tHiNkEr’S rOoM

Hmm …

WARNING: CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE

Dear MP,

It is with sadness that I greet you this day. Sadness because you actually got out of the house without being struck by lightning or rear ended by an 18 wheeler. You see, this is because I hate your guts, and indeed every inch of you, from the tips of your pitchfork to the end of your forked tail. Like an unpaid KPLC bill, you give me the urge to put your lights out.

My dearest MP, nothing would give me the greatest pleasure to kick your spine right out the top of your fat head and proceed to beat you with your own backbone, or what little there is of it. I would then like to sprinkle your backbone with chili, salt, vinegar and army ants and stuff it right back, upside down, where it came from.

In case your ant-like attention span is not quite grasping this, given a choice between your presence in the same hemisphere as myself and painting a boat with my tongue, I’d happily paint the entire Pacific Fleet.

Making allowances for the fact that you are not one of nature’s lightning thinkers, let me simplify it by saying I despise you, from the top of your fat head to the soles of your designer gum boots.

Nothing brings out the truth of uncompromising and everlasting mother’s love than the fact that somewhere there is a woman that is proud to be associated with you. I shudder at the thought of carrying you for 9 months. Give me Pharaoh’s 7 years of famine anytime! 9 months of your society is 9 months too many! Shaggy was onto something when he talked about Strength Of A Woman.

We boosted you on your shoulders when you came to campaign as you promised us change and development. Like true men and woman we grinned ghastly grins and tolerated your enormous girth, stretched trousers and suspicious skid-marks. We endured your rich, earthy aroma and your joint saying and spraying as you articulated your vision.

And then you were sworn in and you were gone. From your one roomed hovel you now live in a house that has a jacuzzi, something you seem to think comes from a sewing kit.

When it comes to issues to do with your benefits and welfare your girth can be seen moving horizontally at great speed and wobble towards the debating chamber. I see your fat face on TV explaining why you need to be paid more. However when it is time for our roads, or our fertilizer or our schools, we are assured the grunts and slobbers from the parliamentary cafeteria are from you.

Now that you object to paying taxes like me, let me assure you that nothing would give me greater pleasure to sit you down in a forest, cover your nether regions in ground nuts and leave the squirrels to a treat of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut. I would also like to anesthetize you, skin you, cover your flesh with curry powder and vinegar, sprinkle some ball bearings and return your skin and wait for the fun and games begin.

How dare you, you greedy bastard, think that you are more equal than me? Do you not realize, you fat fool, that I am taxed all the way to my liver to pay your obscene salary? Listen here, you garden gnome. Do you understand that I pay so much tax that my grandsons are in debt? And you don’t want to pay tax!

I read with amusement that you sit on the defence committee. You poor fool, a cruise missile is just as fast as a regular missile!

And at your stint doing something in the finance ministry, a balanced budget does not mean writing some expenses on pages 1-30 and the rest on pages 31-60!

Hydro-electric dam, for your information, is not a new curse word.

Just last week I was at a function where you were reading something about Open Source. I have no doubt that you think Open Source can be helped by ointment and bandages. Well, let me say this to you:

apt-get down on your knees, gunzip my trousers and gnukiss my ass, you selfish, self righteous, Gadarene swine!

Yours sincerely,

M

I highly suspect that at Safaricom decision making is done by Michael Joseph as follows:

• A roulette wheel of ideas, most of which are half baked is prepared
• MJ puts on a blindfold
• MJ is spun around in his chair 15 times by an energetic staff
• Roulette wheel is spun
• Dizzy MJ throws dart at spinning wheel
• Idea struck is implemented

This can be the only explanation for something as doofus as free calls.

FREE CALLS?

Surely you jest!

Is this the same Michael Joseph who complained bitterly about the congestion being caused by Kenyans and their ‘peculiar calling habits’?

How quickly we forget!

Have Kenyans changed overnight? Are different people inhabiting Kenya? Why didn’t I get the memo!

Thanks to the free calls (from 9 to 6) for the last week the Safaricom network, quicker than knickers in the red light district,  has been dropping completely.

The most printable of responses from Safaricom customers has been WTF. If Michael Joseph is interested in byte size bites of exactly what people think of Safaricom, he can drop me a line and I will, with the greatest of pleasure, let him know in great detail just what Safaricom is thought of, especially last week.

Safaricom may be known for many things but quality of service is not one of them. When the multitude of customers are not waiting for five loaves and two fish to be disbursed at Customer Care centers with 10+ help desks staffed by two, they are weeping and gnashing their teeth at congested networks.

And they have the temerity to offer FREE CALLS? It’s like George Bush and Lucy Kibaki offering to start a Mensa Chapter. The dang capacity ain’t there!!

And In Other Scandals

If you have not heard of kenyaipos.co.ke, then you probably live under a lichen infested rock.

When the site was launched, an initiative of Citi Group, offering Kenyans the ability to apply for shares online, like sheep we clicked the register button and proceeded to send all our personal details and share applications into the digital ether.

If you sought to read the small print you would have come away unimpressed. Nowhere was it explicitly stated what your information was used for, where it was stored and what rights you had with regards to your information.

What it did say, however, was that Citi group and all of its affiliates and partners could access and use it.

And before you ask, no, nowhere were these affiliates and partners listed.

Now, late last week someone discovered that with judicious manipulation of the URL you could pretty much view anyone else’s share applications and personal details.

Let me put that a little differently.

If you applied for your safaricom shares online anyone and I do mean anyone could have seen your personal details.

Any yahoo could have seen your phone numbers and email addresses, details of your applications and God knows what else.

In a show of the crass ineptitude that I’ve come to expect from Big Business in Kenya, the people behind kenyaipos.co.ke have simply taken the site down. There is nothing at the URL anymore.

This has the stink of a cover up.

A cover up that I am afraid will not be possible. We know about this lapse. And what’s more a few screen captures demonstrating the flaw can be tabled (suitably obfuscated of course).

In short, answers, and a full disclosure, and an apology are expected in very short order from:

• Citibank
• The NSE
• Safaricom
• The Capital Market Authority
• kenyaipos.co.ke

Resist the temptation to cover this up. I know, I know it’s tempting. But Kenyans put their faith in many institutions and they deserve a least one of them not to make a mockery of their faith and their intelligence!

I will keep an eye on the papers and the institutional websites and hope you do the right thing.

Additional information? Threats? Drop me a line.

So this past weekend, the missus moved house. Aside from lacking a swing inside, the new digs is fantastic, up to and including the huge window on one wall of the living room that overlooks a garden. While no one was looking I secretly did a cartwheel to measure the living room. The exact measurements using this metric are a trade secret I shall take to my grave. Suffice it to say they are the exact dimensions necessary for us to unfold our master plan of world domination by producing sleepers that will be introduced into key sectors of industry ready for activation by us at a moment’s notice.

This is the point at which evil laughter should be introduced.

I am of the opinion of hedging our bets my producing as many troops as possible, but my co-conspirator will have none of that, seeing that she is in fully charge of the production process. I am pushing keenly for at least 5 sleepers, to infiltrate the finance, manufacturing, ICT, government and hospitality.

But I digress.

As with all things the move was replete with lessons

1. The female of the species, like iron filings to magnet, collects shoes at a prolific rate
2. While planning construction (or purchase of a new house) right after bathroom and kitchen, make allowances for a room for shoes (not yours, of course)
3. Shoes are heavy. Especially when transported together. Especially when carried up 3 flights of steps. Especially if due to a communications breakdown it is the wrong 3 flights
4. The possessions of the female of the species follow closely the handbag rule. What is the handbag rule? The volume of materials inside the female handbag is inversely proportional to the internal volume of the handbag itself. The same applies to the contents of the flat and the flat
5. Cushions are bigger than their respective covers
6. It does not matter how thoroughly you measure curtains before purchase. They will always mysteriously shrink en route

But at the end of it all everything was unpacked, the broken dishes tossed out on their ears and Phase I of the master plan is nearing completion.

Here’s to many more milestones my dearest. Many many more!

Light It Up

Roberta is sans insurance, and knowing full well that these are just the circumstances God chooses to exercise his excellent sense of humour, I decided not to chance driving. I would not put it past the man upstairs to have me involved in a menage a trois with a S Class and a VW Touareg that will force me to sell my car and sell my self and my immediate future family to pay for my sin.

But with Angels and whatnots to entertain, God makes excellent use of what appears at first sight to be limited material.

Which is why as I was proceeding to work, minding my own business, the matatu I was in caught fire. Not much of a build up I know, but one minute am fiddling with my phone and the next minute I look up to a classic Babel. The interior of the matatu is full of smoke and with amazing dexterity the tout has effected an exit through the open window.

Why he has departed we are not exactly sure. Until a tongue of flame appears amid the smoke.

Now in most buildings there is some sort of plaque the says things like

“Do not panic. In an orderly fashion proceed to the nearest exit
and assemble at the designated collection point”

What happens in reality my friends is nothing short of the opposite. There is no orderly quiet movement. You can practically hear the audio soundtrack to the situation.There is acrobatic and energetic motion of the human body from all the players. A large woman of motor boat like proportions will attempt to exit the vehicle head first at the same time a large man of Maruti like proportions is attempting to exit the same vehicle from the same window foot first. Where the sum of the parts is larger than the whole of the window, things grind to a halt. There are then shouted instructions to move mammaries and backsides out of the way.

I would have stayed for more entertainment but the thought of a vehicle on fire while my person and future lineage are still within is one that prompts action. A slid open window and a dive and roll through the window are but a moment’s work.

AOB

Airport Official: First name?
Passenger: Batman
Airport Official: What?
Passenger: Batman
Airport Official: (Holding Head) Your first name is Batman
Passenger: Yes
Airport Official: Spelling?
Passenger: Just like it sounds. Batman
Airport Official: Right. And your surname?
Passenger: Superman
Airport Official: Right, that does it! Security!

Mariah Carey

I cannot off the top of my head remember a song I despised as much as Touch My body. I cannot put in words just how much I can’t stand it. Please for the love of Humanity can someone please touch Mariah Carey’s body? Preferably with Anthrax?