Monday massacres

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Lets go kick some shit,2010. We cannot wait.

The public has been going on and on about the need to re-invent the massacres. Today, ladies, gentlemen, children, toddlers, lustful teenagers, (Ok, and some lustful guys)…rentedmess has been momentarily captured. Minutes of sweaty research gave me the location of the rentedmess. I proceeded with caution, knowing the inhabitant(s) to be the type that loved caressing the dark side. What does it look like? It’s a land of candy, walls adorned with females in various stages of undress, feathers falling outta nowhere, the eerie quiet is occasionally interrupted by ‘cluck-cluck’ noises, and there’s a quaint dark guy with shades, seated at a grande piano playing what seem like church hymns, but no sound comes out…I found Erique, in big-ass shades and wearing what looked strangely like a frilly top. He was having an intimate discussion with the trio:

Karen: And you know the worst part about it?

(Rhetoric question. They all stare at her anxious that she goes on with the story. You could clearly see who the man in the room was)

Karen: … (She plays out the suspense. Reaches for her fancy pink phone, plays a Clint Eastwood song as background music to build the tension. She has tension skills…) …The worst part was he didn’t even ask for my number!

(They all gasp thinking, “What a dork! How can you turn down a chance to get with this Keri ,Mendes ,Jolie mix”)

That’s when I hit, while they were still gasping. They are all bound and gagged, writhing in the corner next to the dark piano-playing guy as I type this out.

Presenting this gainfully employed sleek adonis’ s take on the massacres:

I have to pause to let out a derisive evil evil laugh…what is conquest without an evil evil laugh: Mrrrhhhuuuhaahhahaha….

PS: When perfected, the laughter almost sounds like a yawn. Almost. It’s the right yawn, growl, moan, mock mix that makes it lethal and evil. Ed

Yes, presenting the massacres…

Improper Lunching

Have you noticed how there is always a traffic jam in town at about lunch time? What’s that about? Think about it, it’s not like people still leave work to go home for lunch. That was in Baz’s days. You’d go and play but be back by lunch coz you knew Mzee would be home just for lunch. These days the boss calls the tea girl into his office and he proceeds to have a lengthy lunch, doors closed, papers curiously rustling all-through ‘lunch’. Busy boss that…and the dude even answers calls:

Boss: Yes, boss speaking..

Lunch-interrupter(L.I): crap…crap..crap..grunt..groan..moan…

Boss: Ok, you said twenty million?

L.I: nya….bla..moan…

Boss: Tea-girl, what do you think?

And the conversation shifts from the phone to the tea girl’s views on how the office should be run, L.I left muttering and moaning to himself on the phone.

Proper lunching

Now, against that lunch-hour, crazy-hour backdrop my workmates at ‘Good Brain Inc.’ have come up with something to get Uganda on its feet and sweaty all-through lunch. This stuff’ll give the lunch drag a much-needed shot in the arm. Wait for it…grab some popcorn…grab some water…Presenting, Lunch Hour Disco!!

Wipe that ‘I-am-so-stupid-why-didn’t-I-think-of-that’ grin off your face. No more will the precious lunch hour be spent trying to make eye-contact with that I-am-gasping-for-breath-coz-you-are-so-hot new workmate who only seems to have time for beefed-up guys without brains. She doesn’t see you, the in-house geek. She doesn’t know you have a blog. She knows not that Sleek and Erique have been to your blog. You sit at your table alone, picking at your food and coming up with an algorithm that’ll lead you to her heart. Lunch hour dancing…

For you the company clown whose jokes have lost their edge…

For you the tea-girl that the boss calls for lunch…

For you lingala addict who still loves to wear his trousers up to his belly…you who occasionally breaks into dance even in board meetings…Lunch hour dancing

For you the very hot chic who is tired of being undressed mentally so many times at work…Lunch hour dancing

For you who finds it hard to contribute to conversations at lunch coz GDP,DDP, GNP, FGM, UPC and all that stuff just don’t make sense…Lunch hour dancing.

One hour of sweaty, steamy, unadultered dirty dancing. Your boss, pot belly and all, will be there too. For you who work for government, you’ll have 3 hours. No whores, they are all asleep. Only hot vixens with white collar jobs. And respectable guys who want one lunch-hour stands. No strange fumes in the club. Great time to ask for a raise…as boss grinds on a hottie, drop the question.

And the verdict’s out. I took the liberty to showcase this stuff to some people. Here’s what they had to say:

`Hair-raising…’ Britney Spears

‘So milky’ Pamela Anderson

`Whoopy’ Hyena, incisive, leading journalist for a colored Daily read by many a pocketing male