to join his friends in a game of soccer. When the ball came hurtling towards him, Mary shielded himself with his hands. Ball connects with the hands; boy comes off the pitch screaming black and blue. Apparently, “the football hurt my hands.” He probably also broke is fingernails in the process. That little girl is now a thirty something nerdy computer something something. Mary can be reached here.

Anyway, I leave you with this;
This guy buys sunglasses earlier in the day. Bed time draws close and just before he slips into the covers, slips the glasses on. So somebody asks, “But why are you wearing sunglasses to bed?” Guy answers, “Why, what if I dream that I am at the beach?”

Her uncle. he loved her. he used her. and never said sorry

Her uncle Kennedy was awesome. Like that time on New year’s day when he took her out to the beach and bought her beer; enough beer to knock her out cold even if she was only 15. Uncle Kennedy was super cool; he even used to tell her stories about his girlfriends, especially those that were good in bed. He even encouraged her to talk about her sex life, encouraged her to own up to the fact that she was not a virgin any more. Even if she was only 15. And she was still a virgin. Uncle made her feel bad every time she said she was a virgin. He said she was lying. No way could she still be a virgin. He had after all once been her age and knew what kind of mischief girls and boys that age got up to. She loved her uncle Kennedy. He was her best friend. They did not have secrets from each other.

She was never an obedient child Karen. Her mother knew this about her. So when Karen told her mother that school was breaking off a week later than was scheduled, her mother had gone ahead and called the dean to confirm. She was lying again to the dismay of her mother. What was getting into this child? No matter how much she had tried to discipline her, Karen had remained an unapologetic insolent. She was ordered to go back home on the day school broke off or she would have to answer to her mother. But you see, Karen had already made plans with her friends to go dancing the whole week long and she was not about to cancel. What would she tell her friends? That mummy had refused her to go? Never. Her friends were to never find out that she was anything but the hardcore girl who snuck cigarettes and waragi over the school fence and mixed it with her quencher.

The first day after school, Karen and her friends had shacked up in some seedy room her friend’s boyfriend had found them. That night, they’d gone to the disco really early where she had met and danced with a guy till morning. One week later, said guy broke her virginity. She was 16. A week after that at the bus stop, after swearing undying love to her, he waved her off to a fate unknown to her. She had had a good two weeks of fun, but now she could not go back home. With tears streaming down her eyes, some for the new boyfriend she would not see again in a long while and the other tears for the sense of foreboding that was fast engulfing her. She was not ready to face her mother.

Like an epiphany, it hit her half way through the odious bus ride. Uncle Kennedy. Surely he would take her in? He did. Into his one room apartment with the one bed they would inevitably have to share. They talked all night that first night and every night after that for a week. She did not question him when before they drifted off, he took her in his arms in an embrace. Uncle was just trying to keep her warm, is what she kept telling herself, even if deep down she knew better. Then he started to roam his hands over her body, and fondle her breasts and urging her to turn around and kiss him. Humiliated disgusted and disgraced, she had stormed out of the bed. “That is disgusting.” she had answered to her uncle’s query. Insulted and hurt, Uncle Kennedy has demanded to know why that was. After everything he had done for her, taking her in when she had no place to go, why was she treating him that way?

She did not understand why uncle was being this way. He was her uncle for golly’s sake. And not only that, everybody knew that he was HIV positive. He looked it too. He was awful skinny and his fast thinning hair had turned an ugly brown. Did he want to give it to her too? And now why was he angry with her? Could she not understand that what he was doing to her was wrong? She slept on the couch that night. Uncle Kennedy did not talk to her for about a week, but she was still too scared to go home. When he did eventually speak to her, it was to scold her and make her feel worthless. But anything was better than going back, so she endured it for as long as it lasted…

Karen eventually went back home

Her mother was so relieved to see her and all she wanted to do was hug her

Years later, Uncle Kennedy got born again, but he has never asked Karen for forgiveness. She is still close to her uncle regardless of everything, even though she still has questions about that night. will she ever get answers?

World Aids Day; Breaking my silence

My cousin Immaculate. She was in S.3. Her mother had sent her to live with us when she was in P.7 after catching her with a man in the toilet, hoping that my dad, quite the disciplinarian would turn her into a disciple. She was in S.3. That was when she died. I remember how terrified I was of her. I remember how pale and skinny she looked. She vomited a lot. My dad fed her on a lot of eggs. And juice. And drugs that looks like stained glass. She liked to bask in the sun. Then when she could not take in any more, she would beckon me to help her up, and back in the house. But I would run off scared and beckon the house help. What if I caught whatever it is that she had. What if my lips chapped as hers had? What if I contacted those sores that I saw on her arms, legs feet, and hands? I did not know what it is she was suffering from, but I knew I never wanted it. She died a few months later. In our house. I was 10. At her burial, I heard people whisper. It was Aids that had done it to her. I told myself then that I did not want to die from HIV. Even if then I did not know how one contacted it.

She was my favorite cousin in the village Naome. She was always full of life, always chatting, and eager to show me around the farm and help me pick guavas. But when I went to the village that particular Christmas, everything had changed. Naome was not there to greet us. I found her lying in her bed, stark naked, moaning and writhing in pain. I took one look at her skinny body and knew immediately what she was dying from. Her huge eyes turned and stared at me blankly when I walked in. i ran out of the room and never went back. Five days later, at day break, she passed on. Aids had claimed yet another one. I was 12.

I find I cannot compose myself on this one. I had grown into a teenager. My dad and I clashed a lot. He was not that happy with me and I understood why. Come visiting day, he sent my elder sister to visit me. Had I been that bad that my father could not even bear to come and visit me? My sister had told me that he was busy. I did not buy it. I set out to read hard at school, maybe then I would win my father back. I found out from my mum later that father had been sick. Later that holiday, I noticed my dad was not his usual vivacious self. I also noticed he had stopped wearing shorts, his favorite weekend do. Once when he was jumping into his car, I noticed the sores on his legs. Wait. I had seen those sores before on Immaculate. I was horrified and mortified. Surely my dad did not have Aids. He was my father. He was not supposed to have any such humiliating diseases. I approached my elder sister and asked her. She confirmed my worst fears. She also pointed to the woman that had given him it. I was disgusted, and terrified, and I knew it would be only a matter of time. Three months later, the teacher on duty came to fetch me out of class during night preps. My dad had passed. Aids had claimed him. I was 13.

And many more…

Today I remember the many lives that have been lost to the Aids blight. I celebrate especially those that were dear to me. To those that are living with it and those that fight every day. To my little adopted sister who by no fault of hers was born with HIV, and my mum who fasts and prays for a miracle every day, for my little sister to get better.

Imagine the possibility of an HIV free generation…

My shine

This morning on my way to work I was standing by the road trying to cross it obviously, because I do not have idle tendencies of just standing by the roadside for just. Anyway, so I am standing by the road looking left, right, then left. There is an elderly lady standing right beside me, also attempting to cross the road. She reaches out and takes my hand. Startled, I turn and look at her and without saying a word, held on to it tighter and helped her across the road. or maybe she helped me. On the other side, I let go of her hand, she smiled,I smiled, and withought ever sasying a word to each other, we had shared a moment. I have never felt so special in my life. It is the little things

Meanwhile, check out, neatsilverbow


Work's crazy. Sometimes i work 13 hour days. I kiss butt for a living. In the morning, I am a kayungirizi of sorts. In the morning, I will be in the meeting with my bosses where I will listen to and comply with their every whim. And then when they are done whining, I will kiss their royal butts. Later in the day, I will call up the people that are in charge of satisfying the whims of my bosses and I will kiss their ordinary(insert list of all your favorite bloggers) butts. This is a true story by the way.

Also, is it just me or has there been a general slack in morale ampng boggers? wats up guys? keep those posts coming!

Anyway, here are some pictures. Feel free not to look at them.

Detamble fixing her glasses properly in order to make out those dark dark faces that were in front of her. Solomon King looking at her and thinking, dude, i am right in your face, how come you can't see me? anybody know what happened to detamble by the way?

something no man should be caught alive doing. carrying a woman's hadbag does not count as one of the romantic things a guy can do to prove undying love to a woman.

would you trust this proffessional tailor with your clothes?

Not even if the medicine is to save your own life?

And that tree is growing right outside of UMEME offices in nakawa/kyambogo. For those of you who do not geddit, the tree is growing right under the electricity lines. phew!

It contains Vitamins A, B,C,D,E and Z complex

Yep. When those of Warid start making airtime cards, they will stop being singled out.

Then later maybe you can taste the food

Dapht, and Doofus enrolled here

And that is Carlo.

The chilling truth

Most of you probably read this story in Sunday vision. For the benefit of those that cannot access newspapers on weekends maybe because office is closed on Sundays and they cannot get ‘em free, they are too stingy and won’t spend on a newspaper, or their roads are too screwed up by Lord knows what and hence the newspaper trucks cannot get to their neighborhood, here is the short of it. On a July or June day in 2006, a rich man went to his construction site with two burly men and a 7 year old girl in tow, and watched while said men threw her into a pit that had been dug out in the still-under -construction- building and covered her with concrete and later proceeded to do sacrificial chants on her grave. This sort of thing is done in the quest for riches. I have not been able to have any pure thoughts since I read that story.

But just two days before that, I was out in the field with one of my bosses, also, a very popular rich little man in town. Anyway, he was briefing some of his employees (drivers) on safety and shit like that. Then he said something that chilled me to my breast bones. He said “Be sure not to knock down anybody. Because it is very costly in hospital bills. Unless you are lucky and that person dies. There I get to spend less on burial and stuff… ”

There. His concern was not for people’s lives but how much he would have to fork out in compensation. For the rich, it is all about the money. No heart.

I am not very happy today. Can you tell?

originallity 101

The year is 2008. There is a credit crunch and the US has a Kenyan for President. It's a very odd state of events. Very! Back to the credit crunch. Money hasn't started growing on trees and while people wait for that, they need ideas. Brilliant revolutionary ideas. The stuff of legend. Stuff that people will buy.

Some where in the nation of Dapht, off the coast of Angola, a company has been brainstorming. Thus far, its been a futile process. The chairman of the board of directors Kwak Industries wants innovation or everyone will be subjected to reruns of that telenovella they loathe. Its not looking up and all hope is just about lost....when suddenly...

John: Ladies, I have come up with this brilliant and totally original idea. Let us manufacture batteries! you know, the kind that people can use in their remote controls. yes. I bet nobody has ever thought of that! not even the guy that invented remote controls. Am I brilliant or what?

Joseph and Japheth: Cool.

Japheth: But what shall we call the batteries?

John: That is where I come in. I also managed to come up with an original name to go with the batteries. Ladies, allow me to introduce you to Panasonic

Joseph Rushes over to his computer, types panasonic into his google search bar and gets 1,804,573,240 hits. Looks over at the girls disapointment showing on his face and says

Joseph: Thori Ladieth, but it theemth that name isth already taken. But here isth another name I had been meaning to bring to your attention justht in keth we ever invented a cardboard boxth. Are you ready for.....Toshiba!

Japheth who until now has been silently watching wondering what in the world she has been doing hanging around this dumb bunch, shakes her head)

Japheth: Ladies please. I hear what ya'll have been trying to say. But as you all already know, and i have constantly proven to you over the years i am the brilliant one in this group, let me do some brain storming with my medula and get back to you girls in three, two, one... PANASHIBA! And that is final!

Joseph and John dumbfounded by this sort of wizardry yet again, just nod their head in wonder and get down on their knees to worship the day's hero.

have a nice weekend guys

not without my onions

Due to popular demand, I have decided to come back. Okay so I am stretching the public demand bit. Only Cheri wanted me back, but I am here anyway. I have been away because I was dealing with emotional trauma.

Last week Sunday
Lawn mower guy comes home pops his machine to life and before long, grass blades are meeting their demise. Nice enough. We do not have to live in constant danger of being bitten by snakes. Not so nice is that the noise from his outdated lawn mower has just interrupted my Sunday afternoon TV routine. Yes. On Sundays, I watch TV like it is going out of fashion. So I fought with my conscience about shouting at the guy about the possibility of muting his damn thing. Reason won. I figured, he couldn’t possibly know that the machine was making noise. You see, lawn mower guy is deaf. Besides, I have the plight of the physically disabled persons at heart.

Sometime last month
This genius idea came to me. It was so brilliant I sat back and hugged myself right after it had occurred to me. So I thought I would contribute to family welfare by increasing food production. I sorted through the onions at home and came up with perfect candidates for planting. Five of them were quickly lowered into the earth and I sat back and waited for harvest time. Everyday I checked on the onions, pruned, weeded and caressed. They were the best looking onions I had ever seen. They were so hot in fact, I could not wait to see how favorably they would compete with the boiling cooking oil once they had been harvested. In short, I was proud of these onions and even more proud of my handiwork. They were germinating well and I was pleased

Last week Sunday
In the evening, I went for my daily routine of checking on my onion garden. There were none. They had been leveled to the ground! They were the level of the freshly mowed grass. I knew immediately who had done it. I had let him off the hook earlier about the noise because he was deaf, but what excuse did he have now? Clearly his sight was excellent otherwise he would not have gone into the grass cutting business! How could he have not seen those onions? How could he have missed them standing there in their glorious splendor? How could he have mangled my babies so? So anyway, I am sorry, but I am going to have to shout at a handicapped person. So all this time when I have been away, I was composing a hate speech

My onions once proud and glorious now sit in withering cowardice. The once healthy well fed glorious healthy looking leaves have become all skinny as they attempt to grow back. I miss my healthy babies

Yes I planted onions in a grass compound!

Loser chronicles

From the loser chronicles, I bring you quotable quotes

Loser; so how have you been?
Antipop; ok. Have kind of missed you
Loser; Yea. I know. Despite everything people say I know people always liked me. You see, I always went the extra mile to make people happy
Antipop; I’m sorry, what?
Loser; Yes. I went the extra mile to make YOU happy
Antipop; when? Gi’me one example
Loser; you don’t remember? We even used to do sports together
Antipop; Er, sports?
Loser; Yes. We went drinking together. That is the greatest sport a man can do with a woman. You have got to admit though, that was a nice gesture on my part

Yes I remember these times. Holed up in a cheap kafunda wedged between weird looking characters speaking Rutoro. The closest I got to sports was this one time they brought a steaming tray of pork and set it on the table in front of us. And loser told me to dig in. I folded my sleeves and did what any self respecting woman would do. I made a dash for the meat.

i have often wondered

First off, let me just say that we all have different ways of looking at things. For example, boy recieves a basket of flowers, you see love, I see a blog post. By the way, that is as close as I am going to get to as if appologising to you who thought I have nugu and all that from before.

But this post is about how i have always wondered...yes. I sit there and start wondering about stuff. Research has shown that all smart people are like that. Also, this is as close as I am going to get to explaining to people how extremely brilliant I am. So this is what I have been wondering;

What type are you? Are you the type that wipes, squishes the tissue, dumps it in the toilet and pulls up your pants/panties and forgets about it? Or are you the looking type? As in, you wipe and you check...If you are the latter, don't you just hate how sometimes you wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe...phew!

Moral of this thought; Eat your greens and drink a lot of water!

Note to Baz; Do not think i have forgotten about the whole reputation killing tirade you had going about me the other day. Mbu "maternal-looking brown chick eating maize and humming Rock Of Ages to herself." I will have you know I have very excellent taxi ettiquette.

Above is a gift basket a guy at work recieved as a surprise from his girlfriend. In it was all kinds of exotic fruit blank blank blank decorated with all sorts of flowers. Now, the only thing that came to my mind was this;

At what point in their relationship had she finally realised he was gay?

help. i am bored out of my skull

i decided to quit lounging. i realised rather late that it did not put clothes on my back blank blank i got a job. yea. i know! finally! thank you y'all that bought me food, clothed me and all that.

turns out, lounging is the most fun i have ever done in my life. i come and sit at my desk and do nothing! zilch. just cut out newpaper storues and then stare at my blank computer screen!

blank because(i should mention that i am glad i have the computer. yesterday i was just staring at the woodwork of my desk. fine wood i must add. must be mahogany. or synthetic something. i digress)well, it is blank because i do not have an adapter, so i can not connect it to power yet. i hear they are going to have to first requisition for an adapter, have the bosses approve the purchase and then get somebody to go and pick it! Geeeez! i hate protocal. so anyway, i have no computer, no internet, no life!

that means i miss you guys

and i have had to beg somebody to use theuir computer! do you know how humbling that was? no? well it was!

don't know when i will be back here. ttfn= ta ta for now

How i met him...

The first time I met him
It was a bad day. Bad because I was just standing at the fountain at garden city for no reason at all. Or none I can remember anyway, which is why I am just going to go ahead and call it a bad day. Anyway, so I am standing at the fountain looking lost when some guy carrying a rucksack walks by. As a rule, I tend not to be interested in anyone carrying a rucksack and that had not changed much that day. So I just stood there still being idle. Until his name was called out. “Guy” (as we shall call him for now) shouted a girl that was seated at the fountain gossiping. Guy turns around and I look at him now interested. His name had sounded familiar. That is when I squealed ‘aaaaaaaah’ before I clamped my mouth and turned away embarrassed. Guy did not know it, but I was a huge fan, and he was just standing there looking all ordinary like he did not know that his special place was up there with the other not very ordinary folks.

The last time I met him
Which was also the second time, was Wednesday. I got into a taxi and got into a seat beside a person that looked like an antisocial teenager, ears plugged, music blaring (I imagine it was, coz it is the general nature of ear plugs to mute the sound to the outside world. Again antisocial), surfing the Internet on his phone with hat pulled over his face like bad carmflouge. Anyway, I whip out my phone to continue reading the comments off of Chanel’s blog. I get to a comment by Baz and I laugh out so hard. That guy is funny. Before long I am asleep and possibly drooling, until I wake up when said taxi stops moving and I realize the taxi had been maliciously blocked off by a traffic guy. Now a young woman is calling her hotshot relative to send her a number of a hotshot traffic guy she can call and get that decision reversed and possibly guilty traffic cop fired.

Teenager next to me looks still disinterested in the world around him. Then his phone rings. Wait. That is not slang he is speaking. What kind of teenager is this? I steal a look and I recognize him! It is Guy! But I can’t be so sure so I stealthily lift the strap of his rucksack to check out the label. I whip out my phone and a text is sent. Sure. My friend tells me, Guy has a rucksack with that label. I ask my friend to call Guy up immediately. And sure enough, his phone rings a few seconds later. Confirmed. Now what do I do? Make small talk with passenger that will probably not hear? Tap him and introduce myself as a fan? A colleague? I decided to shut up and laugh nervously every so often. I was tempted to shut out “bye Guy” when he alighted but I thought that would be totally weird.

And that ladies and gentlemen is how I met Ernest Bazanye

Rucksack Label= M-net logo


The following takes place between 5:11pm and 5:13pm

Boy: oh yeah, I got a nephew
Girl: awww. What sex is the baby?
Boy stares at girl in mock disbelief
Girl: the baby, what sex is it?
Boy staring fixedly at girl with another blank incredulous look
Girl: what?
Boy now totally at wits end
Girl: (about to break question down to boy when it finally dawns on her) ooooohhhh. Nephew!

i swear that was not me


I have been forced to change my earlier stand. I might have been the girl in question but I would also like to take this opportunity to change my plea to not guilty by reason of insanity. No really, i had been feeling sleepy all day.

work,bloody work, freaking bloody work

I work for a newspaper. Which is sad really, because I believe that my true calling is in bed. No. Not working. Just sleeping. Lately, I really hate my job. Sure I have had those moments before in the past where I did not want to see the inside of our office again, only to come back all wistful and apologetic- apologizing to my desk and computer that is- but this time, the whole I hate my job routine has lasted longer than normal. Which can only mean one thing; that I need to come into my inheritance soon so that I can really go do that duty for which I was crafted out to do. Sleep. I mean, me and my bed have this amazing rapport, I get all teary just thinking about it.

Since I have not come into my inheritance yet, I still slave at this newspaper. Its name; “the chapter.” so I have been away from work for three days, only to come back and find that some nits had imposed on me some stupid assignments. I mean, there is like 400 other dedicated writers and they had to go and give the assignment to the one person that did not really want it! Apparently, they (newspaper) are revamping their look, introducing new magazines with in existing magazines. I know. Weird. Right? So I am supposed to write a sorta promotional story. What? Are they fucking kidding me? I would sooner promote the charcoal stove than this er, er, thing. But they are the bosses. So I took the assignment, and here is how it turned out.

The chapter’s fucking revamping like they have nothing else in the world to do
Antipop from Kanungu

Your favorite daily has found even more ways to torture your already miserable life. On top of their already sleep inducing Monday nightmares (yes, really. There is a sleep inducing nightmare out there) they are revamping the Monday paper to include a men’s section as if we do not already have enough fagots(no offense whomever. i diss straight guys all the time and they do not curl up and cry over it) traversing Uganda as it is. I mean seriously!

They (the paper, remember?) are spreading out content and design to include the public. I mean more like stretching the public’s patience and endurance. What the readers (are there any?) should spread out is their palms across the editor’s face. Seriously how much more of this crap can the public take. One unqualified source aka editor says that readers can write in and tell us their stories. Yea. Why don’t you go ahead and light a fire and invite people to tell folk tales, while I die from misery and embarrassment.

Asked what the public is benefiting from this selfish gesture, another unqualified source said, “it is meant to give people a bigger platform.” Who freaking needs any more platform. We already have the constitutional square as a platform. Look how many people have been arrested there so far. What is to stop those same morons from arresting you no doers for wielding a daily chapter newspaper? If you guys know what is good for you, you should never buy another chapter psuedo newspaper. What a bunch of jokers all these editors are!

What a freak show! What pure nonsense. What garbage. The chapter indeed! How about I introduce you to the next chapter in your shameless life that reads; THE END.

This assignment required me to write 800 words but I cannot be bothered to make up more words. If you editors feel compelled to, come up with your own gibberish. I am done sucking face.
For God and My country

I guess now is when I beg you not to tattle to my employers?

My aunt’s clueless

We all have him/her. The family idiot. And for outsiders, that might be their village idiot. Well, I am only hoping that nobody from my family reads this blog or I am a dead woman. Girl. Boy? Anyway, so this aunt of mine, who is very rich by the way, has very many off days. She says the weirdest things, interprets things in the weirdest way, and is well, weird. One time we were having a conversation about a certain guy. Now, said guy is really proficient with computers. So my aunt jumps out of the group and screams (because she is not capable of not shouting) “oh, that one. I know him. He is a computer lizard!”

We let that one slide

In 2006, some of the world’s greatest sportsmen gathered someplace to play one of the world’s most popular games. Football.
The tournament; World Cup.
Medium; DSTV.
Venue; the sitting room.
Crowd; myself, my aunt, and various uncles and cousins
As all football games are not known to go very well all through, this one did not. At one point, the referee pulls out a yellow card, shows it to one of the players, who then walks away. Then my aunt shouts, “He has refused to take it. He has refused. Can you believe it? He has refused it. The man has refused to take the card. Look all of you... ”

Some minutes later…

A goal is scored. What normally happens here is that the deed is then replayed in slow motion and from different angles to allow viewers to get to enjoy the genius behind the shot. Or whatever it is people enjoy about slow motion replays of scored goals. So she is all excited about that goal and when they put the slow replay she says “another one! They have scored another one. And it is the same guy. In the same way he scored the last one. Is the goalkeeper stupid? How can he make the same mistake more than once? ”

Weird* = dumb

Dont You Just Hate?

Don’t you just hate?

How writers are quick to put laziness down to writer’s block?

When you call somebody and they say "I have been meaning to call you." Oh Yea? And what did you do about it?

When the soap drops into the toilet bowl? And having to yank it out? And then use it again?

In The Godfather II, when the dead girl breathes.

When singers ask you to ‘say yeeeeaaaaaaaaahhh!’ even when your prior silence means you totally disagree. And you open your mouth to say “heck no” and out comes, yeeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhh

Or when a show host asks you to “make some noise” for a guest or other. Dude. If we thought they were worth the noise we would be screaming our lungs out already

When just before he pulls off your pants you remember that there is a hole in your knickers.

When he pushes your head down there

When you are walking along the street and a guy says to you “size yange” dude seriously. I am not fat (phffffft), sweaty, dirty and smelly. How can I possibly be sayizi yo?

In the morning when you realize that none of your shoes matches that perfect outfit you picked out the night before.


When you duck into a secluded place to untangle that wedgie only to realize after doing it that someone was watching the whole time. Now they are smiling wickedly.

When you let out that silent one and pray to the heavens for odorless mercies and seconds later only to be hit with a horrid smell that could only be emanating from your rear

That your favorite bongo flava artist broke his legs and you can’t for the life of you know for sure how that happened

i am back like disco

News reaching me is that a certain morning show host said mbu Ugandan bloggers have beef for Melanie and are jealous of her because their boyfriends probably have the hots for her. This exonerates the male bloggers obviously, well except GUG. So as a female blogger who might have been targeted in this attack, here is my response.

1. I have no known boyfriends past or present who have a thing for Melanie. I swear. They have never told me.
2. Ofcourse we do not hate Melanie. I know I don’t. She is a sweet, sweet girl that has provided for many an amusing and entertaining morning. Like the other time when she said “down south in Djibouti,” I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. Now tell me, how can that possibly be interpreted as hate and beef and jealousy? Aha! Truth is, each one of us has an off day. I have a lot of those. Feel free to pick on me
3. Really male radio presenter, for someone as smart as you to advance such an argument is very, very disappointing. Just because we disagree sometime does not mean we have a personal vendetta against a person. Not all girls are necessarily threatened by the existence of other females. Does any sort of disagreement have to be about men? And that was not the first time said presenter is equating a situation with envy and jealousy. I remember when nude pictures of Cindy came out, his first comment was, “look at her, she is flawless, I know many women will be jealous of her coz she has no cellulite, no stretch marks and no ounce of fat on her.” Women do not necessarily hate each other Mr. Radio presenter
4. Why? Why would you broadcast something like that? Why would you go on national radio and say that bloggers think Melanie does not have intellectual KB? Why are you letting everyone else in on it? To what benefit sir?
5. If I have been hard on you Melanie, I ask that you er, forgive?

It was Ivan’s birthday on Friday and I promised him I would say something. So here I go; I am sorry that you are growing old Ivan. Really I am

Apparently, Jesus was an attention seeker. I was watching a programme called “Faith and Science” on LTV at the weekend and this guy says, “Jesus did not weep because Lazarus was dead. He weeped (sic) because people were looking at him.” All this time I thought Jesus was weeping for His tight buddy but this guy here is telling me that He was being like those Baganda women. So Lazarus’ sister went to ‘Jerusalem Rent a Weeper’ and along came Jesus?

How have y’all been?

Uganda Blogger's Happy Hour; through my eyes

Ofcourse there was no opening prayer. GUG did not grace us with his presence and nobody else felt obliged to say a prayer. Hence BHH just started with no event. Most of us were late. We were a nice small crowd. We talked and laughed and joked and teased and shared dreams and sympathized and empathized with each other’s disappointments. We missed those that did not make it and most of you came up in conversation. We wondered how to pronounce your names. Is it Gag or Goog? Is it Sibella or Saibella? Wris or Rice? In the end we were as baffled as we had started out. Here is the roll call

It was the evening of ditching. First, he ditched me. He is a newbie and wanted to come for the inauguration. He asked whether I would be kind enough to take him. I graciously said yes, I will hold your hand, I will let no harm come to you, I will protect you from the evil claws of the blogren, only to tell me later in the day ON MESSENGER that he was not going to be able to make it, his friends were going to outside countries and he had to kiss them goodbye. Then another blogger ditched me.

Then I call my backup chanel who told me she was on the way and we would infact arrive at about the same time. She came 3 hours later. Apparently she was still chatting with Mr Biggs. Their story is nauseatingly lovey dovey. When she walzed in, she smelled mighty nice, was glowing like waxed floors, and her top, shoes and jewellery matched to a tee. And that plunging neckline! Any lower and we would have had some serious spills- from oba the guys?

The lovely Mrs made a cameo appearance just to whisk away the Mr. Off to a place unknown. All evening, the Mr. And I had been plotting to go home together. I mean take the same taxi home since we stay in the same neighborhood, but I have never been ditched so fast! I took the solo ride home and arrived safe thank you all for your concern

Darlene was looking lovely as usual. And again, she tried to recruit me into the UTL family. Your employers must be proud of you. The UTL guys. As for your other employers Newvision, I am not sure they will be very thrilled about the careless abandon in which you write their movie reviews. I am sure they expect nothing short of “a girl, in large glasses diligently typing the story away at the typewriter or on that Windows1994 Computer” but not this girl. She put her Nokia something something or other to good use and while she sipped on coffee and chipped into the conversation, she also typed her story away. Niiiice.

Dante and Carlo. Dammit! Dammit! They look cute together. Dammit! Dammit! Sorry about that. Green monster was attacking me for a bit there. But how can they be that happy together? I need a plan. But anyway, here is some juicy gossip that may work against them. Turns out, Dante is detoothing Carlo. Yes. I have it on good record. You see, Dante ate chips and something laced with mayonnaise thingie and washed it all down with a cola. And Carlo paid! That is detoothing 101 I tell you. We talked about Melanie, Thabo Mbeki, the price of gilr’s clothes in some shops, whether or not I would buy a pair of shoes at 150k, at which I said ‘heck no!’ Carlo's bored with her job. This is an appeal for anyone that knows any one that's looking to employ someone. Holla at her. She told a story of black condoms- you know, same shade as a man’s skin. I thought that was racist. She said just like Band-Aid, someone came up with those suited for a black brother. Must have been undercover brother that thought up that idea.

back2basics. He ditched me. Dude, i thought we had connected all evening? People!

Collin the blogger, I unfortunately do not know his blog, was there. Dude walked all the way from Wandegeya to Mateos. With that kind of dedication, we would always have a full house at Mateos. He talked from when he got there to when he left. He had lots of fancy words but the ones that stood out most were the ones he used describing clothes, hair, shoes and fashion. He described my hair as ‘tresses,’ said Dee’s braids were called ‘locks’ and I forget how he described Carlo’s ponytail. He wondered whether basik’s sweaters are always pressed at which point chanel pulled the sweater out and displayed it. and sure enough, there was not a trace of a crease! Collin meticulously advocated for men’s rights to wax, pedicure and manicure-kinda makes sense tho. Geddit? MANicure? I called him gay, he threatened to prove me wrong and I left it at that.

Solomon is tall dark and handsome! And that smile... he is the guy of node-six. He observed and smiled.

Turns out, you can't trust TRUST.

I pulled out a pack of them from my bag and Experts, collin, Carlo darlene and basiks went about discrediting the poor things. collin said they are a size or two or three too small and Basiks was more interested in knowing how many more I still had left in the pack. All three were still there

Someone else will have a different tale. Go with that one.

BHH ; Rules and Regulations

- 6:30pm: the guests arrive (please be on time or do not come at all)
- 6:35pm: Opening prayer led by GUG
- 6:40pm: Opening Speech by the Kampalan
- 7:00pm: Minutes of last BHH by Rockthis
- 7:15pm: Open Forum/Ekimeeza(all members present must absolutely participate with vigor). Topics to discuss include;

a)What should bloggers do with all the oil in Hoima

b)Which blogger shall be sent to go and negotiate the Kony peace deal

c)Which blogger should go and pound sense into the environmentalists until the only truth they see is that DDT is the only way to the promised land

d)How does Thabo Mbeki’s resignation impact blogger’s lives? Will the Internet work faster now the evil man is gone?

e)The new Pakistani president; would you as bloggers have given him mercy votes?

f)Appoint blogger in charge of purchasing passenger helmets (elementi) for blogger boda boda users

g)Congratulating a Kanungu blogger coz finally electricity, DSTV, GTV, and internet found their way there

- 9:00pm: AOB by princess
- 9:01pm: Closing prayer by Int3llig3nsi4
- 9:30pm: Bed.

Observe the following-
* There will be no looking at men suggestively, or looking at them at all, and there shall at no time be any cameras trained at men. I am talking to you
* Dress conservative. Mini skirts shall not be tolerated. Pumps, earrings, jewellery, dreadlocks, French cut, bright colors, baggy jeans or any kinds of jeans for that matter shall not be accepted. Come wearing them at your own peril.
* There shall be no laughing, smiling, holding hands, hugging making eyes at each other, swapping phone numbers, drinking beer, tea or coffee. Water is life.
* No two grown up men or women shall be seen chasing each other around tables for any reason. Not even if say, one of the adults stole the other’s heart and the other one was trying to get it back or at worst steal the stealer’s heart as well. Not even then. Not even if you have to answer nature’s call or your mobile phone (please be reminded that there shall be ample network in the space allotted to you) You shall all remain in your seats at all times until such a time as you are permitted to leave.

Lastly, I leave you with this picture of a storied mud and wattle house in Kanungu. I am willing to bet my money on the fact that it is the only such building in Uganda

burden me

ttfn(ta ta for now)

Antipop's off to kanungu, but i leave you with;

nothing saying, just in the mood to write something, anything

When my cousin twat was in S.1, he was suspended from school for constantly refusing to go for karate classes. His dad failed to get any answers from him so he solicited for my services as ‘cool cousin’ to get him to tell him what the problem was. According to him, his hands were made for just one purpose. “These hands were made for the ladies,” he said to me with such conviction. Four years later, I get these free tickets to go see shaggy. As I had prior engagements, I called said cousin up and asked him to pick them from my place of work. As he did not call to thank me, I assumed he had failed to get the tickets. But on inquiry, I was told a certain teenager had indeed picked them up. Three weeks later, I get a phone call and caller ID says it is the little twat.

Lil twat: Antipop, what’s up man
A-P: er, I am okay. Hey, how come you never called to thank me for the shaggy tickets?
Lil Twat: Be chill man, I had no credit man.
A-P: So, this is a nice surprise…
Lil twat: Yea. Gwe man, I have a problem man
A-P: obviously, otherwise you would not be calling me
Lil.Twat: Man, Hols are gaming man, and I wanted to take my shortie out so I need you to house me man
A-P: How much are we looking at here?
Lil twat: I wanted to take her to G.C for a movie, then later hangout at the venue so I need like 40k, what! (I swear he said that. I did not just steal it (what) from Ivan)

1. When did the rules change? In my day, I was not even expected to know any boy’s name. Not even at campus
2. I can’t even afford to go to the theatre myself? Why am I expected to fund this teenage romance?
3. What is shortie?

an eye for an eye

Uncle George groomed me to be a lawyer. Everytime we were having conversation he happened to say, “When you become a lawyer…” never if. It was a given. I was going to finish secondary school, enroll in university, get a law degree and be a lawyer. And I believed it. I even spiced it up, so that everytime someone asked me what I wanted to become in future, I said, “Barrister.” But then I always had a true love. Lounging. So when it came to filling in forms for which courses I wanted to do at the university, I filled in “Lounger” in all the dotted spaces. He has never forgiven me for betraying him, and I have never felt better for stabbing another person in the back. And it turns out, there is no such course at the university. So I have perfected the art of lounging all by myself. I am genius like that. Now back to being judge. You see, my uncle might have been grooming me for bigger challenges in life. If only I could have listened.

I have mentioned before that I live with my sister (she’s kind bla bla bla). Well, she has a husband. And they are always bitching and bickering and pointing fingers. My job is to twist the finger to point in the appropriate position. I solve marital cases. They range from who is fatter to who loves his car better than his wife. I solve them all in these different ways;

a) I may stalk off to my bedroom ignoring the both of them
b) I might smile and say hello, and do a) above
c) I might indulge their foolishness and listen
d) None of the above

Often when I do c), I always try to come up with a solution. My brother in law might say to me as soon as I enter the house “A-P, I have a problem. Your sister has big feet” and then my sister will shout “He is the one with the rough fingers.” For one I might recommend Movit or Samona and for the other, liposuction. Case closed. This one time I fell short of my expectations. I had no answers for the impasse posed to me on one hot September night. I got back home tired, from an honest day’s lounging, and all I really wanted to do was get acquainted with my bed, but my brother in law needed answers.

So he says to me “Antipop, I think your sister has taken on a sugar daddy. ” Amused, I ask, how is that? So he says, “well, she has a contact saved in her phone she calls ‘Cash’ ”

This newbie is taking tentative steps into Blogville. Check him out.

I am whipped!

Dear diary,

Yesterday, I fell in love. I am ashamed to say that it was with a younger man. You see, I tried to fight it but it felt like there was a force pulling me towards this man. I knew it was wrong. I knew it would be frowned upon, but i followed the force anyways. I let it pull me, I let my heart give in. But truth be told, i was not trying hard enough to resist the pull. That, or love never takes no for an answer. So I watched helplessly as my knees buckled under me, I sat still as i felt a gentle tug at my heart. I surrendered to Love. His name is Isiah.


The love of my life in the arms of another woman; My sister.

Isiah looking at me with non-expressive eyes. Trying to hide what is obviously his adoration for me. But whatever. I love him enough for the both of us.

I sent her for a hot Zulu boy, and she got me those instead. Imagine how many things i could possibly do with a hot Zulu. Now think how many things i could do with shoes. Just the one. Walk.

Today my workmate said to me...

“Antipop, you will never get married”
Truth be told, he is not the first man to tell me this. Another workmate also told me something to that effect about three months ago. And remember Duncan? The crybaby? Well, one day, he also told me I might never get married. I hear no man was going to be able to take my whole educated bullishness. Then there is my brother in law who thinks I will make a slave of any man that will be silly enough to take me.

Their reasons are that I am a woman and I should be willing to compromise.

My brother in law says I am too big headed for any man. According to him, it is okay for a man to have more than one woman, to go out and drink all night long and the duty of his wife to stay home and wait for him. He goes crazy everytime his wife goes out with her friends especially the male kind, whereas he has no misgivings about telling stories of how he was in the casino the other day with his friends Stella and Joanna….
So I always say to him, if a man cheats, by God I have every right to cheat. If he thinks it is okay to go to a bar and come back at 3 in the morning and expect me to open for him, he should also be ready to open for me at 3:30 when I return from rock night. What is good for the goose is good for the gander. Right? Right?

At which point my brother in law sings to me, “every woman needs a man” and I say “yes. But does it necessarily have to be a husband?” Do I need a husband to be able to have sex? Must it be a husband that fathers my children? Do I need a husband to be able to have companionship? Can’t I just date? Can’t I just have random sex if it is physical fulfillment I search for? Must I walk down the isle to feel like a total woman? Must a woman always be defined by a husband? Why do people tend to think that the most important role a woman can ever play on earth is to take on a balding hairy man with fat fingers, to be the person she wakes up next to for the rest of her life?

My most trusted uncle asked me the other day whether I had gotten a boyfriend yet, so I told him I had not yet. I was still looking for the right one. And he advised me, “Antipop, I think it is time to lower your standards. Men (and I say this because I am a man) are not perfect. Therefore, you should just get someone, and be willing to take him as he is” Really? Should I compromise my values, principles, and everything I stand for just so I can get a man? To get married, have babies, grow fat and please society? Should I really be reduced to taking on Mr. Wrong just so I can appear normal?

John (not real name ofcourse) and I were dating. A really nice, funny guy. Cared about me, was intelligent, had stimulating(CB would have been real proud of him) conversation, successful and all that. Until one day we are talking and he says to me “antipop, I really do not believe in the whole emancipation shit. I believe a woman belongs home cooking for me, looking after me and watching over my property.” He also hinted that if say, I ever accepted to marry him, he would expect me to quit my job and stay home. I did not talk to him for a week and when I finally talked to him, it was to tell him, I could not see him anymore. We are still good friends. I still hate him for what he said to me.

I am incensed by all this shallowness. You wonder why people even go to school if they are going to come out thinking like this. I do not ask a lot from a man. Really. All I ask of a man is that he know how to cook and prove it to me. Everyday.
er, whatever!

Antipop double standards

Antipop=against pop music. I hate pop music. I will say to you “if you ever find me listening to pop music slice my head off and feed it to the vultures.” But one day you might find me listening to said genre of music. Just before you slice off my head, when you ask whether there is one last thing I would like to say before I die, I might plead not guilty thus; “but it is alternative rock, not pop. Honest.”

At the bank, I hate when someone cuts into the line in front of the rest of us. Often I have even told them to shove it and proceeded to read them the riot act, the bank’s rules and regulations and the common decency act. At lunch however, I will be damned if I will stand in the sun queuing for rice and beans. So I just shove past people at the door and shamelessly ask ‘Kanungu’ (the lunch guy) for a food coupon.

I abhor littering. I almost scream everytime someone throws trash into the road from a moving vehicle with such careless abandon as if they are doing the most natural thing in the world. I do not litter. Well, you be the judge after hearing this story. Often times on my way to work, I am eating a banana. After doing my monkey business, I roll down the car window and throw out the banana peeling into the bushes. My consolation is that it will rot and mix with the soil. Do I litter?

I am revolted by people who spit in public. I always say, “just how hard is to just swallow?” well this one time, I got out of the taxi and it was raining. There was no bodaboda in sight so I ran in the rain all the way home. Home is not near. Half way through, I got a burning urge to spit. I gave in. I spat by the roadside. My consolation; atleast there was no one in sight.

The only time it is right to spit in public is when you spit in someone’s mouth for picking their nose in full view of the world. I got this overwhelming desire to pick my nose the other day but I was at my sister’s shop and I knew any minute a customer would walk in and catch me at it. So I held this large file in front of my face and proceeded to relieve myself. No I did not have a handkerchief.

And that talk about losers, well, sometimes I am afraid, I have been the loser. I have cried, I have abandoned and refused to take calls, I have sort of cheated, I have walked out and I have told the lies.

I am fallible

here's putting a face to a reputation

Am i awesome or what? Here's bringing you more pictures of fated BHH meet that wasn't quite up to the expectations of some visiting bloggers and researchers.

Here is Tom. Tom Smyth. He's Canadian. Not American. He came for BHH in July, and left prematurely.

The canadian eating his awesome spicy things and drinking Ugandan beer(Chairman's ESB) while female bloggers drool at his height and hair. Can you see all those girls openly staring? See how they have their phones trained on him all dying to take a picture of his tall awesomeness?

ranting raving bitching and hating on country boy or is it boi?

Thomas Smyth- a bored visiting American tourist
Dennis D Muhumuza- a 20 something bitter Christian mad that everyone does not think like he does
Blog- an Internet diary of sorts or there abouts
Bloggers- Underrated, awesome, intelligent people who cannot be bothered to indulge in cheap political debates and have given up all hope of world peace
Antipop- blogger

In the interest of attributing and coming off as authentic, here is me citing that
Carlo started this whole explosion. Here is my own tantrum. Since the article is absurdly long, I will pick out a few sentences and comment on them. Then like all good essays are, I will have a conclusion. related posts can be found here dee, tandra, and baz,

“A debate had raged between two bloggers and a visiting American. Are all Ugandan bloggers okay with taking their meetings to a bar?” why no! Only the other day I suggested that we go to a discothèque. Only problem was that club Silk would not be open at 6:30pm

With Michael Jackson’s Thriller playing in the background, Thomas Smyth literally shouted his order, for that was the only way the waitress was going to hear.That's about when the two adults pursued themselves around tables 1. Don’t you just love MJ? Belting out tunes like that to spook idle BHH flukers? 2. Have you considered that maybe the poor waitress could not understand the American’s fabulous accent? Couldn’t he just point at the menu? And
B2B, it was fun playing rounders with you

It was the beginning of a shocking evening for the American. You shock easily!

Soon, girls were eying him surreptitiously and whispering (possibly about his towering height) and taking pictures with their phones.- CB please! Slow your role. Have you seen the height on some of the guys that grace BHH?

Thomas Smyth gulped his drink and left the Happy Hour prematurely- why? Was he there to take the minutes? Or did he expect to give the closing prayer?

A woman would for example upload a picture of her g-string on her blog and ask if the readers like it. - Prove that g-string belongs to said woman. Show where it says she asks people whether “they like it”. I need to meet your editor.

A June 30 blog entry boldly titled “Boobs!”- Go
Carlo. Go Carlo. Go Carlo(i am tired of linking).

From S.A.G.E’s understanding, bloggers are supposed to update their lives and voice their opinions on things they strongly feel about to provoke intellectually stimulating debate. - S.A.G.E is not God! He did not invent blogging. He did not coin the concept of personal diary (it was Anne Frank btw). Also, show me one stimulating post at S.A.G.E’s.

so girls talk about the first time they lost their virginity in the shower room, and boys about how sweet sex in the morgue is- Gimme links to these blogs this instant! I have been missing out!

“We don’t seem to have a lot of reported blogs in Uganda, which is very disappointing. In America, bloggers investigate…- America this, America that, America the other! Can’t we just be our own people?

“The culture (of blogging) puffs out like a hot air balloon; directionless and pointless.”- hot air balloons have compasses Einstein!

It’s only after we have revolutionized the way we think and blog that people like Thomas Smyth will not leave the Happy Hour with inhibitions. Poor, poor Thomas. Did your mother never tell you that story of peeping tom? No? It goes thus; if you are not invited to BHH, keep your damn comments to yourself. Nobody asked. But, if you felt that the conversation was not stimulating enough for you, how come I did not hear you bring up any intellectual topic and see how we refuse to respond because we are not brilliant enough?

The end

P.S Been trying to post pictures of the american in vain. Will put them up soon as i can

the perfect diet

So at the big brother profile, when they say Big Brother III is back, what exactly do they mean? Have they shown this particular season before? When? When did it air? Had it like gotten cancelled and now it is back on air? It is all very confusing. Would be glad to get any kind of clarification on this matter anyone. About the diet;

I am fat. I have cellulite, and when I sit, my stomach folds into four ribbon like shapes. Naturally, I battle the weight. So sometimes I will eat two slices of cake, instead of five, will drop a few crystals off of the spoon just before I dip all 5 of them in my cup of tea, I will slice the crust off the 6 slices of bread just so I can feel good about eating less. Not to mention that I will insist that my meat be lean everyday when it is served on my plate at lunch, and at dinner. I will even throw in two push-ups atleast once a week. I cannot afford to take chances. I am a health nut like that.

So I am always on the look out for diet plans and regimens that I can follow. Once I discovered the cabbage soup diet, where you are supposed to eat cabbage soup for breakfast, lunch dinner and repeat for days on end. The carrot diet where you eat one huge carrot for breakfast, eat half a carrot for dinner and just sniff it at breakfast. There was the water diet where you drink water all day and all night for Lord knows how many days. Needless to say, I have tried all of these for all of like 3hours (total), and they have not done anything for me.

And these diet plans are all so depressing. How nice it would be to land on a diet that says, “lose 10kg on a diet of cake and ice cream” or “get amazing abs in two weeks of just sitting on the couch watching TV.” Or “the new whole milk with cream that is guaranteed to suck the cellulite out of your hands” How come I cannot lose weight in a fun way like that? I have been in despair for a long time over this, which is why I am excited to share with you this new magic bullet fun diet I have discovered...

I am signing up.

Obama. Lets not get carried away

2016, a tired Obama is seated at his desk in the oval office right behind the naval seal with a satisfied smile on his face, ready to hand over power. Maybe even to Chelsea Clinton. Yes. He has done it. Become the first black president of the free world. He looks around and tries to take it all in. He looks at the door and remembers way back in 2008 when he had first walked through it, and how nervous he was. Yes, he has come a long way. If only he can keep his eyes tightly shut, him and a million other people out there really, the dream will not go away. Because right now, all anyone can do is dream.

Here is the reality. After a drawn out contest, a first if its kind on whatever front you look at it- in one corner, a female presidential candidate and in the other blue corner, a black candidate- Obama came out victorious as the front runner for the U.S presidency on the democratic party ticket. The fat lady had finally sung, and what a tune she had belted out!

The morning after he won the democratic nomination, he was all everyone was talking about. From local TV and FM stations, the taxi driver chatting enthusiastically to his conductor, the leading dailies, and even talk among women who are normally far removed from the political surroundings (although to be fair they were discussing his looks). The Obama drug was taking effect. It was as if the prices of fuel, food and the northern war peace treaty (or lack thereof) no longer seemed to matter. Ugandans had embraced Obama.

This is worrying on so many fronts. One that we almost seem more enthusiastic about it than our neighbors in Kenya and he is afterall their cousin. Kind of like that woman who howls, wails and threatens to kill herself at the death of her stepchild when the child’s mother is weeping quietly in a corner. Two, that Obama’s election will not change the situation here. Honest, those potholes will remain. Three, that Zimbabwe is still being led by a tyrant, Ugandans have not won any gold medals at the olympics, there is a crisis in Darfur, and yet we channel our energies in the Obama campaign. Four that he is still only just a candidate.

All that enthusiasm is not going to pay off in the end. I hate to disappoint all of you enthusiasts, but your opinion as Ugandans matters only so much. Reminds me of the last US presidential elections, how a certain tabloid here ran an editorial on Election Day that read, “Here at (insert tabloid name) we support John Kerry.” I bet John Kerry wrote them a letter later thanking them for their support. I bet he didn’t.

Right now, the best thing he has going for him is that he is an underdog in this contest and people love a good David conquers Goliath story. That could get him elected. But only just.

So while we hold our breaths, let us not look at him as our salvation. If (yes, if) elected, he will probably stay as far away from Africa as possible just so he is not accused of being partisan. Lets face it. He is just another politician, whose biggest agenda right now is to be in the books of history. Let us not get ahead of ourselves now.

Have a beautiful weekend

My name's antipop and i am back

I have been gone for a week or so, doing mainly nothing. I am well aware that no one's asked where i have been, or ashed me to return, or even said they missed me, but i have come back anyway, and i will have you know that i did miss you regardless. anyway, here are the BHH photos that i did promise if you are still interested.

who went and abandoned this beautiful lady?

that's right. Her Chips and chicken buddy did

"wamma check. has my wonder bra achieved desired results in this?"

without those oh so white teeth and the fingernails and maybe the watch, B2B would have disapeared in the darkness. He seems to be shielding Chanel from the prying eyes of our cameras. I wonder from what. You guys wanna get a room for that sort of behavior?

antipop being antisocial. so you have a mobile phone. so what? mingle around and say something to that guy standing next to you already. Wait. He seems to be ignoring you as well. In that case, text away.

Jared, a newbie, posing for our snoops as dee reaches for her water, albeit wondering how to get the newbie's phone number.not that she is in the business of collecting phone numbers or anything

bloggers having a moment

hi. i iz roko artis(sue me) and thiz iz my queen dancers beaches and peaches

with a name like 'the dare devil' you can only imagine that that smile is just for the Kodak moment.

channel taking it upon herself to record the moments at BHH

me, taking it upon myself to record her butt, legs and those red heels that the fashion expert called 'killer red pumps'

"There. i have managed to get it all out! And boy oh boy is it thick." Dee seems to be telling Ivan as she removes a lump of wax from his ear


Have i reached Hot 100? I would like to send my shoutz to
Mowzey Radio, Weasel, Straka, Tindatiine, Recheal K, Abdu Mulasi, Vagina Monologues, Recheal K, Olanya, Dream Girls, AGOA, Ken Lukaymuzi the man, the Black Mamba's and Chanelno5

Trax for you

Noah- Aishakeez
I miss the dragon- Sisqo
My Heart Will Go On- cindlione

i believe i can fly

I can not ride a bicycle. Not even when it is stationary(and i have tried that too believe me).i have no idea how to go about steering a car to move from one place to the next. Can't even tell which pedal does what. But, but, yesterday, I rode a plane! or piloted it or whatever it is they call it these days. Yes you heard me. I actually held the control panels, steered left to right, to center, dived down and shot up, all in 30 seconds. Now you would think that after all this speech i would be ecstatic. Hardly. If i had one word to describe the experience, that word would be, nauseating.
I am afraid of heights

Self censorship tip* refrain from using the words show off and braggart in comments. believe me, I already know.

blogger hogger

blogger has played me. eaten up my comments.i am angry.

My first movie date

It was not at Cineplex. Or an equivalent. But it was memorable.

I was 12 and my breasts had just began to sprout (the way they look now you would think that they are still in the process of germination, but apparently, this is all the growth there will ever be. I need to have them done one of these days). Sorry, back to the date.
So my breasts were just budding, my hormones were working over drive and there was this boy Christopher.

Christopher or Trevor- you were not cool then unless you had a super cool self-baptized name. I went by Snoop Doggy Doggy (Rocco. You don’t have to tell me) myself- Sorry I keep wondering. Anyway, Trevor was hot. And I was the envy of my classmates. You see, Trevor was in S.3 and I was in P.7, so I was like all that. What I did not tell my classmates is that Trevor was my sister’s boyfriend, but he liked to hang around me when my sister was away at boarding school. So anyway, one day, Trevor asked to take me for a movie.

My dad was out of town on Lord knows what parents go to do upcountry during school, but he was out of town and this was the happiest time of our life my siblings and I. We got up to all kinds of mischief. So when Trevor asked to take me for a movie, on a school night, I could not have been happier. I rushed home after school, showered (I hated bathing then, mind) got out my lacy dress and set out to meet Trevor. It was just a little after 8pm and my elder sister was not amused, but I would be damned if I listened to her.

The movie we were scheduled to watch was starting at 10pm so we waited a little outside the showing place. I call it showing place because I cannot describe it. The seats were some dirty benches, the TV and deck hoisted up on two tables stacked together. The crowd, a filthy lot, me, the only girl. Meanwhile Trevor and I waited outside for our scheduled movie to begin. For the life of me, I do not know what we talked about for over an hour, but we did have some conversation.

We sit for our movie. The first images that flash on screen are of a woman in a bikini, vigorously washing the bonnet of a car, this dude from nearby garage coming over and dropping his overalls and bending over said woman…

I got back home about 11:30 (Yes. Such movies tend to run for short lengths) still reeling from what I had seen. Waiting for me with a facial expression I never want to see on another person ever, was my dad, facing the entrance, a belt in his hand. Wtf? *&^(()&$*! This dude was scheduled to return two days later! Short story. He beat me black and blue. I wonder what he would have done had he known what exactly I had been getting up to.

Anyway, the next day he sat me down and asked, “antipop, are you really a virgin?”

BHH; The report

First off, we went to virgin ground. Effendy’s. We missed all of you that could not make it, but you understand, the party had to go on.

Antipop, came, saw, and left

Duksey. Always the latecomer. So anyway, she showed up for about 3 minutes. Sources say that she later ran off to hang in silk lounge where there was a clown show of sorts.

Ivan; I have never heard anyone whine so much about being in a new place. He counted off many things that he hated about the new place to anyone who cared to listen (clearly not me, coz I can not even remember one). But by the end of the evening, he was singing a whole new song. He tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Antipop, I think i like this place better!” in my head I changed that sentence to, “antipop, I was wrong. I hope one day you all can find it in your hearts to forgive me for all the bitching I did earlier. I do not know better. Maybe I should always keep my mouth shut”

chanel; She was hot. She was rocking some hot red heels. Came with a hot chic she says was a well-wisher. Kept to herself most of the time, studying the atmosphere. I am sure she has tales about what each of us got up to when we thought no one was watching.

Edmo aka Basics aka Mr. back to basics; He caused a stir when he first walked in with a beautiful lady (or woman) in tow. Everyone threw this question at him “is that the Mrs.?” to which he replied, “Heck fucking no! The Mrs. is too good for y’all.” Okay, he did not say that. Said something like the Mrs. is for his eyes only and ended that conversation like that. Anyway, he was killing some dope (he likes to say) black vest. Hmm hmm hmm. I spent most of the evening chasing him around the table for a Kodak moment. He won. I never got any pictures of him.

Rev. Of the Space fame. As I suspected, he got love from the girls all too eager to fill the void created by Space (his cat). I would not be left out, so we swapped an awesome hug and oba I threw him a mercy word? Can’t quite remember. His dreads were in check this time round. All neatly tucked into a huge white cap. He disappeared for like 5 minutes and when he returned, the dreads were everywhere. Anything you want to tell us Rev?

Dee; this sweet, sweet (not that I know for a fact or anything) girl kept us in check, tried to mingle with everybody, even chatted a bit with the newbies, and a lot with Ivan and Edmund. It was obvious she was missing someone. Oh yea. And she confronted me with evidence that she had uncovered my secret identity! I trembled for a bit until she told me what it was, so I calmed down very confident that no one had yet discovered my other life as a loser hugger.

The dare devil; she was teased a lot about how she could have possibly deleted her former blog by accident. Everybody had wild theories. She finally admitted to me later that it was the aliens that done it.

Cb. was there. Came with an entourage. A white guy he introduced as his secretary, and two other guys that were carrying his equipment. Okay maybe I lie. Anyway, they looked like bloggers on a mission. Turns out they were writing a story or other about bloggers and Cb took pics. My plea is that he gets consent from each one of us before he sends the pics to Time or Newyork Times or something.

Princess. She was her usual royal quiet, albeit cooking up an awesome post or other. She left early to attend to some urgent personal business. Me thinks it is something to do with love. She had the look…

Foxylamb. This one I nominate for miss photogenic. I attempted to take pictures on my phone and out of everyone, she is the only one that managed to look as if(get out of my head Tandra) human. No. It is not my phone. But these bloggers looked really shoddy. Oh, and she ate chips and chicken. With Edmund.

i may, or may not put pictures up later.

SOS, 911, 999, AHOY MR BEEVER, space needs a home

i hate cats. but in the interest of keeping my friendship with comrade lest he unleash communist thugs on me, i am putting out a plea for someone to take in his cat space! i cant take him or her or whatever, but surely, someone out there will?

Comrade is moving today. Out of his slum. Not to Entebbe, not just yet, he's going somewhere else.
He can't take Space.

So this is a cry for help, can anyone look after her for a month? He'll pay for her food. Space just needs a place to sleep and someone to pat her and whisper sweet nothings to her. You know the pet thing, you ignore them all day, leave some food out and just give them a warm place to sleep at night.

If you can take her or you know someone who would look after her for a month then comment here or email me (address in profile)! Has to be today!!! Or she'll be put down. Dead Space.

Here comes the sinners

In the bloggers’ world I have realized, nothing tastes as sweet as nabbing socks, sockies, firsties, boots, nze nsocks, or whatever else they have revolutionalised into these days. I have heard the word lingerie has come into play even. So in the rush to nab socks, some bloggers I am afraid have mangled the English language or even sometimes swallowed up entire words. Presenting Bad Idea, er, sorry, bloggers that I have painstakingly followed up and busted. And since this is my blog, I will be the defense attorney, the prosecutor, the judge and the jury. And the verdict is; guilty.

Antipop commenting over at Cheri’s: "i dont know whta this post is about yet. i just saw that no one has commented yet, so i just rushed over to say nothing really. sue me"

Antipop at Detamble’s: "i am not going to laugh. much as i am getting constipated tryuing to hold the laughter inside of me. and that is because one day i will marry an african man. and i will not have them fing out about my past life of days when i used to laugh at high butts."

Antipop at B2B’s: "what have i learnt from this post? well, that er, well I was not asked whethet b2b was right"

31337 at cheri’s: "ati mimi ni common sense? ngoja ufike nyumbani, d&*&&^^$#(^#^$%#&@*" (this one’s in the dock just coz I did not understand a word he wrote. Also, because I am fast looking like the only culprit here.)

Antipop at Detamble’s: "And here i was thinking the post was about how fabulous, hot, amazing, extar orinary I am! So amyway, that whole defensive thing you did about you and rev only goes to convince me that i was right afterall :-)"

Okay so I started out this whole post confident that I was going to nab people! But this whole thing has boomeranged on me. So the award for most illiterate blogger goes to, (insert annoyingly long tension filled silence) Antipop!

I accept the award on his behalf. thank you all for voting.

loser was sorry he got caught

He owed me a lot loser you see. Owed me hours and hours of fees in therapy. This here loser had turned me into agony aunt. And for a long time I sat there and took it. Sat there and listened, and nodded and comforted, and hugged (those I enjoyed) and cajoled and advised. All the while hoping that it would end. It made me feel special at first that loser was confiding in me, and I guess I wanted to show him that I would always be there for him.

I did not find it wrong that he laid the ex burden on me the very first time we talked; even before he took my number. Not even wrong that by the end of the first date I knew more dirt about his ex than I would ever need even if I needed to expose her in the ONION for whatever reason. I never thought it wrong that I sat and listened never imagining that one day, this story might be about me, and a different agony aunt would be listening. I never thought it wrong that when he talked about her, he used the word ‘women’. I did not see then that loser was making all 3 billion of us pay for the sins of his ex. As if we were not suffering enough paying for Adam and Eve’s sins as it were. But I just liked how he ‘trusted’ me. I liked to feel wanted. I was trapped.

It started to feel wrong when I realized that I did not have the exclusive rights to this dish. Turns out, loser told anyone that had a moment to listen. That was wrong. It was wrong that his friend had dirt on me that only loser knew. It was wrong that no matter how long we had been going out, I had not stopped being agony aunt. I was still there listening. I started to wonder when it would all end. When we would talk about me. I started to get bored. Of the same stories, and of the storyteller. But I digress. The post is about how loser was sorry he got caught.

Through very reliable sources, I got to learn that loser had infact gone behind my back and you know, messed around. Now, I should have been happy that atleast now there was another person to listen to him rant and whine, but I was not. There was nothing amusing about the fact that she is one of my friends. I felt cheated (but then that was the whole point, no?). Betrayed. Violated. I confronted him with this.

Loser then says how sorry he is, how he had meant to tell me, and how he did what he did because he cared about me. Because he was angry that I had been neglecting him, and acting like I was not interested in him anymore even though he knew better (Yes. he said that. The nerve!) I was hard pressed to figure out how exactly messing around was supposed to show me how he cared about me, so I went on and asked. Turns out he was so mad at me and wanted to pay me back, and the fact that I made him mad enough to do something like that surely showed that he cared about me? And that was the answer he was sticking to.

This conversation ended with; “all I can say is that I am sorry you found out”

And that is the story of how i was once agony aunt
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