Sunday, January 18, 2009

Yeah! Save Yourselves. Don't Get a Girlfriend.

After this girl wrote this, I read it with some trepidation hoping for some insight into my aversion to relationships. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in one night stands, just not for the same reasons the bee does.

Like her, I know I a lot of people, but unlike her I hang alone, drink alone and play individual sports; pool, darts and swimming. At first it was a bit weird, but in time I realized, it’s the way of the wolf; the lone hunter. You get laid faster, with less collateral, minimize cock blockers and you can be a different professional every night. Tonight you are a banker, next day a development ethicist, a medical student, a gynecologist, a beauty & fashion consultant. Hell, I was once a four professions in one night!

My qualms with this here fille, and quite contrarily, to the girlfriend [used universally to apply to all girls who want to be tagged as such] phenomenon are:

1. They don’t act like wives. They act like your mother. They smother. And not to say men don’t like a little attention, but “Honey, how is your day?” after the other 20 texts that asked the same question that I replied is pretty inundating. Makes me want to stab my eye out with a blunt fork.

  • They share your bed. As a classic one-night-stander I have found out that, the most frequent question before you take her home is almost “Where do you stay?” The question I always ask is “Where are you going to stay?” When I was in college, depending on roommate-climate-updates, I would just end up at her place [There was always something about university halls being filthy]. That, coupled with my sympathetic notations on my concern for her doing the walk of shame, the fact that she could clean up easily, and quickly whispering that I was going to make her sweat plasma later, while we danced the last dance before exiting nearly almost always swung the night to her place. If a girl suspects she is going to get it good, she'll prefer its on home territory. That is, unless she is your girlfriend. They like to end up at yours.
  • In most cases, a one-night-stander-vixen does not cuddle. The girlfie, she cuddles you like you got a bulls eye painted on your body.
  • NB: Girls hate to sweat and wake up in the morning to their sweat-caked selves. The smell of left over pussy from last night doesn’t exactly tickle most girls so the first thing they do is wash it and serve it for breakfast. But the girlfriend?! She'll serve it again, without the wash!

2. When a guy gets up on the weekend he likes to lounge in his boxers and watch TV and finish a series he's been putting off. He doesn’t like to think of breakfast at 9:00am. No. He likes to have his breakfast at 11:00am [without brushing] so he can have/skip lunch easily at 3:00 before the soccer game. Now that kind of behavior guys can tolerate from each other. When the girlfie comes in and adopts it, its just tacky,and filthy.And amazingly, she'll always adopt it. She'll stop brushing before bed, and ask you to have breakfast at 9:00 so she can go to the saloon. If you want him to have breakfast at 9/10 honey, you’ll have to bring it indoors.

3. Guys generally do not clean up. Its because we like our spaces the way we leave them. The spoon is left in the dirty cup so that it can be reused and so that it doesn't get lost. The option is to put it in the sink and throw it out in the dish water which will = no spoon. So. Dirty spoon > No Spoon.

4. In my dating experience, its really cool when a guy is aloof. We meet at a hang out, I play my pool, you can bump and be ground by any other bloke. You are grinding; I’m making sure you have drinks, and I know am getting laid. Simple logic. However the fact is that chics don’t want a guy who doesn’t give a crap. They date you so you can give a crap. I’m almost going to have sex on the dance floor with one of my definitely-hotter-than-you-girl-friends but because there’s no sex involved, but she don’t know it, she’ll climb the wall in fury and/or jealousy.Girlfie Psych 101. Freakin’ insecurities!

  • The foxy mama one nighter?, she don't give a damn as long as she gets laid. oh yeah and the rubber.

5. You get slightly mushy and you suggest a night out; dinner, drinks and something you both like [which really is a fallacy-even born-again brothers like to watch action movies, football and talk about the sexy girl in class]. She texts her friends about your location. They show up and everyone is gossiping about something you have no idea about. You excuse yourself to play pool so she and her cronies can have breathing space to yak themselves into spasms. You find a old buddy; he has a stray on him.

  • Coffee? Yeah. Flash me. You return. Honey, I can’t find my phone, help me with your phone so I can flash it. You give it. Who’s number is this? Who the fuck’s number is this?! WTF?! Who is this? Hullo, this is Spartakuss’s phone, I’m his girlfriend, when did you give him your number? Tonight? Thanks. You are fucking your hand tonight.

6. Go through my phone. Mostly surnames; Asiimwe, Mukasa, Mubiru, Achieng, Atubo, Nakittyo, Mwesigwa. Some cultural names are asexual and other girls are named after their fathers. Cool. When a girlfie goes through your phone [especially if she considers you a real find] she wonders who all the girls in your phone are. And when you get the time to call them all. Is that why you don’t call her as much? The ex who boiled my cat, while we were still dating, erased all potentially threatening names. So went Miranda, Christabel, Belinda, Yvette, Yvonne, Shirley, Samantha, Rhona, Noela and all 13 Lindas!

7. Guys never damp a chic unless there is another woman in the picture. Yes. Just coz you don’t know about her doesn’t mean she's not there. She exists. Now women never realize that if they don’t act psycho a guy will come back. But girlfies do. Act psycho. Personally, I never go back. It’s disrespectful to the girl, and its exposes you to the side effects of the angry-and-revengeful-sex she’s been having. She might have learnt to bite and scratch in the 1 week you were gone. Great in bed. Terrible for the shower after. I am liked for my smooth skin, and that doesn’t keep well under constant nail-digging, biting and scratching.Hence my, no dating Kenyan Girls Policy. One night only please.

8. Now the thing about stay-at-homes, married[s], or baby-mamas, as I’ve discovered, is that no matter how hard you try, they are too much work. They have curfew, they think you are always cheating on them, even though you know their husband is banging them every night. The one night they get out, they expect you to put your whole life on hold. Even though they will not bloody put out!!! WTF is it with these women!?!

  • Solution: find them out, bang them, and then screen their numbers.

  • Learn a new habit: Never answer numbers you don’t know.

And yes I hope this answers all you big teases.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009


I often think about what I would be like if I were not going through life as a hapless wanderer. Had I been born 100 years ago would I have made a fine herds boy? If I had been born in 10,000 B.C. would I have been the man that my woman required me to be?

Would I have been the bravest man in the village, raiding the neighboring village and returning with 12 heads and a child’s skull? I ask myself if I would have had the courage to stand and say “I challenge you to fight me to the death!!” to a seven-foot-tall Acholi warrior and not wet the little sheepskin wrapped around my waist.

I wonder whether if I had been born 50 years ahead of now if I would have been able to cope knowing that white bread had been phased out for whole grains? Would I have coped in a world without dool? And that’s not without mentioning the all-important lessons learnt in school as you scrimmage for Membe (the layer stuck at the bottom of the pan when you make posho); throwing punches for a single bun...

I am sorry but I have to break to tell this…

At which juncture I must now tell you about a classmate of mine. When I was in St. Mary’s, that all so prestigious school, I was a lot of things but the one thing I was not was a errant law breaker. Twice a week every class got the number of buns equal to the number of its students. This statement meaning that not all 42 always got their buns.

Every class nominated a leader.

The leader collected the buns.

The leader distributed the buns.

Our class leader was a guy who was called O’scar. No, call him Ndikito [suffice that he was of the northern connection]. Ndikito was a rugby player with some semblance of muscle. In class, like most villages, we had a class clown: Rogers. Classic. Fool. Most irksome bastard ever.

One day in that ever so serene place called our dinning hall at break amid the porridge and tea O‘scar came in with the little buns that looked like a whole sachet of little new-born babies’ feet. I mean each individually. As he served the buns someone caused some commotion, there was a scuffle and out of the panic everyone grabbed in to get a piece of the bread before it got finished. And a melee ensued. Trust me you don’t want to be scrimmaging with 40 adolescents who fancy themselves gentlemen and are about to starve.

Rogers jumped in, classically, and holding onto one section of the polythene bag never let go.

And so it came to pass that while the melee went on he escaped out of it. With one bun. One measly bun. Uno. He slowly unwrapped it out of the bag that had clung to it like a film and quickly popped it into his mouth.

Now unbeknown to our hero, Oscar had escaped from the other side of the melee too. Without a bun. No bun. Zero. Nada. As he circled the melee, he came up behind Roger popping his baby foot into his mouth.he circled Roger. In a flash motion, and i mean in a flash motion, Oscar’s hand flew to Roger’s face and struck with a thundering stop as it made contact.

The colors of the rainbow flashed across Roger’s face in pain, anguish, shock, horror, humiliation[because the melee suddenly stopped], and the finally that little emotion called resignation flashed. For Oscar this was perfect. And as the last wisps of the emotion flashed across Roger’s face, his massetta [jaw] muscles released and unclenched to open his mouth out of which the bun fell. Unchewed. Undigested. Right into Oscar’s waiting hands. He put the bun in his mouth and watched Roger in defiance. He was taller, faster, stronger, higher pedigree, better in class. Roger was beaten.


Yeah St. Mary’s was a dog-eat-dog world. I quietly slipped my bun into my pocket to be eaten later.

And now resuming the main story...

or sometimes planning a heist from a whole bread van and eventually a whole bakery. [yeah yeah I'll tell you my story up country and the bakery next time]. would i be able to live in a world where sex was 1984-esque only for procreation? Robbed of the pleasure of the one night stand?

Could I have lived without experiencing such near death experiences? Knowing what I know now I think I would never have given that up. Knowing that I could never shoot another rubber-band-bullet; sniping an unsuspecting sleeper out of his bliss into his piss? I don’t know.

Now as I stand here looking I think things could have turned out much better or equally worse. And the very possibility that I might not be here but for a series of accidents makes me savour each moment even more and I almost feel like I am walking on wings.