Toyota

I was up late last night thinking about all the hullabaloo surrounding safety issues and Toyota. I’m sure it’s all one conspiracy to try and resuscitate America’s auto industry, but it may backfire because the Toyota brand has already seeped deep into people’s consciousness. I love Toyota cars even though I’ve never owned one myself. If you can guess correctly what car I drive, I swear I’ll come over personally and tickle you until you cry please, please Tamaku stop but I won’t stop until you pee on yourself, lol! However I detest those models that look like freestanding wardrobes on wheels, here I’m talking about Toyota Voxy and it’s ungainly cousin Toyota Noah. Sorry but it’s very easy to confuse one of these in the hazy Nairobi traffic with a pregnant Zebu cow. Not too sexy unless you’re a farmer’s wife called Mrs Noah who’s getting ready to go on a cruise (speaking of which, does anyone know what her real name was please, I promise I won’t come and tickle you unless you want me to).

My wonderful George, who is now sitting at my feet on the floor watching a good bootleg copy of City of God as I type this (oh, the irony), is like a Lexus LS460 with heated leather seats, warm and a joy to cuddle but he can make your ass sweat when he’s in the mood. I think I’d say I’m more like the 'humble’ Avensis, good thrust when needed and with a decent trunk which shuts well, lol! Which reminds me - George wrongly says I like to wield power around here. I don’t know whatever gave him that impression but I don’t mind so long as he does what he’s told. And forget all that nonsense about gays having faulty 'brakes', take it from me nothing wrong with our 'brakes' after many miles on the clock never had even one skidmark…

Ok, mmmmm, now let’s see if I can pick on a couple of lovely fellow bloggers and pair them with a suitable model of Toyota: In my mind I think Shiko-Msa is like a red Toyota Solara with the top down cruising through Mama Ngina Drive on a hot afternoon, classy and interesting ;) while Rox is like a canary-yellow Toyota Supra in 17-inch gunmetal rims and tinted windows, distinctive and fun (NOT a euphemism for easy by the way, hehehehehe. Dear sweetie, Rox, darling, sugar, honey please don’t hit me). Let me stop there before I get myself in more trouble than I already am. Hahahaha…

Straight-talking Politician

The Malawi authorities have told gay activists who put up posters and distribute leaflets on the streets anonymously to "come out in the open".

Government official Kingsley Namakhwa said it was against the law to mount such campaigns anonymously.

But he also pointed out that homosexuality was illegal, and anyone promoting it would be prosecuted.

(Source: BBC)

The Beautiful Game and understanding the offside rule

Last Sunday George and I got invited by our Nigerian neighbour Theo to watch the televised final of the African Cup of Nations final at his house. I was rooting for Ghana because I like the way their kit showed off their well-toned physiques and the contrast of the white on the ebony was just pure gay heaven. George came along for the football (I’m also a fan of sorts) while Theo was cheering on Egypt because he was still holding a grudge following the semi-final defeat his countrymen suffrered at the hands of the Ghanaians.

So we drank me brodah Theo’s booze (lots of it, remember I don’t have to get up and go anywhere these days) and gorged ourselves on among other delights boiled quail eggs (from that lady doctor over in Lavington). I need to get off my fat ass and make better use of my membership at Parklands Sports Club to get back in shape like the hottie I aspire to be. Incidentally Theo’s mid-thirties, handsome in an African Forrest-Gump sort of way, athletic and a scientist who lives alone with two cats in a beautiful bungalow. Just the kind of guy you shouldn’t introduce to your boyfriend because you should keep him all to yourself, lol. There are some things about Theo that scream iko matata hapo mbele (trouble lies ahead). It was the first time we’ve been to his place, we normally meet while taking walks in the evening and just wave. We both assumed that Theo was straight but after an hour in his house I set my gay-o-meter to alert mode.

Here’s the evidence that set those alarm bells ringing:

- Straight alpha-male ( Theo) in lush dreadlocks invites two male neighbours who live together and are obviously a couple (in love) to his house to watch a game of football. Unfair home advantage springs to mind.

- Straight man then sprawls on the floor of immaculate home drinking lots of lovely alcohol, moisturised footballer-legs wide apart (slut) wearing only a tiny pair of mauve Ralph Lauren shorts (displaying what looks like a yummy overstuffed wrap-sandwich), fingers lazily stroking away silky navel pubes while flaunting naked tight six-pack abs (who does he think he is, Tyrese? Why‘s he gonna act like that?)

- Straight man’s pumped man titties on show are just crying out to be tweaked as he lies on that super-soft luxurious sheepskin made from at least three innocent Molo lambs (poser).

- Straight man arranges napkins on rustic teak coffee table in the rose fold.

I was thinking wishing, is this guy not gay because from what I could see he was Interpol’s description of hot Nigerian man-stealer called Theo ( a love-god’s name to boot, tsk..tsk) but I might have been offside.

I kept a beady eye on Theo whenever he rolled side to side on the rug as he stretched a pedicured foot playfully catching George’s calf with a ’free-kick’ (surely a bookable offence) every time the ref blew the whistle…..like he himself wanted to blow something else....puhleeze!!

Big Car, Small Dick

Tuesday afternoon I was standing in a queue at the bank. There was a man ahead of me at the counter getting serviced served, he was being quite loud so much that everyone could hear his business.

So there he was, standing in dusty shoes and wearing a mismatched suit which are sure signs of the Kenyan billionare, wobbly belly swaying over cantilevered trouser-belt which is the third sign of Nairobi's obscenely wealthy. I was wondering how much money you'd have to get paid to sleep with someone like that (zillions at least) or how much alcohol do you have to imbibe before you can do it with the lights on. Meanwhile his short, chubby but surprisingly athletic fingers (It's not the size of the finger that matters, but the size of the ring. Lol, big fat lie!) were banging away to the annoying crescendo of the note counting machine as he transacted small fortunes across multiple accounts, setting up standing orders, getting bankers' cheques and just for good measure he also drew a few hundred thousand 'to pay the workers, haha ha ha'. I even saw him slide the cashier a couple thou, for lunch. The people in the jittering lunchtime queue were far from impressed. BTW, my bank offers me teas and coffees while I'm waiting but nowhere to powder my nose, where is the sense in that?

After 'beached-whale trucking mini-waterfall-cascading-down-the-crack-of-bum (lovely sweat, mmmm)' waddled out of Barclays the young woman behind me muttered: 'These sad men who want people to notice them - it's all about the size of the cock!'


Just be yourself, you are somebody and the world belongs to you too. Glenn Jones

Gorilla on steroids

My sister whispered to me when I got back to our table at the restaurant where we had lunch the other day bro you really mince when you walk. I just laughed in her face because many years ago she told me I used to walk too agressively with my feet pointing ten to two, so I taught myself a new walk. Perhaps I've been swish since then, managing to conceal the wriggle in my bottom under suit jackets.

But now I'm at the point in life where I can't be bothered with doing stuff just to please people. So I'm not going to stop wearing fishnets or listening to Madonna and I'm definitely not going to start walking around like a gorilla on steroids.

I'll just be me.