Monday Massacres: On a light note

This enlighting stuff is brought to you by:

We, the people who light up Uganda with electricity, the people who looked at all that water in the Nile and while tourists ooohed and aaahed, we went to work to squeeze that free resource through some tube-like devices, and we made Electricity…Yes, we did. Brilliant us…We also control productivity; in ALL senses. Yes, when factories burgeon, it is because we have hearts, we let them do their thing…And when we turn the lights down low(we love Lauryn Hill btw), when we turn the lights low, or switch them off all-together, we furnish another kind of productivity (wink wink)…there are now about 31 million Ugandans, thanks to us, and to alcohol and many intarekcho socio-economic reasons…but mainly thanks to us. You all know how you like to get oogy woogy when we do our thing..And many big shots in town have our hot line; they call us up when they need to get into compromising, ahem, situations and we do the load-shedding. If you are a big-shot and do not have our hot line, shame on you.

So today we did our thing…and the us writer here, the self-absorbed sod, the usual writer, he was affected..he had no power. Our bad. Or not. You see, we had a technical hiccup. But what we lack in technical-hiccup-sorting,we make up for in writing…the head of out technical-hiccup-sorting team is a writer, so we called him in and while he was sorting out the power issue at the owner of this page’s place(a plush place, a very plush place..If you were him, you’d be self-absorbed too)..so while sorting it out, our hiccup-sorting leader spied the password to this here place, and he was in heaven…he whipped it out..his pen. And he got to work; for hours, he could be seen furiously working away, occasionally wiping off a dripping brow and squeezing a drenched overall, till voila! he was done..he had typed ‘A massacre’. So today, we bring you,from the technical-hiccup-sorting team leader, a massacre. No, we did not sponsor the thing. We:

1. created the need for us at the self-absorbed guy’s plush place, by doing a power cut
2. engaged him in inane talk
3. wrote ‘The Massacre’ while he sipped some cognac we carried along.

That’s it. You have read our massacre. From us. Now go, go dear one, go change the world..let them know that we too have a technical-hiccup-sorting leader who can write.