Thursday, April 25, 2013


Its 0420hrs Nairobi time. My eyes are half shut but no sleep in my head. I know that is poor grammar. But the Nigerians speak worse and christen it pidgin. I will call mine Engin.

Some guy on the radio is saying that we should not revenge since it is like biting a dog after it has bitten you. I digress.

April is one of those months that suck. The children have closed school and they open their mouths loudest outside my door. Is there a recipe that you can make with 100 ounces of child? I have adequate supply. I pity the employed folk. Yes i'm jobless but I don't have rent arrears. I do some business here and run an errand there and at the end of the month, I have food.

What is the subject of these many words? Nothing. Must a bunch of words lead somewhere? Yes? I guess i'm different. I am just writing to release the pressure in my head. You see what it did when it accumulated in the former premier's head? He had to go all the way to Germany (name I use for all European countries) to have the pressure bowel scalpelled. A mosquito stings me. I scratch and try to recollect my train of thought. It's gone.

What was that guy at the bar saying? Will I manage to wake up before 10am? I have a project survey at Syokimau. Which reminds me; what will Wavinya Ndeti gain from now that cabinet secretaries are being vetted for integrity and she has a Nigerian joined to her at the left fourth finger and a sale of airport land case attached to her behind.

I wonder.

The radio presenter says that the men should call and say a prayer. I need prayers. Ok. She has decided otherwise, she says that youthful ladies should call in. Then she says both. She is having a hard time saying the studio numbers. Its a local dialect radio station. The name dialect sounds like someone who kicked the bucket and the arose at the other side of the tunnel. I am drunk.

I wish you a great Thursday people. Thank heavens for the invention of the internet. You can sit in your boxers or bare-assed and hurl an insult at an innocent villager who is venting to avoid going to bed to sleep in a straight line because the wife spreads her bountiful bottom all over the 5x6. She takes 4.5 and a man who lost a foreskin and bought cigarettes for the entire village youth-hood is supposed to occupy 0.5 of the bed and mattress he bought. And you people say we married? Really? And why do they call our houses, 'kwa mama brenda, stacy or mama the other one?

These women will make the world flip a goodu one. Pray that it doesn't flip when you are as whiskeyed as I am.

I Bail,


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