Pulling the Curtain on #mydressmychoice

So, they finally found a way to bowl using a golf-ball...eureka! By now, you might have had about the ranting activists trending the hashtag #mydressmychoice on the social site that actually matters, twitter.

You see, it all started when a lady was shamelessly stripped down to her most artistic state by illiterate hooligans at the Embassava bus stop a few days ago. There was another similar barbaric incident at Mombasa and some sneaky rumours here and there to follow it up.

Unfortunately, we Kenyans (and in this context human and women rights activists) are so myopic that we think that unrelentlessly demonstrating against women being undignified in the most uncouth public way warrants approval, far from it! If we think that this incident is the cancer in society, we have another thing coming.

To give my two cents on the issue, I think that deciding to wear mini skirts as a revolt against incident is like using a sellotape to silence an unbearable parrot. The miniskirts will not land the criminals who disgraced the unfortanate lady jail sentences and neither will they offer any solace to the girl(s) in form of justice. In fact, they might as well be sticking it to the man and forgetting why they are incensed in the first place.

The outcry should be directed towards the government in order to pressure the criminal and justice system to prosecute the pigs caught on tape sexually assaulting an independent woman free to make her own choices. And to think that the media was a buzz with a couple of geniuses claiming that the lady deserved the humiliation because she was dressed 'inappropriately'. They may have a point though, dressing 'inappropriately' leads to rape and sexual assault as much as guns kill people and spoons make us fat.

Furthermore, the irony that some of the angered men do not even have the decency to cover their derriers in the name of sagging -let us call it swag- and moreover, only chase short skirts is not lost on me.

The problem with this outcry is that it started when a lady was stripped in the streets. So with all due respect, forget rape, forget FGM, forget forced and early marriages......the vicious attack on the fashion industry should be prioritized.

The thing with society is that the resourceful always have their say and have their way. Decades have seen rural girls exposed to the most vile practices in form of genital mutilation and forced marriages. Whilst the revolt was understandably humongous because of the rise of women in politics, it has since died down because sadly, Turkana girls are not known for having twitter accounts.

In addition, majority of rape cases involve girls who are destitute in some way or another, be it poor, orphaned or fearful to speak out against the oppressive patriachs in society. I am yet to see women gather in Uhuru park because an orphaned six-year old has been raped.

However, now that majority of women are at a risk of being sexually harrased and seriously assaulted simply because a sexually starved tout has decided that he has seen beautifully oiled knees, they speak out. I laugh both sorrowfully and sarcastically.

They did well to use #mydressmychoice instead of #ourdressourchoice. I am all for the unifying initiative but do not kid yourselves that you are standing up for all women in your very selfish and hypocritical demonstration.So, if the cap fits....wear it!

To The Victor

I have made many serious mistakes in life and my outfit today was one of them. You see, wearing white linen pants on a rainy day in Nairobi's muddy and treacherous streets is not a choice made by dignified and rational thinkers. It got me thinking about the many times my impulsive thinking has had my foot up my delicates.

Perhaps such are the nitty gritties that land me in my usual conundrums with members of the fairer sex. Let me first point out that everything about my physical appearance is quite average; except for my unrefined charisma. Yet, paradoxically, I seem to be irresistable to ladies I could care less about...... oh, the irony!

It is exactly this kind of predicament that has led me to deduce some types of girls who make the first approach (and I speak for most men) that I would rather do frog-jumps all day than date.

1. Hunter
Men, as a general rule, are patriachs and hunters by nature who go for what they truly want. Therefore, it is no surprise really that men are not prima facié attracted to females who put all their cards on the table in the shape of risking a blatant rejection.

There is nothing like a dame in shining armour taking your words right out of your mouth and leaving you dumbfounded. A statement of intent by the lady to wear the pants in the relationship is disrespectful to the millions of boys who lack the cojones to ask the girl out let alone profess their love for a girl. Utter disrepect!

2. The Showboat
She is the confident but sassy leech who is hell bent on crushing all the ego a man possesses courtesy of his God given testesterone.

Whether it be by her success, intelligence or beauty, she is outspoken in her unequivocal search for the man of her dreams.

You can be sure that this omnipotent species is not only here to steal your thunder but also to make you feel like your genitals are part of a mediocre decoration to promote underwear sales.

3. The Needy
Apparently, yours truly is haunted by the kind of women who hang by a man's every word and action. They are the kind of women that make the nosy busybody curious about love spells and black magic.

Do not get me wrong, it repulses no man to feel wanted, needed and attractive. However, it is all fun and games until your conversations begin with merry christmas wishes and end with flirty remarks that scream sexual harrassment!

4. Sly
It is quite perplexing that the last group of predators should have the propensity of a nonchalant fox but that is just the way of the world.

They consider the attributes mentioned above as juvenile and primitive because they possess a higher intelligence quotient (this is a polite way of saying that they have been to college).

They assess the men they fancy, come up with a strategy then work it to perfection. They might even ocassionally play the 'hard to get' card. Once they get you hook, line and sinker, the curtains come down on the charade...and behold.....it is the needy, showboating go-getter in the outfit and jewellery you both picked out for her on her birthday.

Sadly in this case, to the victor - the spoils..!

Dodging the Bullet

My squeakish girly screams in addition to my fear of rodents recently led my neighbour to believe that I am in the habit of entertaining young damsels in distress. While I am in no hurry to correct his assumption, his reprehensive tone pointed out that he was not particularly fond of ill-bred girls (the girls our mums warn us about). Seeing as he was in no mood to cut me some slack, I did my fake "walk of shame" back to my room and slammed the door shut.

The short experience got me thinking about the bad qualities these girls possess to be considered the bad apples of their beautiful kind.... take notes!

1. Slut
It goes without saying that these girls are the most popular in any setting. Although they are less vulnerable to heart-breaks due to the amount of time their legs spend apart, no sane man would bring such a whore to meet his mother. In addition, the fact that men speak of them like they're a piece of meat would make even a rat want to swallow rat poison.

2. Dreamer
Martin Luther King Jr. would turn in his grave if he ever saw a dreamer regarded as a bad apple. However, this lot is the vivacious dreamer and you come second to her dream any day of the week. Woe unto you if the dream fails to materialize. 'Till death do us part' with a bitter, washed-up wanna-be is the worst possible nightmare for any self-respecting man because playing doctor with a girl who cries regrettably afterwards requires divine intervention.

3. Immature
Naturally, women are wired to mature faster and subconsciously fashion a world where a family can thrive. However, life ocassionally throws you a shopaholic, bi-polar cry-baby who treats your female cousin like a potential concubine of yours. Calling such a girl a "working progress" is like calling Warren Buffet an old, little gambler who wears a bow-tie.

4. Holier Than Thou
Spirituality is a good aspect in a person because it tends to give one a moral compass in life. Regardless, too much of anything is poisonous. It is all fun and games until she forbids you from watching football with the boys and has you contributing a fortune to buy the pastor a mercedez benz to rival the probox you recently acquired on a fixed-asset loan. When that happens my dear brother, run!

5. Dumb
There is a reason they name a low intelligence quotient after a disabling human condition. In this category, let us just say that if brains were illegal, they would probably have a clear conscience. You see, beauty tramples brains any day but unless the lady is Beyoncé herself, you are better off with a prostitute. Ignorance may be bliss to the ignorant, but to others, it is just ignorance.
It is one thing to have had your knowledge never go to college and quite another to make your man believe that some village has actually lost its idiot.

6. Submissive
This may raise a few eyebrows because it is more tacky than it is repulsive.
As a general rule, men are conquerers and enjoy being in the driver's seat, both figuratively and literally.
However, asking to name your newborn after your favourite actor is quite different from asking if you can use the bathroom.
Okay, am stretching it a bit, but you get my point.

When all is said and done dear girls, each of you is tainted with one of the above flaws. However, what fortune for you that you can hide it from us for we blokes are not the sharpest tools in the box.

Letter to Chelsea

Dear Chelsea,

I salute thee in the warmest of smiles that you should have come to expect from yours truly every time I set my eyes on you.

The first time I saw you was the best moment in my life. It was in the delivery room, and after all the teeth gnashing, sweating, death threats and the vicious abuse to my family and I from the woman whose hand I held, I ushered into the world the prettiest angel there ever will be.

My involvement in your life will be extremely significant and this will probably ruffle a few feathers in your tiara. Therefore, I have decided to give you a heads up just incase you decide that I don't love you anymore.

1. Social Life
By the time I allow you to read this article, you will no longer be fond of hanging out with daddy in malls, football stadiums and grocery stores because, embarrassment. Touché.

Your curfew will be a hardly negotiable dusk because the nightlife is for the ingrates, bimbos and low-lives. Since you will be neither, I presume that you will be happy to live by my reasonable rules.

2. Economic Life
I sincerely hope that I shall have taught you enough in life to realize that the search for possessions and money is not as important as contentment with the food on your plate, a roof over your head and as many clothes as possible for my baby girl. Oh! And shoes too.... I hear girls love those.

You will have to work for everything you get and learn that things do not always go your way, princess. If you fail, you will try again until you succeed and this will be the most painful part of living.

Regardless, you will never lack in anything for a true lady is never dependent on people who will love her conditionally.

It is not my wish that you turn out to be a spoilt brat but only when hell freezes over would I prefer a whoring debtor to a trust-fund for a daughter.

3. Education
First things first, I am not the kind of man that would supress my child's dreams and talents. In fact, I shall be the first to listen to your vocal skills or look at the terms of that modelling contract.

However, education will remain your first priority because daddy wants you to have something you can fall back on incase the dreams do not come to pass.

For hapiness is knowing that my princess can learn to use bargaining chips, pre-nuptial agreements and most importantly, her brain to her advantage.

4. Love Life
For the umpteenth time, let me begin by saying that the only boy I will ever be comfortable with you dating is one whose parents are called Joseph and Mary.

However, it will be my duty to meet you half-way and compromise on your dating scene.

I am not the most sentimental tool in the box but I promise to treat your tantrum throwing, nonesensical drama with the utmost respect and severity.

You might not yet realise this but most boys are reckless and diabolical. They will trample on your heart and make you decide that all men are dogs but thankfully I will be there to hold you and restore your hope in patriachy.

5. Matrimony
The day you get married will be one of the most paradoxical moments of my life.

On one hand, I shall be ecstatic that my baby girl has realized what every other girl dreams of from the age of five when I walk you down the aisle.

On the other hand, you will have to forgive me if I do not shed tears of joy for the fiendish smug little boy who will name my grand-children after his ungrateful parents.

I shall never warm up to your future husband no matter how much I approve of him because when all is said and done, I shall be more than willing to crush the rib he remained with if he ever lays a hand on my little princess.

6. Favouritism
By now, you already know that I love you more than life itself and you will be my most favoured child.

However, I sure hope that you will love me enough not to take advantage of my soft spot for you and become a short-wired narcissist.

It is unusual that I should have such a strong bond with my unborn child but that goes to show how much I will worship the ground you walk on.

Yours forever,
Daddy.

Matrimonial Rules

Dear Love,

As I skip the customary salutations, you are probably editing a photo of your boyfriend to post on instagram and flaunt him to your juvenile friends. You see, fate has a funny way of working itself out because, currently, with my pimpled face and progressive build, you would friendzone me at the snap of a finger because frankly, you are out of my league. However, there will come a time in your life when you realize that there are only so many David Beckhams in the world and yet you have to settle. However, I shan't be a last resort because by then your inner eyes will see my acumen and good looks for what they really are, priceless.

In light of this, I have decided to lay down a few ground-rules which you must know by heart and follow to the letter.

1. Wedlock
In the course of our courtship, you will be tempted to pressure me into proposing due to pressure from your fickle friends and your obnoxious mother of whom I shall fake total adoration but yield a deep detestment. Do not! I shall handle the proposal and it will be the best moment of your life. Trust me.

I shall leave all the wedding plans to you and shall not meddle unless you expressly ask me to because I shall pander to your every whim on that day. My only duty will be wearing whatever you desire (even though I'll hate it) and smiling for the camera because at the end of the day, it will be your special day (pun intended). Forgive me in advance for the security I might have hired to man-handle any ex flame who may choose to profess his love for you before I push that ring down your finger.

2. Event Co-ordination
First of all, being an equitable feministic individual, I shall not subrogate you to maid status. We shall share housework and compromise on all duties and chores because I shall have a partner, not a labourer.

Secondly, you should know that we shall have two children of opposite sexes... You are responsible for the boy whereas I only come in as a role model. The baby girl will be mine to handle and spoil.
Violence will be a last resort in disciplining my boy but no one is ever to strike the girl who will be named after my favourite football club, Chelsea.

3. Economics
I am a down to earth guy. Much like any other tertiary student, I do not plan to survive on food aid for the rest of my days but that does not mean that I wish to live like a king and have brats for children. Money means as little to me as yesterday's food and thus we shall have a simple home, car and life.
It is my wish that you are not a housewife and that you make something of your life, because you will have unimaginable potential.
My duty will be to ensure that all the bills are paid and yours will be to co-ordinate the nitty gritties of life.
As absurd as this may sound, I shall not care if you make more money than I do....money comes and goes, and that's all she wrote.

4. Social Lives
For the sake of peace and harmony, I prefer it if we keep our social lives distinct and separate because I think our interests are worlds apart.

Right now I think that the girl of my dreams is seated in front of a game console wearing nothing but hot pants and a vest but what do I know?

Please develop an interest in arts, fashion pottery or painting nails because a heated debate about football usually ends with a black eye.

As harsh as it sounds, football will always come first in my life hence you better start making good with the concubine.

5. Wearing Pants
Family will always come first and mine is not to be trifled with. Just to be clear, you will be my family and I shall defend you and the children with my life. Our boy will have to fight his own little battles and learn to deal with life as it is. The apple rarely falls far from the tree hence he will be his own man.

However, my mother is also my family and you will try to meet her half-way for my sake. I shan't interfere in your squabbles but I hope you will always know where you stand with me.

6. Wandering Eye
The fact that I have chosen you as my life partner implies that I think of all other women as either bimbos or sisters of mine. I would appreciate the reciprocation of such faithfulness.

Despite being well out of your league, you will have undying loyalty for me and inform me of any advances made at you, and I shall give the home-wreckers free dentist appointments.

In this regard, we shall have no trust issues and therefore no reason to invade each others' privacy.

7. Till Death Parts Us
I shan't lie to you, there will be conflicts, disagreements and vicious fights between us. This very letter may actually be the cause of our first one and even act as a smoke screen for your future tantrums.

There will however be no fighting in front of the children and all the clashes will go on in the bedroom...(wink).

When all is said and done, from the moment I'll say I do, I'll really do.

Keep well and if you, by any chance, think of cutting your long hair, the receipient of this letter will be a totally different damsel in distress. No pressure though...

Yours truly,
Le Future Boo.

Sexual Innuendo

I would not be caught dead listening to radio talk shows for reasons best discussed in another article. However, I cannot help but marvel at comments from people who are from a different class of stupid.

So this evening on Classic 105 FM I heard a man say, ".....women are meant to be submissive. It is in the Bible. Just you look at the homes in which women submit to their husbands, they always do well...."

I weep for his grammatical trial and error because the much he probably learnt was wearing his pants one leg at a time.

Do not get me wrong, I do not disagree with the truism in his saying that a religious book says so. Ephesians 5:24 "Now as the Church submits to Christ, so too should wives submit to their husbands in everything." However, it is very hypocritical for men to overlook those verses that do not benefit them and vice versa. Do not forget that in the same good book in 1 Peter 2:18 it is written, "Slaves, submit to your masters in all respect, not only to thise who are good and considerate, but to also those who are harsh."

It is neither my intention nor my business to dispute Bible verses but I make it my business to speak against the hypocrisy that is the cancer of religions today. That is to say that some religious people actually use their knowledge of religious books to exert their superiority over others. I read the paper's daily forex reports, but that hardly makes me a stock broker.

Moreover, I believe the greatest commandment is to love thy neighbour as you love yourself which corresponds to the golden rule of do unto others...

Unfortunately, this is a double-edged sword in which the women are all too willing to roll over and bend over backwards for men. Becoming a second wife or taking the ocassional slap is considered being tolerant and abiding. However, until these women remove the albatross across their necks (patriachy), I am at my wits end on remedying such level of stupidity.

That male stupidity should thrive because most women under-estimate themselves is in itself the greatest matrimonial injustice today.

Beggars and Choosers

I do not usually degrade myself to the point of hanging around crowds in the aftermath of a scene or whatever else it is the idlers congregate to see. However, this one was different. His eyes appeared weak but content as he lay on the first lane, blood oozing from the side of his mouth. His pupils seemed to move in a circular motion and then rested due North. His eyes smiled..

I pretended not to listen as the crowdy bus stop began to recount the events prior to the hit and run incident. "He was crossing at a blind spot and ignored the repetitive horn blowing..." One woman started. "No, no...." Another man argued, "The driver of the Toyota Mark X failed to give way at that zebra crossing where he was hit... These drivers are killers!" He continued, now sounding envious of people who had their own cars.

You see, I was among the few who had actually witnessed everything but knew better than to argue with a woman holding a degree in discrimination and a man with a masters in jealousy. I prefer to stand a few metres away from the bus stop so that I can beckon matatus like rich people do taxis.....and that was where it happened, right before my eyes.

He was what most of you refer to as a raggamuffin, a hobo, a bum, name it! Unkempt dreadlocks, a bruised face probably missing a few teeth, rags for clothes and a worn out pair of shoes and a lack of their trademark sacs probably made him an upperclass bum. Well, the bum was there and then at the brink of death and it got me thinking...

First, why did the driver not stop after he had hit the homeless man? Sure, the state would bring charges against him/her faster than a goldigger can say "I do" but clearly he seemed resourceful (he was a man in his mid-forties with an oversize belly so that cancels out chauffeur) enough to come out unscathed against the "nobody" he had just hit. Moreover, the tag man-slaughterer is softer than a hit and run murderer. However, maybe the assailant was a criminal who had dodged the bullet of adding on to his wrapsheet. Touché.

Second, why was no one willing to assist the victim after he was hit and left for dead? At this point I cannot stop myself from sounding like a complete hypocrite but something about doing as I say and not as I do comes to mind. I imagined if I had been the victim and thought that people would have come running to my aid. They would even not have let the hit and run driver get away....no way in hell! They would have beaten the living daylights out of him and proceeded to tax him for the beating they had rendered him with. Very few would help me out of the kindness of their hearts while more would do it hoping that I came from a well-off family who would make good of their investment. A larger number would come to the aid of my pockets but when all's said and done, good samaritans exist, but only when your hygiene and fashion sense are decent.

Third, I wondered why the man had jumped in front of a speeding vehicle. Whether he had a death wish or not is not in question but why did he have to go in such a crude and vile way? Did he not know traffic rules owing to his clear illiteracy? Perhaps he was tired. Tired of having nothing to eat snd still having to wake up to the same early morning sun that shone on rich people. Perhaps he had grown tired of being looked at like he was a weed in a flower garden that made all the roses look bad. Therefore he stepped in front of a vehicle at 80km/h because he could not stand to live the same day for years.

Fourth, I wondered what I had to contribute to the demise of the unpromising young man. Perhaps all the bums need is a little of our pocket change in their donation collection cups and a smile  to encourage them that each day need not be like their previous ones. I may never get to know what was going through the disturbed man's mind but one thing I do know is that one smile could have completely altered his life. Throughout the experience, only when the man was hit was he able to conjure up a smile....The smile that probably evaded him most of his life.

As more people gathered around the bus stop - turned - amusement park, a matatu came to a halt a few yards away from me. I grabbed my phone and marvelled at the time. Time flies, I should too...

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

In came Kathleen, her confidant and best friend who somewhat gave a vibe of envy towards Elaine although the latter reconciled herself that her friend meant well, it was flattering even, for no one envies just a nobody.

Indeed, all the pleasantries were long overdue and as she poured herself a drink, she listened as Elaine began to bubble on vividly about the shenanigans of her offspring. "You won't believe what my handsome little devil of a son has been up to," she narrated... "Which one?" Kathleen cut in and they laughed hysterically. "Ironically, the sweet Ethan," she continued, "He was suspended for starting a fight in school. He won't tell me what it is about either. Physically, he is fine although I cannot say the same for the other poor boy." "Boys will be boys. Go Ethan! That ought to earn him some points with the girls though," Kathleen joked as Elaine playfully slapped her on her shoulder.

They carried on with their chitchat, talking about this and that. They talked about outfits, events and weekend parties at trending clubs, men and everything else under the sun really. Time flew when these two got together. Sometimes they would talk late into the night and sleep where they sat. They were so accustomed to each other that they shared all their secrets. They could care less about the notion that a secret shared is a secret lost and with alcohol to drown their issues, they'd found a perfect trio.

Neither of them had a husband, only the occasional one-night stands and the seasonal boyfriends. What they had was happiness. They did not endure the baggage that came along with having husbands like their acquaintances did. They were independent, a little promiscuous and best of all, free from patronizing better halves.

Elaine almost missed the ring in her pocket as the vodka was beginning to take its toll on her. Luckily, the accompanying vibrations tickled her tender thigh and she reached for her phone.

She flashed the now brightly lit phone at her friend's face to blatantly show her the "private number" tag on the caller identity. As was their custom, she hollered in her drunken voice, "Wonder-woman speaking, just who the fuck are you?" The voice on the other end must have uttered about three words but they were enough to make her drop her phone to the floor and sober up immediately.

A bewildered Kathleen could not make heads or tails of it all and she was feeling groggy anyway. Elaine watched her calm friend doze off on the coffee table. She could not even blink, let alone sleep. She stared deep into oblivion and putting on her brave, 'can-do' attitude face, gulped the remainder of both vodka drinks and winced, now cutting a more desperate look.

Drops of sweat paradoxically fell from her forehead in the cold of the night. She tried to mutter words but none was forthcoming. Holding on to one glass, she almost did notice it breaking at the strength of her firm grip. As she removed pieces of glass from her palm, she could only mutter, "No....It can't be."

But, it was.....and it glared at her eyes, scathing down her throat snd scorching deep in her soul.

"He is coming, he is coming, he is coming," Elaine shuddered.

This is an excerpt from my incomplete novel "One Foot." Feel free to leave a comment.

Finding Mrs. Right

My malleable mind has convinced my lower body parts that finding the perfect woman is all but a dwindling myth. For a perfect woman should only be ble to put up with perfection, not withstand a polarized enigma like yours truly. However, I speak for the lot of us when I assert that we men cannot just settle for any female username on twitter.

1. Long Hair
This is far-fetched and I bet my post is getting sneers and jeers as I go along but every guy should fall in love with long hair because, commitment.

2. Shorter
Notice how subtle i was in highlighting it in the comparative. The rationale behind this is that a family picture album where the man of the house looks like the first born son will not be the first thing you think to give visitors on their arrival because, pity.

3. Unestablished
I will not lie, a deep-pocketed lady appeals to the cradle of our souls but as with temptations, they have to be overcomed. It is divine when you both hit things off with nothing. Men are inherently hunters, and (pardon my apathy, feminists) a more powerful woman only makes us docile, we hate that! My heart weeps for the rich women looking for true love, for without swiss accounts, livelihood degradation and absolute humility, you might as well be a cougar on a teenage online dating site.

4. Spontaneous
There are two reasons I do not cheat on my girlfriend. First, her mystery and spontaneity keeps me intrigued and away from the unknown girls because there is this one I'm yet to know. Secondly, I do not have a girlfriend......but you understand where I'm going with this.

5. From a Parallel Universe
That men are from Mars and women from Venus only goes to show how men should appreciate stark differences between sexes and fish in the deepest of seas. For example, when a man who is a well-known chatterbox befriends a pretty parrot, the relationship becomes nothing but noise pollution. Conversely, sign language makes for a rather dull pairing with all due respect to the disabled.

Notwithstanding, opening the pandora's box that is a girl matching the above criteria may only fuel anguish, stigmatization and suicides because when all is said and done, she may not love you back.....or worse. Ofcourse there is worse! You could turn out to be the best friend that holds her purse while she runs to hug her crush. Tough times brothers, tough times.

The World's a Stage

Lights, camera.....action! The media is a buzz with the important things as usual, which is expected really. We have not even had enough of the mirth created by the former Prime Minister being given a trip down memory lane back to primary school's best corporal strokes. Our dear President unceremoniously relinquished his post to his second in command and with it, the status quo among his peers. Call it humility, bravery or whatever you may but the melancholy feeling created by a president of a free state binding himself in aristocratic chains is as humiliating as a clergyman soliciting sexual favours. It is a private issue which our genius legislators have made out to be public (despite his excellency privatizing the issue....kudos Mr. President) shamelessly. They are travelling to the Hague at their personal expense (we know all too well how accountably they utilise public revenue) to "support" their leader.

Then there is the growing trend of the intriguing South Africa's court cases. First there was Oscar Pistorious; the trigger-happy hopeless romantic fired four shots through a bathroom door to protect himself and his 'out of his league' girlfriend from "intruders" in the dead of the night. Anyway, a few calculated tears in front of the cameras and a wheelchair got him off the hook for his conditioned reflex.

Now South Africa's Got Talent - read court cases - have conjured up another classic in the Dewani case. Justice delayed is surely justice denied as the bisexual who enjoys humiliating sex whereby he is slapped in sacred places and racially abused looks to be getting away with killing the love of his life. Unlike the Pistorious case which was aired worldwide, this one will surely be hush-hush because the accused has no mental stability. How very morbid.

I would surely sell myself short if I failed to highlight on the whole ebola fiasco. Unfortunately, it has received more attention on twitter than in the medical field, because people are more interested in humour than healing societal tumours. Shame! It is all fun and games until it actually spreads to our miraa republic.

When all is said and done, the things that matter most get the least news coverage and vice versa. C'est la vie. Horny teenagers and nosy job-seeking internet browsers could care less about poverty, ignorance and disease. All is right with the world. After all, the world's a stage.

The Decision Drawer

She stood aghast, her heart throbbing rythimically in sync with the saliva down her throat. At a glance, you could hardly tell whether they were traces of tears or sweat that ran down her cheeks. At second glance, her mucal discomforts in her breathing gave away her emotional state.

She hugged herself tightly, a feeling of loneliness engulfing her which was one she knew too all well. She had been kicked to the curb years ago and life had a knack for reminding her that she was just a lab-rat on earth.

She was at her front porch, her legs wide open and her mind wondering off to no particular place until she settled on one...the shower. She imagined herself scrubbing off all the iniquities she had had to endure. She scrubbed hard, and soon the friction had blood oozing out of her smooth skin. She enjoyed the self-inflicted pain and in the peak of her self-gratification, she came back to her senses. She was not in the shower, she was still dirty, ashamed and vile.

Never in her life had she contemplated suicide, but hey! There is a first time for everything. Once a chin-up, self-driven and successful lady, this day made her vulnerable and disgusting. This time picking up the pieces was proving to be harder than she had ever imagined possible, being a lady of endless possibilities. She felt like she had finally drawn the shortest straw.

Slowly but steadily, she let out soft wails to the memories of the hard thrusts from the remorseless monster. She cursed the day she had laughed off the self-defence classes...if only! She had fought, more so with words of supplication which were to no avail. He was so strong that he took off her clothes without breaking a sweat. He then proceeded to lick her neck like a piece of meat. She blocked out the rest of the graphic memories......especially the ones she dared not admit. At one point, 'God-forbid' she liked it and she shouldn't have despite it being a purely physical reaction.

The piercing cold moved her into her humble abode where her clothes lay, along with her dignity. She threw herself to the floor and wailed some more until her voice was hoarse. Suddenly, she was done....she got up, wiped one cheek with the back of her palm and headed to her bedroom. She was done.

She looked like a lady with resolve, and her face beamed with satisfaction of having a concrete plan for her next chapter. The radical misfit was never one to feel sorry for herself. She was not the type of lady to sit on a psychologists' couch and talk about her childhood and hug it out.

She opened her 'decision drawer' which provided her with three items which helped her make up her mind. One she always needn't use, the other motivated her resolve whereas the other she had to use in her expeditions. She grabbed first her law degree.....she could not believe how useless it had turned out to be in half an hour. She then clutched at the picture of the rapist......the picture taken of her 7 months pregnancy.....potato patato. It was the only one she had. Besides the picture, there was also the childhood bracelet now lying on her living room floor.

She pulled out a gun from the dusty lower chest. She smiled.

This is an excerpt from my incomplete novel "One Foot." Leave a comment if you think the book is worth it.

Weekend at 7's

The weekend could not come fast enough for yours truly. Not only is my head still spinning from the preposterous week I've had but also the current craze is well upon me. All roads lead to Safaricom Stadium for the annual Safaricom 7s rugby tournament.

Remember the feeling when your mates did not include you in games as a child because you weren't good enough? Well, I don't but thank you for your participation anyway. Anyway, my mates are attending this event and I heartily weep for their mediocrity.

I am neither a kill-joy nor a sombre introvert for taking an unnoticeable raincheck to this god-forsaken fuckery (pun may be intended). I have laid down my reasons for peace of mind.

1. Historical Injustices
Aren't we a forgetful nation? It has been barely a year since scores of people were massacred by terrorists in Westgate mall on the same day as this jinxed event. I am in no way condemning the terrorists, on the contrary, I think the source of terrorism should be better analyzed. I needn't say I condemn violence.....my point being, having fun on such an anniversary is quite phlegm. Moreover, according to my superstitions, lightning does strike the same place twice.

2. Affairs of the Heart
Frankly, at the moment I cannot get a girlfriend to save my life and as you know such events are only fun for love-birds and unicorns. Touché, it might also be a haven for the relentless single love thirsty vampires. However, besides the fact that I am not the boldest, naïve and vulnerable ladies do not pose much of a challenge.

3. Sporting Affiliations
Calling rugby a sport is a rather undeserved compliment for sumo-wrestlers playing with an egg-shaped ball. Sure, it has its moments, especially the provision of eye candy for members of the fairer sex whose idea of foreplay is men tugging on each others' shorts. When all's said and done, there is very little I'd miss a Chelsea game for.

3. The Numbers Game
Due to my aforementioned relationship status, third-wheeling with couples is not exactly my idea of fun. Hanging out with my vast group of friends (beats me too, introvert and all) will only bring me to befriend mutual friends....let us just say playing facebook in real life is not my speciality.

It is finally the end of an uneventful day for yours truly and vice versa for most of my faithful readers with nothing better to do on weekends than watch a mediocre D-list tournament.

Anyway, like parents tell their poor-performing children after their mediocrity, "as long as you had fun."

Five Steps To Metro

There is a new paradigm shift in town. Is it a bird...is it a plane....no its queer-man strotting around town looking like someone who would not augur well with prison raiment. Whether most metrosexual men are actually homosexuals as well is not my place to say. However there are signs that can tell whether the man you have in contemplation is metrosexual or not.

1. Pretty Billy
First, I delve into the classical pretty-boy who spends the better part of his mornings practising the perfect winks and smiles in front of a mirror. They prefer a stylist to a barber and some never cry, not for being macho, but to avoid smudging their mascara. While the closest alpha males come to make up kits is a box of shaving cream and a rare nail cutter, the quintessential metrosexual strolls around with lipgloss in his "man-purse." If you are a man who knows the difference between a pedicure and a manicure, I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

2. Moody Rhoody
The overly sensitive male species is something most of us are familiar with. You know, those guys that blow everything out of proportion and vent out their feelings to any busybody willing to be indulged. Their friends are ever walking on egg-shells with them and even their girlfriends toe the thin line of minor break-ups and everlasting vendetta. This lot will probably stop reading at this point out of spite.

3. Wimpy Willy
We cannot all be brave knights with feisty eyes, fast feet and fists that speak but being a complete and total wuss is no excuse for lacking the aforementioned attributes. Maybe its the fear of being maimed or they just lack the testesterone that comes with male parts. Either way, (precious wimps) it does not hurt to wear the pants in your relationship from time to time....comprendéz?

4. Pompous Paul
Every man has his pride and that comes with the territory. However, it is a whole different ball game when the pride extends to dealing with members of the fairer sex. They expect the women to approach and flirt with them. Anyway, it is all fun and games until the egocentric moron decides to be broke and expects to be treated like the queen he is. Women love that, love it!

5. Girlfriend Greg
Ever heard of a chronic bufoon? Well, I define this person as being a part of clique dates (where they prefer wine because beer apparently tastes like porridge) and sundry. To these sorry excuses of the male species, being friendzoned comes as naturally as a teenage wet dream. Ever had a moment where you high-five a girl buddy after a very "funny" remark during a conversation? Kindly take a moment to re-think your life choices lest you find yourself in a closet you may not want to come out of.

Whereas celebrities can get away with the metrosexual publicity mayhem, it is a long way downhill for all the common faggot "wannabees."

Unfortunately, 90% of the male population have one of the metrosexual traits. The other 10% are either in diapers or live in caves.

The Dead Beat Three Ring Circus

Yesterday, I woke up to the worst morning of my life. The cold wind pierced through my skin and as my left eye peeped, it was met by the condescending, judgemental eyes of the group of people murmuring by my side. I was stark naked, lying on the side of the road and it was not a pretty sight. The men looked with pride and self-reassurance whereas the women looked in disgust, ashamed that I was part of the male species. I immediately wanted to scream that the cold prevents blood flow to specific areas to announce my masculinity every morning but was stopped in my tracks by the mirth of the present children and the camera-weilding hounds who would soon realise that photogeny is but a myth. Well, I whispered grinding my teeth, "Bite me!"

The previous night had been one of mixed feelings. Clubbing with friends is always associated with fun, unless your girlfriend has discovered your cheating ways and your friends are sick and tired of your constant bamboozles and treachery. Because I did not wake up lying in the van I had rented the previous night, I assumed that I had been drugged, stripped and dropped off awaiting my audience. I hoped with a tear deep in my throat that I had not been a victim of any sexual abuse whatsoever, I dread that.

With journalists presumably not far behind, I made up my mind to head upcountry and await my inevitable death because I am too much of a coward to attempt suicide. I was ruined, and ruined did not even begin to describe how I felt.

Hitherto, I feel sad, but not for the lies I have concorted above to make it apparent how the victims of the recent Dead Beat Kenya actually feel but but for the latter factual reality.

The week old Facebook page has generated quite the stir and has since seen many men fall from grace in the frenzied propaganda. It primarily seeks to expose parents who neglect their sirred offspring and fail to pay child support. The villians' name, photo and phone number are put up in the page with a brief history of the parental fiasco. Long are the days when facebook group administrators reaped only likes for their gallant efforts.

Its proprietor Jackson Njeru has written its description as, “This is a descriptive term that refers to parents of either gender who have freely choosen not to be supportive parents, or who do not pay their child support obligations. Deadbeat dad and deadbeat mom are commonly used by child support agencies to refer to men and women who have fathered and mothered a child but are unwilling to pay child support ordered by a family court or statutory agency."

It has received support and criticism in equal measure with the former coming from the female population. They contend that it takes two to tango and as such men ought to own up and take responsibility. Prezzo has been one of the victims with his ex-wife Daisy claiming, “You all know this monster called Jackson
Ngechu Kimotho Makini aka Prezzo. I have not seen or communicated with him since my daughter was 2 yrs. I finally took him to court to pay child support and upkeep of the child
and up to date hasn’t paid a dime. He goes around on TV and since he is able to hold a mic or have fake written interviews he is always claiming to be taking his daughter to the best school in Kenya and that she is her princess spoils her rotten. He has never paid her fees never paid any dime for her up keep all this is my sweat and my blessed parents and family support.”
This dead beat is simply an avenue to give voices to the voiceless and since investigations are carried out before defaming the "dead beats", it is justified. Why let women bear the economic burden of raising children while their fathers drink in the cup of plenty? Touchè.

However, in such situations it is difficult to differentiate truth from malice. When all's said and done, all that is posted in the group are claims or in other words, hearsay. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and it is interesting that only 1% of women go to court to validate such claims while hundreds of thousands would rather air their dirty linen in public. Most of them are well off women with vendettas against men. Well, in truth, courts cost money but at the end of the day justice is upheld and child support is actually paid whereas the satisfaction they get from the social fuss is putting their men to shame. Sour grapes?....I think so.

This group will surely be cleaned like bad weeds in the day of harvest because it is just but a passing cloud. We live in an ingriguing state where new beastiality, virus or crime story always takes the media by storm. The last time I checked, even dead beat cannot be classified as new under the sun. As for the genius proprietor of the public court system in social networks, best of luck to him in the libel suits that are likely to follow him for years like a bad haircut.

Come to think of it, this dead beat circus is not worth my valuable time and neither is it yours.

Dropping The Other Shoe

"Filthy story-teller, despot, liar, thief, braggart, buffoon, usurper, monster, ignoramus abe, scoundrel, perjurer, robher, swindler, tyrant, field-butcher, land-pirate..." These very words were printed by Harper's Weekly regarding arguably the greatest democrat this world has ever seen, Abraham Lincoln. It is of no surprise really then, that Governor Okoth Obado was heckled in his own backyard (hell, Jesus was denied in his own hometown too) and chaos erupted before the very eyes of our Commander-in-chief to cap off an ironical event. Vain attempts by Obado and Nyatike MP Omondi Anyanga only yielded a disparaging outcome of a pair of frantic moustaches.

We finally have a new-age President who directly calls hotline services, publicly adopts young budding talents, buys school buses for ecstatic girls, publicly contributes to noble causes, dons millitary apparel....I could go on and on, and really, what's not to love? And yet, our Migori neighbours would rather walk home barefoot than listen to his words of wisdom, literally.

Our third president needs to learn the patterns and principles of his predecessors to salvage any hope of tolerance in South Western Kenya.

First and foremost, he ought to understand the demographic significance of different people. Generally, the impoverished societal class loves a self-made man, you know, in a "started from the bottom" kind of way. Moi and Mwai both represented a dream for many, that you can actually work your way to the top, and as such they commanded respect and admiration. I am in no way saying that it is his fault that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and that ship is sailed. On the contrary, Raila was too, but he remedied that with getting his hands dirty from time to time, say in the fight for democracy. Even Mwai Kibaki would ocassionally take jibes at his driver just to connect with the people. Uhuru Kenyatta's actions, although effervescent seem planned, showy and forced on him really. He needs atleast one genuine and spontaneous "people-person" act. Mzee had his whisky harambee, Moi had his rungu ya nyayo, Mwai had....well his moments...you get where I'm going with this?

Secondly, he should reprimand and advise his advisors because clearly, they seem to be more of social than political advisors. There is time for everything - even the Bible can attest to that. Unfortunately, the president could not have picked a worse time to take his goodwill to Nyanza. In contrast, former President Kibaki had learned the art of timing during his tenure. In 2007 during campaigns, he was scheduled to officially commission the Sh. 12 billion Sondu-Miriu Hydro Power project in Nyakach, and also visit projects in Rarieda. The two functions were cancelled for unexplained reasons. Further functions were cancelled until 2009 when he had actually implemented policies like establishing more districts and then he could gracefully give political goodies. The Governor Okoth Obado is practically a persona non-grata in his governship and to top it all off, there is the white elephant in the room known as the referendum. This referundum hullabaloo has left the antagonistic Cord faithfuls believing the presidency will soon be up for grabs. Needless to say, the President needs to give his ultimatum on the issue. Furthermore he should radically work towards the implementation of the Constitution if he aims to leave the opposition looking like monkeys in a suit. Unless he can make radical reforms whilst in the highest political seat, he will forever be seen as heir to a throne.......and Mr. President, $15 primary school laptops and new NYS uniforms do not cut it.

Thirdly, our dear president should drop this condescending "rich-boy" aura he has since picked up. For example, these were his outlandish words in the aftermath of the actions of the over-enthuthiastic, rowdy youth, “Elections are a race and the race is over, so all leaders need to come together and move the country forward...I respect all the leaders and have never insulted anyone.” Simply put, he needs to stop addressing the leaders and speak to the people who put him in office for them to see a Kenyan leader, not a political tyrant son of our founding father. It is the least he could do.

Finally, now that our political heavyweight has witnessed the last kicks of a dying horse from the opposition, he can now settle and work for the people. His ICC tribulations are all but done and the referendum seems like the last card the opposition had left to play - which quite frankly is dead beat. With over three years left to govern this fascinating state, the president has his work cut out for him.

However, he should work fast lest he looks a gift horse in the mouth.

Tongue-Turning The Other Cheek

Unless I am a complete moron, I contend that domestic violence is not just on the aggressors, it is on us all.

In the recent revolt against this vice, our virtual activists have taken to social media to condemn the wife beaters, and sadly in our banana republic, the vice versa also. According to yours truly, writer extraordinaire, this whole resurgence of activism is a huge load of bullshit.

Ironically, the aggressors have been made scape-goats and although I would not wish that the low-lives with access to free wi-fi cut them some slack, they are not solely to blame. Infact our social compass is so broken that it actually points right. In other words, the moral high-ground we have taken on the issue has actually jeopardized our core mission, to stop the violence.

I bet you are reading this with the confusion of a homeless person on house arrest.....let me elaborate. Media outrage should be geared towards condemning these neolithic nearndathals and that is quite in order. However, it would be myopic to think that it is enough.

The World Health Organisation (WHO)’s latest report on Violence Against Women that was released in June 2013 indicated that in some
regions of the world, over 35% of women suffer from partner violence. With these staggering numbers, it is a very real possibility that every
one of us knows a woman is facing (or has faced) domestic violence.

We have become reactive instead of proactive in our fight against this domestic violence. This has not only given our antagonists the leeway to go on their hit sprees but also left our dear activists looking like choir boys in an opera.

Since crying over spilt milk seems to be the order of the day these days, my heart bleeds for the cuts and bruises inflicted on our mothers, sisters and neighbours whom we do not even lift a finger to help but running our mouths after they are mauled becomes as easy as a drunken college girl.

It all starts with the classic boy loves girl story. Boy then habitually beats the senses out of girl and friends tell the girl to be resilient because love is supposed to conquer all. However, love does not conquer blows, only self defence classes and instincts to escape can do that. Long gone are the days when turning the other cheek was a noble act by a submissive partner. Unfortunately for the hopeless romantics, love is not always the answer, sometimes it is rhetorically the question like.....why love?

To give a voice to the voiceless victims, we must be ready to stand up to the perpetrators of domestic violence. The main problem with victims of violent homes is that people who should protect them are mpnkeys in watch eating the proverbial popcorns whilst wearing their sad faces. They only come out of their cowardly shells for disaster management, which is criticizing the antagonists thinking it makes up for their timidity. Well, hypocrites...... if the shoe fits...

It beats me that after NFL star Ray Rice floored his girlfriend in the elevator, they got married just one month after. I could go on and on about how his girlfriend had no dignity and acted primitively by marrying a wolf in wolves' clothing, but that would be gravely stupid. She is just one example in the developed states. Two more players in the NFL have been associated with this vice and I doubt that is the last we are hearing of it.

Subsequently, while I wouldn't hold my breath on the numbers of illitetate or otherwise violated women in our banana republics dwindling, I am skeptical of the media attraction they generate to air their grievances. Most of these physical and sexual violence acts are rarely caught on tape and therefore, most of these acts go unpunished.

It is the 21st century and as such, we patriachs are obliged to teach women how to stand up for themselves by standing up for them in the face of tumult. As absurd as it sounds, we need to teach women to be men and if the best we can do is condemn the vicious acts of the transgressors then the best they can do is to take the beatings for purposes of mantaining our retrogressive campaigns. Our legislators would match rather discuss how the mongrels should be allowed to marry more than one wife in order to sharpen their boxing skills than tackle the trivial conundrum that is domestic violence. What a shame....shame!

We must be our sisters' keepers and protect them like a lion does its pride. Forget the transgressors, our duty is to protect the victims rather than punish the violent actions. If our priorities are not in order, we are better off riding off into the sunset with our exhibitionism oblivious of everyone else to live happily ever after.

Every woman is a queen and whatever happens to a queen is down to all her subjects, it is on us all....See, I am not a complete moron.

The Glass Half Drunk

I shan't be branded as partisan to social norms simply because I have my reservations. You see, I am a simple boy, I do whatever I like, whenever I like and however I like. Ofcourse, everything has its exceptions and I am no exception.

I started out living a straight-edged lifestyle, don't we all? However, mine lasted longer than most people....why? You may ask. At first I was actually gullible enough to believe the stories made to intimidate adolescents on the health hazards of alcohol. Well, the stories have a high degree of authenticity but the professors back in the final years of high school may disagree. These genius minds concur that you only live once, and as such death is inevitable. You might as well enjoy the ride because a life lived in fear and caution is not a life worth living.

I choose to adhere to the former rule of teenage conservatism. Whereas many of these kill-joys are detested, I was quite popular simply because my mind works faster than the quick trash talkers' mouths. I am a master of deceit and hence concorting stories about my epic stuporous excursions was a stroll in the park. To cap off a fine performance, I would ofcourse arrive at the teenage parties "drunk" and legends were told about the dimunitive outspoken son who could hold his liquor like a reverend in a whore-house.

Ironically, my drunken lifestyle made lose all the enthusiasm I had for the forbidden drink. Hitherto, I am still of the opinion that alcohol is not a useful component in my life. Some take it to boost their self esteem and that is understandable really, for loneliness is a female hound. My lords and ladies, you can attest that my self esteem could not be boosted more even if I tried. Whatever the reason people engage in partaking of the bibilical drink, they either aim to fit in or to distract themselves from life's problems. With that said, alcohol is for the lonely and the cowardly.

As common with pathological liars, I preach water and drink wine. I shan't lie to you about this though, I have parteketh of that which I had vowed not to touch, quite severally. Therefore, I can write objectively about something I know little of, which does not happen often.

I have come to the realization that alcohol is a greater phenomena than the average mind would care to fathom. At the end of the day, it is just a drink which has been a scarring choice in most lives. I am not here to criticize alcohol and earn points in the "goody-two-shoes" world....on the contrary.

Until we all appreciate alcohol, it will forever be seen as a stumbling block where there is none. Let us face it, forbidden fruits taste sweetest and preaching against it and rehabilitating addicts only makes the heart grow fonder. Appreciating alcohol entails knowing what it actually entails.

First of all, knowing your limit is unquestionably important in order to prevent yourself from being only good for working as a lab rat in an Ebola treatment facility or as an organ donor. We must realize that people will have their booze whether we like it or not. One of our main sources of revenue and job creation cannot be wished away on several prayers. People should in fact drink so much that our economic growth rate sky-rockets but so little that they remain in control.

Secondly is to realize that alcohol is not meant for everyone. Only an imbecile can be caught drunk whereas he/she has contentment in life, but only few of us are content in life. I am not saying that I am above alcohol - actually it is exactly what I am saying without necessarily sounding like a smug, pompous bastardo Kikuyunesis.

Finally, we need to stop blowing this alcohol madness out of proportion. One "Why look at the speck of sawdust that is in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the log that is in your own eye?" springs to mind. This is the part where the "goody-two-shoes" species feels bitterness rising up their throats like bile. My lovelies, everyone has an addiction, and hearty claps for you whose addiction is not alcohol....you've won the lottery. And the award for the hypocrite of the millenium goes to club "goody-two-shoes."

Do not hate the player, hate the game. This is the reason I quit my day job of campaigning against this alcohol propaganda. If I were to tell people about the dangers of alcohol, I might as well tell them about pre-marital sex, lying and so on.....but that is not happening. I finally quit my double-standards of stereotyping alcohol as a self destructing monster because lets face it, alcohol is the source of livelihood for most people as well as solace for others.

The live and let live approach has made me see alcohol in a whole new different light. I'll drink to that.

Amidst Normative Patterns

Today I start writing with absolutely nothing to write about.....no inspiration, no pre-meditated themes or anything really, nada. And paradoxically, in this very moment, I have just realised that my theme has been staring at me blatantly in the face, only I was too blind (read lazy) to see it.

It is freezing today, and although I'm dressed like a dying eskimo, I can still feel the freeze and thaw action piercing through my chest in a perplexing yet intriguing rythmic pattern. That is to say, my lords and ladies, that my body feels warm yet my mind has a cold vacuum feel.

Today is not one of those days that my exhibitionism is in contention, in fact, for the sake of consensus, I concur.

I have discovered that I have systematic patterns that outline my livelihood and ego. As lazy as I am, I have worked my way up the educational ladder by inconsistent concentration and half-hearted participation. This has led me to procrastinate and chase deadlines and inadvertently, punctual is not an adjective people use to describe yours truly.

I am a perfectionist and although the true perfectionist knows that nothing is perfect, I still strive for the impossible (and if that does not reveal my relationship status to you, nothing ever will). Therefore, for every appointment, class or rendez vous, it takes me an eternity to arrive. Perhaps I am ardoned with the mildly irritating feminine build-up. Perhaps in my strive for perfection, antecedence repulses me like holding hands does a six-year old. Or perhaps it has something to do with my inherent laziness. Who knows?

Nevertheless I easily justify my lack of punctuality with fate, yes you read right, fate. My reassurance that I have evaded inevitable accidents and a potential death is always concurrent with the arrivals. Hitherto, my superstitions have not failed me, or am I not alive and well writing this post? I rest my case.

Obviously, this laziness has led to a lack of punctuality and consequently I have become a pathological liar. You may judge, you may act all condescending or you may even detest my egocentric gut but wait until you find the subject (girl) you have stood up for more than two hours baying for your blood. The first lie pops up when your hug is greeted by a snorty shove and hearty unprintable insults and a curse upon your poor uninvolved family and voila!

The first lie is usually like a first kiss...spontaneous, risky, off-sync and for the few, unbelievable. However, like kisses, you manage to work yourself up in time and behold, lying comes naturally like dreadlocks to ugly teenagers.

I more often than not lie to myself that white lies are of no consequence..."I got late in traffic....The car was held up by police....I forgot my phone and had to go back..." See, no one gets hurt and in the end, nerves are at ease. However the more lies you tell, the bigger they get because a lie is usually covered up by another lie and another lie and another, its a never-ending cycle of deceit.

But like Bob Marley once sang, "You can fool some people sometime, but you can't fool all  the people all the time."

I have paradoxically found my kryptonite deeply embedded in my super power. Whereas I can easily bamboozle myself out of awkward situations with a few words, I still destroy great trusts and relationships I build with the same. Apparently, lying is not greeted with thankyou notes even if it was to protect the victim is question, and behold you are now a persona non-grata to someone you shared secrets with. I know what you're thinking, how myopic!

Words matter least, actions even less when dealing with pathological liars. In fact what matters most is patterns, which is to say that change lies not in changing your words or actions but changing of patterns. Quite like a drug addict, you do not just wake up and decide to quit (actually you can, but tell that to the rehabilitation centres) but it is a gradual process which needs change in patterns. A smoker of five packs changes to three, and after sometime two, then one day the addiction is gone.

This fairy tale rehabilitation step is quite candidly good for deceit. For deception is an addiction which varies from liar to liar, the extent of which is hard to determine because, well, you are dealing with liars. My cynical approach to this rehabilitation hullabaloo only goes to show that I believe in personal change. Even the so called psychologists tell you that change comes from within, and the gullible lot of us fork out thousands for the collosal help of the swindling practitioners. Quite frankly, paying a liar to cure your lying disease disgusts me, but such are the ironies of life.

Only when the lying patterns change can you eradicate this mind engulfing misdemeanor. I am skeptical that it can be totally eradicated because let's face it.....you cannot read all terms and conditions before installing a new software. However, honesty when it does matter can really be achieved, although those are double-standards.

Perhaps my cynical and widely skeptical mindset have justified my deception as being human. Perhaps lying is inevitable and it is therefore unfair to grade liars just because some people couldn't lie to save their lives where others suceed with aplomb and such grace, like yours truly. Perhaps....perhaps. Who knows?

But when all's said and done I am lazy and as such, I shall tackle this issue another day.

To Hell With Feminism

Have you ever had those mornings when you think about the ironies of life like why bald guys wear ponytails? Well, neither have I, but let us assume that we all have for the sake of driving my point home.

1 Timothy 2 : 11-14; Let a woman learn quietly with all submissiveness. I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man; rather, she is to remain quiet. For Adam was formed first, then Eve; and Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor. But women will be saved in childbearing - if they continue in faith.... Ironies.....ironies. Need I say more? I probably should, in that if you want to find patriachy, religion would be the best place to do so, but that is none of my business.

Hitherto, I see feminism and women empowerment everywhere. From FIDA organization where women are protected after they neuter their husbands to women groups and merry-go-rounds. Ofcourse the world has taken massive steps from ensuring that with pregnancies come the right to impose paternity on that unlucky Tom, Dick or whoever to remedying marriage with pain and suffering to the man in terms of alimony and child support. Hurrah!

I sound skeptical and a bit sarcastic but really, I possess the aforementioned feelings. The irony of feminism and women empowerment is that it has empowered patriachy which it intended to fizzle out.

The paradigm with feninism is that it is divided. We have the liberals who are the equivalent of the educated girl child, who believe that a teary speech with a clenched fist can change the world. They are the purse weilding, suit wearing stubborn types who believe that they deserve jobs and a good life, not because they have worked harder but because of "equality." They believe that men and women are equal curtailing the thesis that human stupidity is infinite. How can we be equal? Men lack intuition, problems associated with lady parts (including pregnancy) and the ability to have emotions. The liberals are evening playing fields which were already evened by patriachy, and woe unto you if you equate yourself to a lesser being like yours truly.

Secondly, we have the radicals who appreciate a stark difference and aim to be alienated from men altogether. I feel lesbians fall in this category and for that reason, I empathize. The perplexity with alienating men from women affairs is that it cannot be done, not unless we are wiped out of the face of the earth after the harvesting of our man parts for procreation. I strongly advise against this not only to save my life but my happy place.

We also have the cultural types who appreciate that women are different and celebrate their inner voice which makes them unique. They are the equivalent of the glass half full blondes who lol at every joke and OMG at potentially everything. This narrowly stereotyped group flaws on the dilemma as to whether this inner voice of the woman that they appreciate is actually inherent or is as a result of patriachy. The latter would result in them asserting male superiority which is to say that these blondes are digging their own graves with a moronic smile on their faces.

Then you get the neo-classical bunch who are a minority group of the majority population that is women. They have not only merged the aforementioned takes on feminism but have also developed a preponderance of thoughts. They seek to assert that equality does not mean equity and therefore women will only be equal when they are considered not as inferior, but special. They indeed are, and whoever thinks otherwise is a test-tube baby.

All in all, feminism is a good thing but it is deeply flawed.

Feminism tends to eliminate patriachy and in doing so, you impose a certain authority over the marginalised women. It is often said that your greatest enemy is yourself and that resonates all the way to feministic jurisprudence. The women empowering forgets that there is a faction of voiceless women living in abject poverty and gender-based violence. Somewhere in the world is a teenage girl being married off as a fourth trophy wife to her father's peer. I doubt that she would be the biggest fan of women empowerment two years down the line when that ship is long sailed. Feminism and women empowerment are myopic, capitalistic and biased to say the least.

In making men and women equal, we disadvantage the illiterate woman in the village who takes a beating from her husband to assert their love. Women are special and as such need to be treated in a special way. To hell with feminism and women empowerment!  Humanity is the way to go because it is not concerned with equality but equity. For equality is dividing food between two people equally while equity is giving the hungrier person more food. Educating the woman to have a sense of identity like the male species as opposed to identifying with temporary groups is a way to eliminate female vulnerability. For at the end of the day, groups come and go but your ego stays.

It is truly a sad day when yours truly is the voice of reason for women.

The Haves, The Halves and The Have-Nots.

Despite lack of a standard sobriety, (or due to it, who knows?) I have managed to answer questions that buffle idealists and pragmatists alike. The question of why the poor have so little yet the rich have in preponderance is quite the enigma. However, if you are still uncertain about the creative genius that is yours truly, then this article is definitely for you.

I actually realized that a good lot of you mediocre brains categorize yourself in the "rich" or "poor" category quite forgetting that the infamous middle class tag awaits you. It is flattering really for most of us who quite frankly are transitioning to dire destitution. Let me not burst your bubbles in this one.

It is quite ironical that 10% of the world's population own 90% of the resources and wealth. That quite clearly illustrates the man-hole of a gap it is between the haves and the have-nots. Halve that gap and give it to the rich and you will see what is left with the poor. I hope you get the picture.

While the rich drink in opulence and clothe themselves in "denim currency", the poor swim in muddy puddles of debt and can only dream about restitution, Hearsay! In a world where the status quo means so much to the rich that Carlos Slim cannot be philanthropic because his alter ego Bill gates is breathing down his neck, there will never be contentment.

Well, there is a reason God ordained a part of His creation with milk and honey, others half a loaf and the majority of people just its (bread) wrapping paper.

If you want to know what God thinks about money, just look at the people He gave it to. The rich are generally pompous prom Kings and Queens who look down on the less privilleged with disfavour. Even the smily, philanthropic ones are sneering deep down with every donation they make. Before you cast the first stone on my stereotypical approach, note that I am of the opinion that whoever has an overflowing cup is bound by decency to pour some of its contents to those whose cups are empty. There is a difference between being judgemental and skeptical, I choose to think I am the latter.

As for the poor, they might have no money, but what they lack in material wealth they possess in health, love and simplicity. The simpleton is not concerned about what he/she will desire but rather what they can afford. They starve, shiver from the cold threading apart the rags off their backs or beg for aid, but at the day, what hurts most is the little hope they have.

It takes two to tangle, and a rich man and his money tangle themselves in a web so intricate that all else is alienated from this addictive bond. In their world of self preservation, they conform with standard set by their peers and thus they cannot quite be happy. Only when your hapiness is not dependent on external factors are you really happy.

Our poverty stricken lot however possess their own slice of paradise. Naturally, when you have nothing external to give, you seek internally and as sure as the sun rises and sets, you find love. Thus the poor man's family have a stronger bond because to be honest, what else can they give?

The rich also cry, for the same reason that the poor have tranquility in their souls. The poor know that money is the only thing they need to be happy. The rich however, have the money and it baffles even the richest of them as to why they cannot be totally happy. It furthermore cripples your heart when, because of your societal status, the world (through its high expwctations) expects you to feign a smile through the most troublesomes of marriages, childhoods and addictions.

At the end of the day, what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his identity?

The key to hapiness as I have come to realise, is contentment but God is not a fool. Were He to give anyone contentment, his/her life would be a journeyless vessel filled to the brim. What is the point? Therefore, show me a content man and I will show you the greatest liar.

At the end of the day, we were all blessed with a certain struggle. In sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, to have and to struggle, till death do you part.

Vanity! All is vanity.....A chasing of the wind.... And to think that you (for even one second) doubted the creative genius that is I. I sneer, and still deep down, I sneer. Ooh yee of little faith...

The Parable Of The Fool And The Wise Man

There are those unique moments when you wake up and a song is already playing in your head. I thought I'd share one with my faithfuls today and hope they can sing along to..."You gotta know when to hold em' , know when to fold em', know when to walk away, know when to run....." It is a song I felt tackled gambling in its entirety, not anymore though, otherwise my article would be pointless.

The gambling known as business looks with austere disfavor upon the business known as gambling. This is because I have come to the realization that almost everything in life is a gamble.....heck! Even life itself is a gamble.

I have discovered that in every business, bet or game of chance, there is always a fool and a thief.

The fool is ironically characterized by wise intuitions that gambling is but buying hope on credit. Life is about hope and without it, we might as well be sitting on a rocking chair in our youth waiting to die. For a hundred shillings you pick on the floor is more enthralling than the thousand you have had to toil for. In his justification, why not gamble whereas he/she might be walking around lucky everyday and never know it.

Some of these stiff necked fools are actually intrinsically analytical and have learned the art of preparation. As Kenny Rodgers wisely put it, "....made a life outta readin' peoples' faces, knowing what their cards read by the way they held their eyes." The thing is, until you learn how your adversaries think as well as when and how they are vulnerable are you really better equiped to beat them.

The problem with this style of gambling is that luck never gives, it only lends and as sure as the sun rises and sets so too is your luck poised to run out. Gambling is a matter of probabilities, which is a word which even the dictionary is not sure of its meaning (pun intended).

To the fool, gambling lies in the bet.....the game itself where until one wins or looses, he/she is momentarily trapped in a thrilling state of expectation. Gambling to them is like a prostitute who screws you out of your moneůy and sends you home with an idiotic smile on your face. In my opinion, they do not gamble to win, they gamble so that they can gamble the next day. The harsh reality is that the fool knows not the difference between having fun and being smart.

The thief, however is like a shrewd businessman. The con-artist is a confident person who believes so much in his abilities that it intimidates your average Joe at the table. The "con (fidence) -man" is that who unusually wins when all the odds are stacked against him/her. Oddly, he who has the least expectations (not to be confused with confidence) wins all the time while the one blinded by hope and sentiments loses. Coincidence, I think not.

It is said that a great liar is a better magician. How can you expect to gamble and win whereas you have no edge over your competitors? Until you discover how to cheat or manipulate others will you also learn to manipulate your own luck. Personally, I am inherently unlucky and jinxed but my sophisticated art of deception has managed to contort some lucky charm and voila!

By now, you have probably branded me a chronic gambler, but it is never a gamble if you never lose, is it?

Forget the analysis of the game, the magnitude of the bet or even the size of the odds. To consistently prevail, you must learn how not to fail. You must find a way around it and cheat without being discovered. And if the bet has no way around it, you are better off leaving the table for the loser who brings with him his lucky stars. You cannot expect odds to be unlucky and whoever tells you otherwise is less of a fool than you are if you are so gullible as to believe it.

For even the Bible's most philosophical book of Ecclesiastes in Chapter 9 verse 11 recognizes the propounding that, "I have seen something else under the sun: The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food cometh to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favour to the learned; but time and chance happeneth to them all." C'est la vie.