Bender Chronicles 1

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Then I made a very crude and shrewd remark about how my rosary would be my Teflon vest as I downed three tequila shots back to back and all hell broke loose!! One of the perks of having been brought up under the nose of the church is that you always connect everything you do right back to the source, even if it’s some new craze that’s sweeping the entire nation…like teenage kids getting ear bling nowadays. I met a couple of my nieces and nephews (yeah, I know! People have been busy!), in the village recently, all below ten years, and they were all blinged-out! Infact, the town looked more like that bit from the pirated X-Men III that showed the Island, all CGI, with everyone looking like they come from the Bronx but the back drop is screaming out like that third victim a serial killer carves out to authoritatively etch his profile signature and open up his paper trail with the five-oh, the police. Of course, our brothers at CPS will staple a few papers together summarizing how it was a boda accident that somehow opened up the guy’s insides in alphabetical order and spelled out a note coz their boss just started watching the season premier of Dexter. But I’ll forever feel the Uganda Police coz they chased me once; after I mistook the traffic lights for the Rainbow; the crayonesque drawing in the sky in between where it’s raining and where it isn’t. Believe me; I had to choose between the Aurora and the Rainbow. I mentally digested that thought as they failed to capture me and my tin can car that was super high on that indonese; they helped me file my documentorial debut as I explored the unknown parts of Ntinda for the next two hours. I chose the Aurora.

I subscribed to a science journal last year and read about how chick’s perfumes, if incorporated with chemical X a.k.a she’s dancing paka chini but her high waist pant and it’s sixteen buttons are gradually working at her gastro gases….mean! I thought I would slowly build up to the gassing part a.k.a farting, but like the hideous, yet humorous act itself, surprise is key! Point is; under disco lights, gas + perfume + perspiration = Aurora (ceteris peribus). And if at all, you just met her and she says she likes rainbows….RUN! Run like you are a poet looking for a safe haven, a happy paradise, a lonely oasis or any other weird sounding, two-worded-and-yet-repetitive-in-the-sense-of-the-message-being-conveyed kind of way….it’s like Irony has a double-edged sword and just sliced that tissue bridging your left and right cranial hemispheres…or she told you to wear two condoms or else you feed your ravaging hormones beer and chicken yet all they were itching for was a piece of the proverbial bearded meat that sometimes goes incognito without the moustache or goatee…er, channel ! Reminds me of that kafunda where they only give you one piece with so much soup that you would probably need those full-body gowns that medics wear for disease outbreaks to eat your food safely! Excuse, me, I digress.

Speaking of food and writing about humour, could it be the English cuisine, largely criticized by most European peoples for being weak, lousy and down right degoutante, is the cause for what most people frown upon as English humour?! Which I must say is so full of wit and sarcasm, my personal favourite, that even some guy I know from around the hood who was the kind you could diss and he laughs when he is the dissee, went to London in his early teens and returned after twelve years with an insane ability to crack people up with snide retorts and remarks….not that it wasn’t accented in semi-cockney, I didn’t mind, and that it had the familiar…Oii!!….mate…pint…that’s my tune…Uni boys…slammin…Point is; the brother was injected with wit! Now, I can point out many peoples who watch most comedy series religiously and yet half the time you lol-ed by yourself as they turned to look at you like “… duh?! Dude, watsup?! What did he say?!” So even watching four different series, seasons concurrently, all with very well-written, witty scripts, packed with every juicy drop of rib-cracking humour even if J.J. Abrams or Tim Kring created it doesn’t help alleviate their conscience.

So for your homework today, write a 200 word essay explaining how TV series have enveloped the world with a cliché base line, kind of yard stick, sense of humour that for those without wit, without “it”, the only option left is copy and paste it, no haste, no shame and no one to blame coz its like I’m ending my rhyme like a rap song with shallow lyrics, get it?!! I paint a picture of the world, map out the areas where they laugh coz they dipped a guy in hot oil, or boiling tarmac, or coz the chicken crossed the road…I don’t think it had anything to do with their food, probably just what one guy blurted out as he sipped his brew from the stained OMO tin inspired by the chick in a lesu adding hot water to the semi-solid mass that somehow keeps on spewing out more and more till it tasteless, distasteful, flat. That’s when you send a message across through this medium, when they have had their laugh, when it’s tasteless, distasteful; flat!

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