31.12.13

Foolish, foolisher, foolishest.

Welcome to THE Kai Ni Kii? FOOLISH PLANS AWARDS 2013, the annual roll call of idiots who have done the most spectacularly foolish things.  We would like them to know that their efforts at stupidity did not go unnoticed.

1.         Foolish plan to stay free.
UHURUTO
Ah…the dynamic duo.  It takes a certain amount of brilliance to spend billions of shillings to get jobs that would keep you out of jail, in theory, when paying a couple of lawyers (and witnesses) significantly less would have achieved the same result.  Genius plan.  They hopped around the continent in expensive jets, spent all their time threatening anyone who would listen, dancing with the Chinese to spite the Brits and Yanks, and all so they could get their cases deferred?  Deferred, as in postponed?  That’s a lot of effort to go to for a temporary reprieve, especially for a couple of innocent chaps.  Lucky for them, we’re picking up most of the tab these days.  Hang on, this plan actually was brilliant.  Dammit. 

2.                  Foolish plan to win an election.
RAILA ODINGA AND KALONZO MUSYOKA
These buggers…  Exactly what crack were they smoking?  What did they think, that the downtrodden masses would look at them and think, ‘Hmmm…even though they’ve gone out of their way to find new and improved ways of screwing each other over for the last five years, perhaps they’re just the buggers to sort us out, no?’  No.  Turns out the masses were feeling nothing.  Sorry. 

3.       Foolish Plan to…what was the plan exactly?
THE 51%
Did you vote for Jubilee?  Are you feeling a little cheated?  Do you now see that when these politicians screw us, they screw all of us, irrespective of where you come from or who you voted for?  Your Jubilee asses are no less sore than our CORD/AMANI/NARC KENYA/SISI KWA SISI/Dida’s party asses, not unless you buggers have VAT waivers, and special Jubilee cards that get you medical treatment when the doctors and nurses are on strike.  You don’t, do you?

4.       Foolish Plan to get laid
SONKO AND SHEBESH
In the realm of foolish plans to shag someone you shouldn’t be shagging, this one took the cup.  They did what, these two geniuses?  You know what the worst part was?  Those pictures were not worth the furore, just a couple of strange selfies of a couple that should have known better than to take pictures of themselves in compromising situations.  I can see them now, Sonko pleading, “Baibee, just one more one…”  Useless buggers.

5.       Foolish Plan to make sure others never get laid.
THE FRENCH LOWER HOUSE OF PARLIAMENT
For a country with openly acknowledged mistresses for all and sundry, high and low, a law fining prostitutes’ clients seems a bit odd, no?  A $2000 fine for paying for sex, and none for soliciting for said sex, seems like a good way to stamp out this most evil vice, but may I point out that the men being fined are paying, yaani willingly parting with money for the putang?  I don’t get it.  I get the concern that some prostitutes are in fact sex slaves, and that more needs to be done to curtail the sex trafficking fuelling the industry, but fining the buggers paying for sex?  I don’t get it…


6.         Foolish Plan to take over the world.
AL SHABAAB
Lakini these chaps are special, third time on the list, for the same plan.  You’d think they’ve realised the foolishness of their plan, but nooooo…  They came to Nairobi with a plan to cause terror and terror they caused, at the heart of cosmopolitan (read plus wazungus) Nairobi no less.  The flaw in the plan?  One mall in the city doth not a country make, and shooting innocent shoppers, including innocent Muslim shoppers, does nothing for your cause.  On the up side, seems they were watching ChuckNorris after all, judging by their guns.

7.         Foolish Plan to save the country.
PARLIAMENT
When not hiking their salaries and passing random bills, clearing KDF of looting allegations and forming commissions to investigate another arm of government, they found the time to withdraw Kenya from the ICC.  Well, kinda.  They voted to do it, which doesn’t actually amount to doing anything other than talking about it.  And they didn’t all vote to do it, only the Jubilee side did.  And not all of the Jubilee side.  So...we’re still stuck with the imperialist bastards.

8.         Foolish Plan to save the world, one water bottle, sorry, mall at a time.
KDF
Last year they were my heroes, for kicking ass in Somalia.  This year, woi…  First they shoot cops who were getting the job done, and then they kick them out of the building the cops had almost successfully cleared.  Then they proceed to clear the mall, and when I say clear I mean clear, anything of remote value, small enough to fit into a paper bag.  The clincher, they went on to peddle their loot on the streets of Nakuru and such like.  Again I say, woi…

9.         Foolish Plan to save face.
OLE LENKU
Bloody nkt!  I’d say more, but what for?  This negro can do bad all by himself.

10.       Foolish Plan to save Africa.
FRANCE
They waded into Mali, to rescue the natives from the evil terrorists, and lo and behold, they succeeded, pushing the Al Qaeda wannabes back into the desert.  Then the natives held an election and went back to doing what they do best, bickering.  And they ate the gift camel.  Ungrateful bastards, these natives.  Still, the Frenchies get to try again, and in CAR there’s not much to lose, is there?  Hmmm… 

11.       Foolish Plan to overthrow somebody, anybody.
JULIUS MALEMA
Ah Juju…  Bless him, this man is true genius.  Not only did he manage to get kicked out of the ANC, he then went and formed his own party, the Economic Freedom Fighters, EFF, and they have red berets.  Effing brilliant!  There’s the minor matter of a corruption case, but my man Julius shall effing overcome.  I can do this all effing day…

12.       Foolish Plan to (mis)inform.
THE MEDIA
The year began badly, with the media collectively going to sleep just when we needed them to wake up.  They spent two months stroking politicians’ egos while telling the unhappy masses to be peaceful.  Ask questions about the election process, the dodgy manifestos and the blatant propaganda?  But why?  They kept screaming peace as the IEBC fell to pieces and the Supreme Court took to rambling, later falling over themselves in awe at the inauguration.  And then they went for tea at State House.  By the time Westgate rolled around, they were so snug in the politicians’ back pockets, they were nestled firmly in the cracks therein.  And now they talk of gagging?  Gag what exactly? 

13.       Foolish Plan to (mis)represent.
KETHI KILONZO
It’s always nice to have a lady on the list, especially one so educated.  Pity about the whole no registration thing, and the subsequent lies. 

14.       Foolish Plan to (mis)manage.
SHOLLEI AND SHOLLEI
The woman admitted to 33 counts, amounting to the loss or possible loss of 1.7B.  1.7B?  That alone should see her locked up forever and ever.  Her husband then proceeded to turn her unnecessarily messy dismissal into a national crusade against the evil JSC (lakini those allowances?  What the hell, Willy?), revealing his media house as a sham of a news organisation (although, in fairness, their crap reporting had already convinced us of that fact).  This delusional couple should get a lifetime achievement award for foolishness, given that they’ve been running their scams, sorry, businesses from back in the nineties. 

15.       Foolish Plan to go digital.
THE LAPTOP PROJECT
In the realm of foolish plans, this one has taken the cake.  Laptops for Standard One kids?  Of all the silly promises they made on the campaign trail, this is the one they thought to implement?  Exactly whose dumbass idea was this?  Yes, dumbass.  What the hell does a 7 year old child need a laptop for when he can barely read, or write, or type?  If they had said tablets, I’d be all for it, but laptops?  Really?  And there’s not much clarity on the plan either, one report says 17.4B over three years to get the project off the ground including training and construction of computer labs, but yesterday it was 24B for 1.2M laptops.  You’d think they’d have thought to use that money to build more schools first, and hire more teachers, and maybe even get round to overhauling the entire bloody curriculum such that every child can go digital too, and not just the little ones still learning their ABC’s. 

Happy New Year folks.



24.12.13

A Grey Christmas.

I found a grey hair a couple of weeks ago, silver actually, and it’s a long mofo that one, one of the longest on my head.  Yes, I found it on my head, where else would I have found it?  Don’t answer that…  So this hair, how now?  This is the thing, grey hair comes early in my family.  My eldest sister had grey hair in her 20’s, the rest in their early 30’s, it’s a miracle I got this far without any, or so I thought.  And then I found it, all 4 inches of it.  No, I didn’t measure it, I’m not that OCD, yet, it’s a wild guess based on what I think 6 inches looks like.  What now?  Why are you looking at me like that?  You bloody perverts, what 6 inches are you thinking about?  I’m thinking of that small ruler in the mathematical sets we used to carry around in primo, and I know you weren’t thinking about those same 6 inches, were you now?  Like I said, bloody perverts.  Nkt!  Where was I?  Ah yes, my silver hair.  I’m not sure I want to go grey just yet.  More to the point, I’m not sure how my head will grey.  It may be like my mother’s, grey only at the hairline for ages, or it might be like my father’s, grey all over, overnight it seemed, or it might be a hybrid, grey in patches, like the actors on stage with no make-up budget and a bagful of chalk dust.  And how will I look grey?  I don’t like colour in my hair, I’m not sure I can handle being silver.  Then again, silver might be quite nice, look at the first missus, her hair makes her white tops look quite stunning, and I do like a white top…

And all this from one grey hair.  Imagine what my day is like when I find blood in my poo…  Stop cringing, you obsess over your shit too, no?  No?  Shit.

This is going nowhere, just so you know, nowhere at all.

Grey hair is a strange thing.  It’s completely natural, but we go out of our way to deny its existence.  We dye our hair back to its ‘natural’ colour, or shave it off when and where we can, whatever it takes for our age not to show on our heads.  Are we ashamed of getting older, or is it the fear of impending death signalled by our advancing years?  I used to think it’s the former.  I used to think that the fear of going grey was pure vanity, not wanting to acknowledge the passing of years, wanting to cling on to the blush of youth.  Perhaps it is, but faced with my own impending greyness, I’m coming to realise the reluctance to go grey has more to do with our image of ourselves, and not the image others have of us.  I don’t feel old enough to have grey hair.  I don’t feel as old as I am.  In my head, and to a certain extent my body, I still feel 25, then I look in the mirror and see the little wrinkles around my eyes, and my one silver hair, and it hits me that I’m no longer a young girl.  How now?

Last Christmas I gave you my heart,
But the very next day, you gave it away,
This year, to save me from tears,
I'll give it to someone special...


I love George Michael in ways one should never love a gay man, but in my defence, when I fell in love with him he was still straight, at least publicly.  Of course, looking back at the Wham! videos it seems somewhat obvious, but I was young and infatuated, and the concept of a gay man was far beyond my comprehension.  ‘Last Christmas’ is the Christmas song for single people.  None of that happy clappy nonsense, sijui ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’, nooooo…  This is a musical ‘Fuck you!’ to whoever, or whatever, fucked you over this past year.  I’d like to dedicate this to my former love, Amolo, he that embraced the polycolor with reckless abandon (and in the process managed to kick me and mine to the curb).  Boss, I get it now.  Or not.  No, definitely not.  

These are my options tonight, a night of song and dance at the almost local with a bunch of deviants who have somehow managed to instil the fear of God into me, for real, or a night on the sofa with Dexter and a cup of tea.  Hmmm…  Deviants or serial killer?  Considering the strange men I meet in bars these days, I’m not sure there’s any difference.  Oh well, such is life.  Merry Christmas, my lovelies.  Be happy, be safe, be good (or not).   

21.12.13

Celebrity Chef Nigella Lawson condemns court process

Defendants found not Guilty


Celebrity TV Chef Nigella Lawson condemned the country's court system in a statement last night following the acquittal of her former employees on fraud charges. A jury at the Isleworth Crown Court in London found the 2 aides (assistants, home helps, nannies), Francesca and Elisabetta Grillo, not guilty of fraudulently spending nearly £685,000 on company credit cards issued to them by Ms Lawson and her former husband Mr Saatchi.

During the three-week trial the popular TV chef was forced to admit using cocaine and marijuana during cross-examination, in a court process that last night's statement described as “deeply disturbing, malicious and a ridiculous sideshow.”


The Case for the Prosecution – Was that as two close and trusted employees and confidantes the Grillo sisters had used their positions to go on lavish shopping sprees treating themselves to expensive gifts and exotic holidays using the Saatchi company credit cards without any authorisation. They had kept their spending secret from their employers and it was only discovered many months later by Saatchi's accountants.

The Defendants - Insisted that everything was all above board and all spending was with the knowledge and tacit approval of their employers. In a startling revelation the sisters told the court that Mr Saatchi would order them and other staff to withdraw up to £200 to drive around the city buying up copies of his latest book, in order to push it up the best sellers lists. They would do this up to four times a week, they alleged.

The trial took an interesting turn when the defendants team suggested that Ms Lawson was a drug user and perhaps may not have accurate recollections of authorising the spending. Ms Lawson took the stand and was forced to defend herself stating categorically that she was not a drug addict. Matters were not helped when the Grillos' defence team produced a devastating email from Charles Saatchi to his former wife talking about her drug use. He referred to her as Higella – ha!

The Politics – It was revealed after the trial that at one point during the process the defence team had asked for the trial to be stopped. This followed an unguarded comment by Prime Minister David Cameron saying he was a fan of Nigella and supported her all the way. Mr Cameron was responding to a a reporter who had asked whether he was in 'Team Nigella' The defence team felt that the unfortunate comments could jeopardise the fairness of the trial. The judge instructed the jury to ignore such 'regrettable comments' and cautioned public figures from issuing statements on an ongoing trial.

The Lessons – Washing dirty linen in public is never a good idea. This is even more critical for famous people or public figures. It puts a huge spotlight on peoples' private lives. The prosecution in this case was simply trying to get compensation for the monies that the Grillo sisters had used fraudulently. The Grillo defence team, in doing their job seized upon the drug allegations in an attempt to cast doubt on Ms Lawson as a reliable witness. The somewhat dodgy method of playing the best seller book market was another a stunt that would not earn the employers much sympathy in the court of public opinion.

My Random Verdict - This case seems not to have been so much a search for truth, as a test of the of the case against the defendants. Despite what was said, it seems that it was Nigella Lawson who was in that dock.

19.12.13

Introducing...The Deviant

Just when I think my sewer can't get any more sewer, the man returns.  Ladies and gentlemen, JayK is back, or at least I think it's Jay, he keeps changing his damn name this man (I shall have this fight with him another day, when I'm no longer extremely overjoyed, assuming he finally sends me an email?).  This was his comment on the porn post, and because it's longer than the post itself, I thought why not stick it on its own page?  Good plan, no?  Silk is on the soundtrack (his pick) with 'Freak Me', the shag jam.  Fair warning to the fragile, he's made me blush, furiously, and he may have (I suspect intentionally) discalmed my loins...

LETTER TO MY FUTURE LOVE

My love, to be honest, my perception of therapists is that they are usually busybody quacks, despite their qualifications.  This is mostly because they tend to tell us unpleasant truths which we would much rather ignore, blaming anyone but ourselves for our self-inflicted problems.  But sometimes, that old cliché ‘the truth will set you free’ does have some truth in it.  So, on the somewhat relationship-threatening-but-true advice of my therapist Alex, here are some truths about my sexual fantasies you are better off knowing in advance. Kindly read with an open mind, saving all judgement till the end.  Here goes:

I love porn.  Rather, I love what porn represents: the ability for people to enjoy mankind’s-most-formidable-transaction in whatever way they fancy.  Through porn, people are able to truly express their inner-most sexual desires.  As such, I happen to be an avid consumer of porn, in addition to having a sizeable digital stash well ensconced within my computer’s program files where only the most determined would find them.  But you’ll never know, seeing that I thoroughly clear my computer’s browsing history after use.  But should I one day get so engrossed with watching porn that I somehow forget to lock the door and you walk in on me whacking off, please understand, it’s not cheating, it’s just that whatever I’m watching at that moment happens to satisfy a particular fantasy of mine that you probably don’t (ie. It's YOUR fault! :-) ).  Now to forestall this scenario, my wise love-sage Alex has encouraged me to let you in on some of my fantasies, so that we can better fulfil each other’s fantasies.  As I said at the beginning, this is one dangerous-but-pragmatic quack of a therapist but seeing as she usually has a point, I’ll do as she advises.  Some of the porn fantasies I enjoy and occasionally jerk-off to include the following categories:

ASS:  Why lie, there’s just something about a girl with a huge derrière, especially the onion-shaped booty type.  Slamming into that huge bubble, especially as it wiggles, is such a huge turn-on for me.
Likelihood to get me off: 6/10

ANAL:  Now, before you get all sanctimonious on me, let me explain.  While I have yet to join the bandwagon of backshoters, the appeal for me lies in the fact that it is taboo. And according to those who’ve dared to plunge in there, the consensus is that the difficulty of doing it is worth the pleasure.  Apparently, unlike the regular entry point which tends to losen up due to extended use, the backdoor is usually tight, thus enhancing the pleasure for both. But don’t worry, I am yet to get the guts to opt for that so your entry is safe – for now.  But it’s still interesting to watch.
Likelihood to get me off: 2/10

AMATEUR:  The lure of amateur for me lies in its rawness, in the sense that it is usually unscripted and the females bare their assets, warts and all.  Unlike the professionals, this genre is just comical to watch, what, with some of the ladies shocked at the size of their partner’s dicks to them pausing in between to take calls to the one in which the gal even told the dude, after what seemed to be all of five minutes, to ‘hurry up and cum...I gotta go to class soon!’  This kind of comedy is just priceless :-))
Likelihood to get me off: 2/10

BDSM:  Involving whips, chains, bondage, this type is enticing due to its risqué nature.  The whole thought of dominating your partner and doing deviant things to them with them all tied up and seemingly helpless has a master-slave connotation to it and why lie, when done well, can lead to an experience like no other!
Likelihood to get me off: 7/10

BOOBS:  Every man, whether pope or heathen, straight or gay, young or old, Taliban or feminist, has a thing about titties!  That you can bank on love!  All shapes and sizes, we just want to grab, fondle and squeeze them.  Better yet, when the gal in the flick decides to give a titty-job – that right there is cum-worthy material!  Damn I love titty-fuck flicks:
Likelihood to get me off: 7/10

BLOWJOB:  Do I even need to explain the appeal with this one?  Really?  Babe, show me a guy who doesn’t like head and i’ll show you a sexually-repressed guy.  For me, the appeal with head-shots lies with the technique.  Some do it all sloppy, others gnawing while others can do a ball-deep swallow.  If you take the time to go through my collection, you’ll see some where the gal is so good, the dude cums way before plunging in the P – in other words, they have to reschedule the whole shoot!  Now that’s what I call a good head-clinic.  Speaking of, I probably should have started with this one – because if you’re one of those up-tight gals who think ‘head is disgusting!’ then goodbye-we’re just not compatible, no matter how ‘sexy’ your body is!
Likelihood to get me off: Well-done, sloppy head with some balls-licking thrown in: 8/10

CUNNILINGUS:  Love, I believe that good sex is a two-way street, in which you give and you receive.  The same way I fantasize about good head, I hope to be able to eat you good.  Now seeing as this is a taboo topic in which there are no ‘classes’ so to speak, I find myself occasionally watching so as to get pointers on how to please my woman, in this case you.  On this, do me a favour – let me know how you like it – if at all.

EXOTIC:  Ahhh.......the fantasies to be had in this genre!  From hot latina mamacitas to snobbish looking Eurasians to uptight Indians to happy-go-lucky Asian gals, this category has them all!  Since it is unlikely that I’ll get to bang all these different cultures and ethnicities in real-life, porn happily fulfills this fantasy for me.
Likelihood to get me off: 7/10

FACIAL:  Also known as the money-shot!  The appeal of this for me is that it usually serves as an opinion-poll of whether or not the lady liked the guy’s performance, based on their reactions.  If she was ‘dicked’ to her liking, the girl is usually enthusiastic and doesn’t mind receiving a hot load over her face.  If she disapproves, she usually looks away. Being that we men are usually judged and rewarded based on our performance, it serves as a good teaching tool on how to and how NOT to serve dick to a lass!
Likelihood to get me off: 7/10

FEMALE BODYBUILDERS:  As you probably know, deep down, all men are women save for 20% of their physiological make-up.  That being the case, the same way women like a strong man to hold them tight, is the same way the 20% bitch in us likes to hold on to some firm 6-packs when we're hitting it!  Now this isn’t some closet gay-vibe – NO.  It’s just that some of these women are strong therefore their tolerance and penchant for having it rough is high – just the way I like it!
Likelihood to get me off: If the girl is attractive (without any male square-jaw and deep-voice features): 6/10

FETISH:  We all have fetishes – whether its toe-sucking to foot jobs to eating ice-cream over your partners chest.  And porn allows us to explore them, deciding which ones work for us and which ones don’t.  Personally, I watch just to remind myself that there are weirder freaks than me out there.
Likelihood to get me off: 2/10

GANGBANG:  There’s just something about seeing a pretty little gal stuffed with 2 or 3 ‘poles’ in her.  It is a testament to that gal’s dexterity.  This is further accentuated by the obligatory money-shots at the end – if she liked it – she’ll graciously swallow, if not, she’ll usually look away.
Likelihood to get me off: 6/10

GYM:  Visualize the gym – toned women sweating while wearing tight clothes.  Damn, if that isn’t sexy, then call me a Taliban!  Its appeal is similar to that of the female bodybuilders, only instead of muscles, you have curves, toned ones at that.  For me, this appeal is heightened due to the fact that we live in a society where ‘waist-tires’ are the norm so getting to watch a fully-toned mama going at it with the same gusto she does in her exercises is freaking cum-worthy, by the buckets!  Especially them Yoga chicks – once saw one where the lady put her legs behind her neck the whole time, giving the lucky fellow unfettered access to the hole – Damn I jacked off to that flick many times!
Likelihood to get me off: 8/10

HAND-JOBS:  Depending on the setting, hand-jobs are either weird or intriguingly risqué!  Once saw this one where the lady was slyly jerking off the guy while they were seated in a club, with a table shielding them and people, including their respective partners, dancing in-front of them!  Now that’s what you call ‘hands-on’ spinning!
Likelihood to get me off: 4/10

INTERRACIAL:  Maybe it has to do with the African in me, but there’s just something about plugging a lass from a different race, especially when that said ‘race’ thinks they’re superior than us Africans.  And while American / European Caucasians are favourites due to their anything-goes nature, my favourites are the ones where some Indian or Arab lass is dicked down by a ‘negro’ then finally blasted with a money shot – especially the one where some Arab chick was butt naked except for the Hijab and kept making Arabic phrases- Damn the ‘nigga’ creamed that Hijab in white.  Take that, you racist pretenders!
Likelihood to get me off: 5/10

ORGY:  Picture not one, not two, but many P’s and D’s in one setting, all getting their freak on!  This is a perv’s fantasy right here – plunging into this hole, getting sucked by that mouth, facializing another lass – shit – I get hard just thinking of it.  Speaking of, you know how us ‘regular’ guys can’t shoot a load long-distance like them porn-stars can – well I once had this orgy flick featuring blacks and hot latina mamas – them mamas were so hot and enthusiastic, them dudes each came twice in a row, with one guy cumming thrice, each time over a different mamas face.  Just after he had blasted his second latina, the third one took over and sucked him so good, I also busted a good long-shot across the room!  (Note to self: look for that flick again! Oscar-worthy material right there!)
Likelihood to get me off: 9/10

PUBLIC:  See ‘Amateur’ up above.  The whole risqué factor of this is interesting-yet-comical!  Think: the guys doing it in a club loo, in a parking lot, or even the one where the guy was banging a lass on top of a driving van – you can see shocked looks on other drivers faces – one trailer driver almost hit the vehicle in-front.
Likelihood to get me off: 3/10

SQUIRT:  See ‘Cunnilingus’ above and ‘Swallow’ below

SHEMALES:  A.K.A chicks-with-dicks!  This is one hilarious genre – think ‘Brokeback Mountain’ but with semi-hard dicks and silicone boobs!
Likelihood to get me off: 1/10

SWALLOW:  This right here should be the gold-standard!  The highest form of intimacy a partner can ever express – by swallowing his/her nutt!  Love, if you do this on the regular, you just might get a ring on that finger - #wifey_material#
Likelihood to get me off: 9/10

WRESTLING: See ‘Female Bodybuilders’ above, but in a WWE-style setting! Add on the oil and we have ourselves a certifiable wank-worthy scene!
Likelihood to get me off: 7/10

There you have it my love.  You wanted to know my sexual fantasies – and now you’ve got them.  Before you begin with the judgmental ish and all, my main question to you is: ‘Based on this list, are we freak-compatible or not, and if so, what are YOUR fantasies?’

PS.  If you are offended - My bad - this is what comes with listening to a quack's advice - a well-meaning-but-misguided quack all the same.  Wait, on second thought, this 'quack' usually calls it right so If you have a problem - the F Off!  I'll take the 'quack-therapist's' advice over you any day!

15.12.13

Show. Tell. Do.

Do you like porn? 

In one line I’ve chased off three quarters of my audience.  Ah well…

As I was saying, do you like porn?  Pornography, erotica, smut, dirty pictures, lad mags, pornos, Cosmo, La Mujer De Mi Corazon (yes, I listed a soap opera, and yes, that shit is porn, soft core but still porn), whatever you want to call it, do you like it?  Stop pretending, there’s only 10 of us here today and we can’t see each other.  Hands up if you like a bit of sex on screen, or page.  Now keep your hand up if you have ever shared your porn with a friend.  No change?  Didn’t think so, men love to share their porn and women love to share pictures of that Black American actor dude with the green eyes (can you believe I’ve forgotten his name?  Shame on me, she says, slapping her own wrist…).  Last question, how many of you have shared your porn with your lovers?  Anyone?  I’m guessing there are only two kinky bastards with their hands in the air, waving them like they just don’t care, grinning like the proverbial cats that ate the little tweedy birds.  Those two are the freaky bastards with slightly exhibitionist tendencies, but more on that later.

Why is it that most of us are reluctant to share that which turns us on with those who should be turning us on?  More importantly, why don’t we bother to explain why it turns us on?  Gentlemen, have you ever told your lovely lady why the sight of that buxom actress you love to spend the odd weeknight with turns you on so much?  Is it her breathy tone as she (fake) moans, or her eager sucking of her always ridiculously endowed co-star’s cock, or the way she tweaks that other co-star’s nipple just so with her tongue, or the way she bends over and takes it up her nininio (and nininio here refers to her other nininio, not the regular nininio, because apparently you buggers are fascinated with the other nininio.  You are, aren’t you?  Insert evil laughter here…)?  What is it that gets you going back to that video, time and time again?  And why won’t you talk about it?  Are you scared that your lady will think you a pervert for staring at naked strangers, and perhaps getting off on it?

Slight detour.  So it turns out that men don’t necessarily get off when they watch porn.  They get turned on, but they don’t necessarily need to get off because of it (I say men only because I’ve never had this conversation with a woman).  The idea of watching people have sex and not having some form of sex immediately thereafter, or during, that troubles me, it doesn’t compute.  I always assumed one follows the other, but not so, if the men I talk to are to be believed (and I’m not sure they are).  The most troubling image I have stuck in my mind is that of a college classmate watching porn as he was hard at work studying, in the computer lab, two doors down from the dean’s office.  Let me describe.  This man was a good Muslim man from the coast, complete with the little hat on head (what are those hats called?), and loving wife and two kids back home.  He was extremely quiet, shy almost, and most respectful to pretty much everyone, the perfect gentleman.  And then I chanced upon him with a little window on his screen, top left corner, buxom blonde (infidel, you would think, no?  No, I suspect I have just made a very un-PC joke.  Ah well…) humping anonymous male number one.  I almost walked into a wall in shock.  How was this man calmly sitting there, drawing his little drawing, all the while engaging in that sexy filth?  Was he turned on, hard and whatnot?  The man had been chatting with me across the table for half an hour…  Eh?  How now? 

We never spoke of that moment, but I wish we had.  I wish he had taught me how to watch porn and converse at the same time.  See, I don’t converse when watching sex, I sit there quietly, curtains drawn and sound turned down, eyes casting furtive glance over shoulder in case my mother miraculously appears behind me, such as she does when anything remotely sexy appears on screen.  Don’t laugh.  My mother knows when I’m ogling naked men, she calls me once they pop up, just to say hello.  Only this weekend she called me as I was watching Breaking Bad, right when Mr White was stripping down to his skivvies, as he always does (for the record, that’s the least sexy thing to grace a screen, ever).  The woman is psychic, is all I’m saying, either that or she’s psychically connected the undressed men on my TV, but I digress.  I wish I’d asked the man how, and why, he was watching porn at 10 am, in a public place, while engaging in seemingly serious conversation with me.  He might have shed some insight into the workings of the male mind and saved me a boatload of trouble with another man, several years later, but that’s a story for another day.  Detour over.

That men like porn is a given.  Now look at the righteous types getting ready to protest.  Listen, men like to look at women, love to look at naked women and really love to watch sex.  Upstanding men of ‘sound morals’ claim not to, but watch them ogle their naked lovers, revelling in the sight of bare flesh, and maybe sneaking a glance at a ragga video in the ma3 from time to time, watching them hump floors and shit.  I’m just saying, I don’t know of a single man who is not entranced by the female form, especially when said female form is barely clad.  It’s nature and I choose not to get upset about it.  Well, that and I plan on getting into the porn industry one of these days, make some money off your pervy little behinds, can’t be scaring away future clients, can I?  My point is, men like naked women.  Women know that men like naked women.  Women also like naked women.  And naked men.  Yes, we do.  No, they’re lying to you, we like them too.  No really, they are lying through their hypocritical teeth when they tell you we don’t.  That pastor cum bishop with her shiny skirt suit and 30k weave, she likes to look too, and she likes to be looked at for good measure, look at how that skirt hugs her bum just so…  What’s that?  She’s not naked?  Hmmm… 

I know, I will burn in hell.  She’ll be right next to me that one, in her shiny Mercedes, with her bike riding hubby on the other side.  Just saying…

Gentlemen, women like porn too.  Admittedly, women like different porn.  We like a bit of a story to the story, not because we like stories, but because we like seduction.  We like the progression from random strangers meet on the bus to random strangers getting busy (as opposed to random strangers showing up mysteriously on a couch and doing the fucking like rabbits, as seen in Bootilicious Babes Episodes 1-27).  We like the back story to sex, because our sex always has back stories, and we want to watch sex slightly similar to our own.  More outrageous, definitely, but remotely resembling reality.  Where men are content to watch, remaining removed from the action, women want to get sucked in.  A woman watching porn is the woman in the porn.  That’s why erotica (written porn) is so popular with women, as are the fluffy romance novels and gaudy telenovellas, those allow us to insert ourselves into the story, become the wanton heroine being ravaged by the tall dark stranger.  See, the dodgy videos with unrealistically proportioned women do nothing for us, at all, we can’t put ourselves in her g-string even if we wanted to, and we don’t.

Now that’s not to say that all women love the fluffy romantic nonsense, some women like good old fashioned smut, with men in socks and women in, well, no socks.  Some women like fetish porn, whips and chains and all that kinky stuff.  Some women like porn with no sex (yes, it exists, and no, I don’t know why), while some women do not like any porn whatsoever (again, I don’t know why).  Different strokes, no?  The same way men come in all shapes and kinky sizes, so do women.  Don’t take my word for it, read the Saturday papers for yourself, better still, read Maurice the therapist’s blog, see the women gushing over squirting (those photoshopped images are the second least sexy thing to ever be on a screen).  Offended by crude pictures?  How about Shades of Grey then?  Pseudo kinky yet still fashionable enough to be seen carrying around, no?  How about the Songs of Solomon?  It’s spiritual and sexy, the perfect two for one deal (don’t waste your time cursing me, I already told you I’m going to hell).  Folks, there's tons of sex out there just waiting to be seen, read and listened to, quite literally anything your heart, or not heart, desires.  Warm and fluffy through to dark and twisted, it's all a click away these days.  Be nice to me and I might even share some of my favourites.  In hell.

Which brings me back to the beginning.  Do you like porn?  What kind of porn do you like, honestly, and does your lover know anything about it?  How will your lover get into your head, more importantly into your fantasies, if you refuse to open up?  See, porn is all about fantasy, and your choice in porn is about your specific fantasies.  If you like to watch orgies, odds are you have a hankering to shag a couple of women, or men, or both.  You like erotica with vampires (ahem), perhaps you want to bite someone, who knows?  You love Mills and Boons, perhaps you crave romance, and throbbing manhoods.  Point is, if you don’t share your porn with your lover, then how will they know?  And don’t just throw a book at him, or stick the DVD on and force her eyelids open with matchsticks, you need to explain a little, lest your point is lost in the sex, or filth.  Show, and then tell, and then hopefully you shall do.  Yes? 


12.12.13

I'm celebrating. You?

“Lakini, you Kenyans you have serious issues, especially you blogger types…” 

That's the one thought that’s been running through my mind for the past week, after reading blog after blog post about how bad things are, how useless the Kenya@50 celebrations are, how far we are from the dream, how many people have died in the badlands near the border this week…  I can’t believe I’m the one who’s going to say this, but it really isn’t that bad.  Folks, Kenya at 50 is doing better than Kenya at 40, or 30, possibly even 20.  Things are not that bad.  They’re not excellent, but they’re not nearly as bad as we are making them out to be, and by we I mean the buggers with time and bandwidth to spare, yaani us bloggers.  Again, I can’t believe I’m the idiot who gets to say this, especially given my never ending stream of abuse towards the powers that be, but all is nowhere near lost, and it’s time we stopped talking like it is.  Look up, look around you, see the good as well as the bad.  

Buggers are making me feel morose…

We turn 50 today.  Actually, we turned 50 in June, but we’re natives so we must celebrate in December, festive season and whatnot.  50 years of independence, 50 years of nationhood, 50 years of being stuck together.  It’s been great, no?  I can see you saying no, but I don’t give a fuck, I’m feeling mildly optimistic and nobody’s gonna bring me down.  No 'woe is me' bullshit, today we celebrate.  Then tomorrow we’ll get back to calling people bad names and whining endlessly.  Agreed?  Good.  Now I could sit here and throw a bunch of stats at you, show you the progress the country has made in the last half century; from improved child mortality rates to the near eradication of Polio; from to some form of electricity to green energy; from mabati roofing sheets to leather sofas made on Mombasa Road; from mobile networks covering the length and breadth of the country to sms’s at one bob and publicly traded shares in the largest network (shares that actually earn you money, finally); from locally processed and packaged coffee in our shops (kiosks and supermarkets) to the Naivasha brewery that wins international awards for their malt beer (or so they tell us); from 24 hour television, and radio, to bootleg DVD’s and broadband internet.  50 years later, we are not where we used to be.  We should be further down the road, but we are not as far back as they, we, would have us believe. 

Now you know I’m no apologist for this or any other government, and you know I get ridiculously upset at the antics of our politicians, but I’m coming to understand the importance of overblown national celebrations.  I’m starting to see the value in stage managed kumbaya moments, especially the ones that actually have some merit.  50 years as a country?  That deserves a fair bit of celebration.  That we have not split, or tried to split, is worth a small celebration.  That we have never gone Rwanda on each other, well, not to that scale, deserves another small celebration.  That we have produced scientists, athletes, farmers, businessmen, soldiers, and yes, even politicians, of great repute is worth toasting to.  We have one and a half Nobel Peace Prize winners to our name, older authors who are spoken of in the same breath as Achebe and younger authors touted as the new voices of Africa.  Our athletes have so dominated the middle and long distance races they’re being banned from road races.  Why not drink to that?  Why not drink to our professors teaching in the most prestigious colleges all over the world?  Let’s celebrate the spread cum sprawl of university education (hell, let’s celebrate free education, such as it is), once the preserve of a token few, now available to more than a few.  Don’t worry, we’ll fight over the cost and quality of said education next week.  Let’s pat ourselves on the back for our suspect katiba, the document that gives us the right to have as many idiot politicians as we desire, and a couple we don’t. 

Celebrate.  Anything.  Everything.

Do we have problems in Kenya?  Definitely, massive problems, but problems that can be overcome, that are being overcome, that will be overcome.  There are parts of this country that have no piped water, no electricity, no hospitals, or police stations, or schools, or roads, people living a most medieval existence, and not only in rural areas, our urban poor are just as badly off, if not more so.  If there is one reason why we should not celebrate, this would be it.  We are not moving forward together.  We need to do better.  We have no choice but to do better.  But while we keep slogging away, fighting the good fight and all that jazz, can we take a day to acknowledge how far we’ve come?

Yes, spending 500M on celebrations is obscene in light of the challenges we face, but the solution isn’t to not celebrate.  My people, every so often we need to sit back, have a drink of whatever fluid we can lay our hands on, and chill.  Have a fucking party.  Celebrate, dammit.  If nothing else, can we please celebrate the liberal society we live in that allows us to bitch and moan all over the place?  There’s a lot of talk right now about dictatorship and a return to repression, but you need to remember the truly dark days of KANU, when your ranting on twitter would have earned you a swift ticket to Nyayo House, when calling your president a thief on his Facebook page would have you sporting a few bruises, the days when your only option for real news was BBC World Service and such like imperialists, days when a blog mouthing off about idiot politicians and press (ahem) would have been branded Mwakenya.  All I’m saying is, while I have no objection to calling these geniuses out on their excesses, and revisionist tendencies, and short sighted paranoia, and general callousness and idiocy, I strongly object to the never ending stream of ‘woe is me’ bullshit.  It’s not all bad in Kenya, and anyone who says it is needs to open their eyes, and maybe take some happy drugs.

We have come a long way. 

We have further to go. 

I plan to celebrate this jubilee, at the local, eating a Kenyan goat, and washing it down with…I don’t drink beer, so no, no Kenyan lager…I’ll drink foreign branded liquor manufactured by an enterprising Kenyan, hopefully not manufactured in Kariobangi.  My budget is not nearly as great as my government’s, but I will still get my celebration on, and I hope you will too, if only for one day.  The day after we can get back to the business of blame and self pity  And country building.

5.12.13

A bit of a rant...

I should probably tell you a story today, shouldn't I?  My fingers should be itching to type, my brain bursting with good ideas, my mind thirsty for some stimulating conversation.  I should be sitting here trying to restrain my excitement at the blank page before me, but I am not.  I am sitting here sifting through the nonsense trying to find something worth your time, and mine, but all I can think about is the bloody ICC.  Do you know how depressed I have to be to admit that?  Do you?  I'll tell you.  I'm so depressed I'm contemplating 1000 plus words on a topic that frankly should have no bearing on my cup of tea tomorrow morning.  I cannot proceed with my usual stream of filth and narcissist whining until I overcome this most vexing hurdle, and for what, I ask you?  What good shall come of speaking my mind on my prezzo(s) personal challenges?   Shall crime go down, and my (currently fictional) man go up?  Shall my bread be fluffier in the morning, or my pillow softer this night?  Shall I miraculously find the fortune I seek, or lose everything I own, because I spoke my mind?

Hang on, given the government's continued intolerance for all things dissent, I may in fact lose all I own one of these days, no?  But wait, I have an audience of 41, the odds of my being picked up for sedition, or whatever it's called in the digital age, are slim to non-existent, yes?  Yes.  I shall proceed...

What does it matter that the actions of my government make me angry enough to slap a sheep?

She then goes off to find the sheep she has locked in her closet, conveniently, for days like this, and proceeds to slap it around a bit.  Fear not, I'm not being cruel to an animal, my sheep is about yea tall (forefinger and thumb an inch apart) and he answers to the name Shaun (if you do not get that reference, google, he is good TV that sheep, but I digress...).

Ladies and gentlemen, it's December, which means its my month of sewer (woohoo!), but given that I have spent a troubling amount of time in the sewer this year, more so at very troubling depths, I think I'm allowed to throw something else in this time around, mix up a little, no?  No?  Come on, I do a good mix. I'm sensing some reticence on your part, but when has that ever stopped me?  To wit, politics. “Why politics?” you ask. What better to add into the sewer than the gutter?  Fair warning, this month there shall be little to no fluff, I plan on taking advantage of the silence you shall inevitably avail me (it's a very slow month, once you buggers go off on holiday after next week), and have a couple of good old fashioned rants.  I'm talking spitting, foaming at the mouth wrath, interspersed with the tragic comedy that is our sex.  I will be rude, and crude, and most likely I will offend somebody's mother, possibly mine own.  Just thought I should tell you that, upfront.

So this ICC mess?  What kind of crack are these people smoking?

So-ve-reign: Part 1

So this ICC mess? What kind of crack are these people smoking?

I have a prezzo throwing tantrums in Addis, while his DP prays at the Hague. A Foreign Minister misguidedly devoted to the cause of one man (admittedly her boss, but still one man), and an A.G. who appears to serve the president and not the republic (again, his boss, but still...). A bloated parliament constipated on it's delusions of grandeur, including the opposition party/coalition/carcass that spends more time walking out of the (not) august house than into it. An office of the prosecutor which seems not to have read the files Ocampo created, assuming he actually created real files and not little post-its with the contact details of Barasa type witness 'managers'. A court of last resort that relies on the government of the accused to provide evidence that may prove their guilt. An AU so fucking idle they only meet to discuss weighty matters like the pressing need for sitting presidents to have immunity from said court. A UN security council that 'speaks' on serious world issues, yet allows abstentions during crucial votes, in the name of diplomacy. A media that repeatedly talks about 'Kenya pulling out of the ICC', 'Kenya pushing for deferral', ad nauseum, when they know full well that 'Kenya' has done no such thing. A civil society busy screaming, 'I told you so!' while the noose tightens around their necks. A president borrowing from the East, while he pays his fancy lawyers from the West, all sovereign like.

I ask again, what the fuck kind of crack are these buggers smoking?



Una damu mkononi na asali mdomoni,
Matendo yako ni maovu, matamshi yako ni matamu,
Nimeomba haujaamini, nimeimba hausikii,
Nimebishabisha, nimeitana na mlango haufungui...

Whenever I need to have a woosaaaamoment because of the idiot politicians and their lackeys, I put on some Eric (H.T.H.O.M.H.S.B.O.T.S.95...you know, it's actually faster to type it all out, bloody nkt!) Wainaina. I love this man, if for no other reason than he puts his money where his mouth is (and vice versa, perhaps?). He talks about making things better, then he goes and gets involved. That he makes real music is a bonus. Really. If I’m not wrong, and I may be, 'Ukweli' is the Father Kaiser song, a story that one day, when I am no longer angry at Julius and Co., I shall write about. It's somewhat personal, is all I'm saying, and it's somewhat profound. And danceable. That's right, I said danceable. I believe songs of protest must be funky, funky or soulful, or both, how else to laugh in the face of the oppressor than with shaking hips, no?

Ukweli hauna kifo,
Ukweli hauna mwisho,
Na wewe umejaa vitisho,
Ukweli hauna mwisho...

Thanks to the brilliance of 6 or so million Kenyans (thanks a lot, by the way), we now have a government that believes itself...special. That our government dedicates it's every waking moment to the fate of one (or two, depending) gentlemen is a testament to all that is wrong in our leadership, scratch that, society. These geniuses were elected with these cases hanging over the heads. They even used it to their advantage, claiming persecution and screaming bloody so-ve-reign when challenged to explain possible consequences. Half the electorate said, 'Fuck it!' and ticked those boxes. Then after all that macho bravado, the first thing these buggers did was hire a jet and hop across the continent in search of AU support, Kenya: Ruto Denies ICC Shuttle Diplomacy. Support for what? This is where the plan got truly brilliant. Someone, somewhere, got it into his head that the African Union were the people who could kill these cases, because that worked so well when Kalonzo tried it, Former VP Kalonzo Musyoka led Cabinet ministers in worldwide push to bring ICC cases to Kenya.

Detour. The shamelessness of katikati yao knows no bounds. The man had the gall to castigate the government for pulling the exact same stunt he pulled Former VP Kalonzo Musyoka condemn AU on ICC. What the... They walk amongst us, truly. Moving swiftly along.

So the geniuses ran around the continent, trying to rope their fellow despots, sorry, leaders into their most brilliant plan to finish this ICC story, once and for all. Egged on by our neighbour, he who referred Kony to that same court, without undue 'external' pressure mind you, the Jubilee gaa'ment went all out to woo the continent, talking about racism and imperialism, all that good stuff guaranteed to raise the black man's temperature just so. It culminated in Addis, with an Extraordinary Session of the Assembly of Heads of State and Government of the African Union (we are nothing if not ambitious, ours had to be extra, no?), during which our president took to the podium with what I am told was quite a rousing speech. I didn’t listen to it, I didn’t even bother to read it the days after, content to bask in my ignorance and secure in my knowledge that all the fancy words uttered at the AU would amount to precisely fuck all, if the past is any indication. However, because I don’t like to talk about things I know nothing about (stop laughing), I dug up said speech, Speech by President Uhuru Kenyatta at the Extraordinary Session of the African Union, and I am bloody impressed. Our president gives good speech. Well, his speech writers write good speech, and he delivers very well, what with his slightly clipped English accent. 

What is the fate of International Justice? I daresay that it has lost support owing to the subversive machinations of its key proponents. Cynicism has no place in justice. Yet it takes no mean amount of selfish and malevolent calculation to mutate a quest for accountability on the basis of truth, into a hunger for dramatic sacrifices to advance geopolitical ends. The ICC has been reduced into a painfully farcical pantomime, a travesty that adds insult to the injury of victims. It stopped being the home of justice the day it became the toy of declining imperial powers.

This is the circumstance which today compels us to agree with the reasons US, China, Israel, India and other non-signatory States hold for abstaining from the Rome Treaty. In particular, the very accurate observations of John R Bolton who said, "For numerous reasons, the United States decided that the ICC had unacceptable consequences for our national sovereignty. Specifically, the ICC is an organization that runs contrary to fundamental American precepts and basic constitutional principles of popular sovereignty, checks and balances and national independence." Our mandate as AU, and as individual African States is to protect our own and each other's independence and sovereignty. The USA and other nations abstained out of fear. Our misgivings are born of bitter experience. Africa is not a third-rate territory of second-class peoples. We are not a project, or experiment of outsiders.

It was always impossible for us to uncritically internalise notions of justice implanted through that most unjust of institutions: colonialism. The West sees no irony in preaching justice to a people they have disenfranchised, exploited, taxed and brutalised. Our history serves us well: we must distrust the blandishments of those who have drunk out of the poisoned fountain of imperialism.

At this point I was about to throw out my Obama poster and Union Jack tea towel (gift from sight seeing relatives), feeling all African and shit. Then I read on...

Every plea we have made to be heard before that court has landed upon deaf ears. When Your Excellencies’ resolution was communicated to the Court through a letter to its president, it was dismissed as not being properly before the Court and therefore ineligible for consideration.

When a civil society organisation wrote a letter bearing sensational and prejudicial fabrications, the Court took urgent and substantial decisions based on it. Before the ICC, African sovereign nations’ resolutions are NOTHING compared with the opinions of civil society activists. The AU is the bastion of African sovereignty, and the vanguard of our unity. Yet the ICC deems it altogether unworthy of the minutest consideration.

Presidents Kikwete, Museveni, Jonathan and Zuma have pronounced themselves on the court’s insensitivity, arrogance and disrespect. Leaders in my country have escalated their anxiety to the national Parliament, where a legislative process to withdraw altogether from the Rome Treaty is under consideration. As I said, it would not be right to ignore the fact that concern over the conduct of the ICC is strong and widespread.

There is very little that remains for me to say about the slights that the ICC continue to visit upon the nations and people of Africa. We want to believe in due process before the ICC, but where is it being demonstrated?

We want to see the ICC as fair and even-handed throughout the world, but what can we do when everyone but Africa is exempt from accountability? We would love nothing more than to have an international forum for justice and accountability, but what choice do we have when we get only bias and race-hunting at the ICC? Isn’t respect part of justice? Aren’t our sovereign institutions worthy of deference within the framework of international law? If so, what justice can be rendered by a court which disregards our views?

Our mandate is clear: sovereignty and unity. This is the forum for us to unite and categorically vindicate our sovereignty.

Hmmm... Have you ever had one of those moments when you're laughing very hard at a joke someone has just cracked, only to realise that everyone else is laughing at you, because you're the butt of said joke? I stopped laughing.

After all their machinations, all they left Addis with was a request, actually, a plan to make a request. “A group led by the AU chair with representatives from Africa's five regions will press the U.N. Security Council to defer proceedings against Kenya's leadership and the Sudanese president, Omar Hassan al Bashir, who faces charges of genocide.” And what about the much talked about leaving of the ICC? “However, ministers did not call for a mass walk-out from the court's jurisdiction, after officials previously said such a proposal would be on the agenda. The idea did not win broad support among Africa's 34 signatories to the court's statutes.” AU calls for halt to ICC cases against Kenyan and Sudanese leaders

Now I'm not a politician, but when I spend considerable time and money on a project, I expect to see tangible results. Five months of continuous cajoling and all they got out of it was a plan to press the security council? Press who now? Lakini, you just called the permanent members of said council names? What was it again...ah yes, they have 'disenfranchised, exploited, taxed and brutalised' the African people. I may not be a brilliant negotiator, but even I know not to spit at the shopkeeper beforehe hands over my bread. Just a thought.

There’s blood on your fingers,
Honey flows from your tongue,
As you conceal the boundary stones,
While I’m not looking you stab me in the back with my own spear,

I play my song but you’re not dancing,
I pray for you but you won’t believe,
My knees are aching form nights awake in tears for you...

Flush with their sterling success, the Africans headed off to New York...


25.11.13

London 2013 : Slaves Escape From Captivity

Just last week it was revealed that three women who had been held against their will in a south London residence had escaped to freedom. Police also announced that all three captives – slaves according to the media – had been held for over 30 years suffering appalling physical and mental abuse at the hands of their captors who were an elderly couple.


The escape was coordinated and supervised by the Police and a victims' charity who had initially been contacted by one of the captives. Once the women were safely in the care of the Charity they were able to supply further evidence of their long incarceration. It was only after they had this information that police moved in and arrested the captors.

This afternoon police named the arrested pair as former political activists Aravindan Balakrishnan,73 and his wife Chanda, 67.

Here is how the escape was reported last week





As the story developed through the week political leaders and other commentators lined up to condemn the horror that is slavery in modern day Britain – or should that be modern day slavery in Britain? Frank Field, respected Labour MP was quoted by the BBC Breakfast show as saying “ The examples that we have had over the last few months are the tip of a rather large iceberg.” Mr Field is currently gathering evidence in advance of drafting a new Modern Slaver Bill for Parliament.

Home Secretary Theresa May was not to be outdone. On hearing of the womens' escape she told the Sunday Telegraph that slavery in the UK was widespread. She said figures showed that it had increased nationwide by 25% in the past year. She told the paper that tackling “this abhorrent crime” was for her a “personal priority.”

Frank field and Theresa May are not far wrong. They are right to highlight this issue and to give it the prominence that it deserves. There is a very real and growing problem of people trafficking, slavery and indentured labour in this country. The victims for the most part end up working for poor wages in factories, farms or as domestic servants. Others are engaged in prostitution and drug dealing. There are low-paid workers engaged in every industry from beauty to fast food.

The captives are held through coercion, blackmail and emotional and psychological torture. For the most part they have nobody to turn to for help. Many cannot simply up and leave. Their captors will usually hold passports and other immigration documents to prevent them from leaving.

As the police named the “slave masters” this afternoon it became increasingly doubtful that this was a case of trafficking or slavery in the usual sense.

Here is one possible explanation of what may have happened.

Still with the booty calls? Really?

I know a man.  He is a good man, if somewhat misguided.  He is a man as yet unencumbered by wife and child, but yet encumbered by demands of family, parents and siblings.  I know a man who is single, and happily so, but claims to be tired of the solitude and looking to settle down.  I know a man who is a most spectacular lover, if only because he is obsessed with pleasing his woman, over and over again, but only when drunk, when sober he thinks only of himself.  I know a man who calls at 2:30 on Saturday morning, looking for that which can only be found at 2:30 in the morning, in a woman’s house.  I know a man, who doesn’t remember calling at 2:30 in the morning, claiming drunken amnesia when I ask him why he calls, later in the day, at 2:30 in the afternoon.  I know a man who will gladly go in search of sex, but only when he is drunk.  He is a man fond of pursuits of the flesh.  I know a man.  Several, as it turns out.

Well,
It’s 3 o’clock in the morning,
I can’t even close my eyes,
Well, it’s 3 o’clock in the morning, good people,
And I can’t even close my eyes...
Well, I can’t find my baby,
Lord, I can’t be satisfied...

Ms Tina is back on the playlist, but this time she’s come with her vicious ex husband, Ike.  I call him vicious based solely on the movie, I’ve never bothered to read up on the man, conflicted as I am by his apparent brilliance.  Thing is, the music is bloody good, but the two don’t sit well together in my mind, so I choose to listen to the music and not delve into the people behind it.  Ignorance in this case is bliss.   ’Three O’clock In The Morning Blues’ is good blues music, short and sweet, with kickass guitar...

Ladies and gentlemen, we must revisit the topic of the booty call.  Yes, we are in the sewer, but no, this shall not get rude.  Crude, perhaps, but never rude.  The distinction?  Crude relates to unvarnished descriptions, while rude refers to unvarnished speech.  I will not swear, because I have a bet going with a lovely gentleman that I can write a sewer tale without my usual sailor’s mouth, and I intend on winning that bet (it involves a steak dinner, one not cooked by myself).  Fear not, I will still be crude, because fluffy euphemisms have no place here.  If this disclaimer offends you, please leave.  The rest of you, kindly remove all rose tinted glasses and illusions of romance, this is about lust in the age of cell phones, and lust cannot be genteel, and neither should it be gentle.  I’m just saying, what is lust if not bodice ripping?  Come now...

Gentlemen, what is it about the booty call that has you so entranced?  And why, for all that is good and right in this world, can you not make that call at a decent hour?  Why?

For the last couple of months a man I happened to shag a few times sometime time back has been calling me, booty calling me.  He calls on Saturday morning, always on Saturday morning, early in the am, typically only a few hours after I get to bed.  Now what you don’t know about me is that I almost never go out on Friday night, because I always work on Saturday.  I cannot afford the luxury of being hung over in the morning, because my job requires that I be somewhat coherent, and seemingly patient, being that I am meeting clients, as opposed to random work alone at my desk.  Saturday morning is my busiest time of the week, and anyone who knows me knows this well.  Anyone who has slept with me (stop smirking, they are not that many, dammit) would also know that I am a light sleeper, and cranky as hell when aroused without good reason.  Wait, that sounds off.   Awakened, not aroused.  Wake me up for no good reason and I will slap you, and this is the one time I mean that quite literally.  I am a grouch in the morning, more so in the morning when the birds are still asleep.  Therefore, therefore I say unto you, therefore when a man repeatedly calls me at about 3 am on Saturday morning, even when expressly, expressly I say unto you, expressly instructed not to, then I can only conclude that said man is not the sharpest tool in the shed.  When said man claims amnesia, and apologises profusely, I do not believe the bastard, at least not after it happens the third time.  These days, I sleep with my phone on mute on Friday night, which in turn presents problem if someone was to call me in need of genuine assistance, as opposed to needing to partake of carnal pleasures.

And why, you ask, don’t I just block the idiot?  Apart from the fact that my geriatric phone lacks said capability, in truth I am unwilling to completely close that door, needs must and whatnot.  Stop laughing, I’m being completely serious here.  Looking past his drunk dialling cum booty calling tendencies (I think I just punned, no?), the man has certain skills I would conceivably wish to, shall we say, revisit, time, relationships and sobriety allowing.  I’m just saying, I may want to go there again, and with good reason, assuming I can get past his foolishness.   Hang on, this sounds quite suspect, yes?   For all you hyper curious geniuses (yaani OGAO, she who reads between the spaces between the lines), no, this is not the ex I spoke of before, this particular genius has never been spoken of before, and hopefully will never be spoken of again.  It’s not that I don’t want to talk about him, it’s just that there’s not much to say really.  It’s one of those limited scope kind of relationships, where you don’t talk about feelings and such like nonsense, not because said conversations are not welcome, but because there’s a lack of general emotional attachment.  I know they say women can’t separate sex and love, but we can, disturbingly easily as it turns out.   It’s like I said, partaking of carnal pleasure.  Moving right along...

So this genius of the early morning calls has got me thinking, are men really this thick?  Does no part of your brains tell you to stop trying to get what you will never get?  I realise that the man probably realises that there is a chance he may yet end up partaking of my pleasures, but it will never happen on Friday night cum Saturday morning.  I will never answer that call, no matter how horny I am, not after I laid down the law so decisively (in my head at least, clearly not so much in reality).  Calling me on that particular night is truly an effort in futility, and worse still, it negatively impacts his chances of getting some any other night.  How does he not see this?

And now I shall use my much vaunted experience to share wisdom with the rest of y’all, so listen closely.

Ladies, do not take a booty call as a sign, nay, token of uncontrollable lust towards you in particular.  Contrary to sounds like today's, about people craving other people they are most fond of, at 3 am, the booty call is a drunken phone call made practically on remote.  It’s not you he’s calling, it’s his dick.  That’s right, he’s calling his penis, letting it know that he is making arrangements to have it ensconced in something suitably moist as soon as possible.  You, my lovely, are simply an eavesdropper, privy to the details, an accomplice if you will.  You and mister midnight caller are conspiring to satisfy his other caller, only he can’t be bothered to let you into the plan, not until he’s sneaking out of your bed two hours later.  Don’t look at me like that, I’m just saying.  Gentlemen, am I lying?   Didn’t think so.  The harsh reality is if a man is interested in more than what lies between your thighs, the booty call will be made much, much earlier, early enough that he has time to romance you (and possibly himself) and then your booty, thereby earning him his much sought after booty.  But hey, don’t take my word for it, it could be that I simply know some very dodgy characters (I do, actually).  There’s also the fact that I am ideal booty calling material, seeing as how I am often home, alone, at 2:30 am, on Saturday morning.

Which brings me to my next handy tip.  Never, ever, answer a call after midnight, not even once.  Once you open that door, closing it is almost impossible.  No matter how tempting he is, make like Nancy and just say no.  Don’t fret my pet, he’ll call again and at a decent hour, if his lust is specific.  If not, count your blessings, you’ve just dodged a drunk bullet, and you know what they say about drunk bullets, they always hit their targets, but not yours, not usually.  True story.

For the gentlemen reading this, on behalf of thirty something women with jobs and things to do in the morning, either call before the lady retires to bed or don’t call at all.  No exceptions.  If you’re going to shag a grown ass woman, then act like a grown ass man.  Do so and you can have all the pleasures you want, carnal and other, and at a decent hour to boot.  How excellent is that?  What’s that?  It requires too much planning to call ahead?  Then clearly you are not a grown ass man, so leave the woman, me in this case, to her blissful slumber and funga the one sitting next to you, yes?  Good.  Bloody nkt!

You know I looked all around me,
Well, my baby can’t be found,
Well I, I looked and I looked all around me, good people,
My baby cant be found,
Yes and if I don’t find my baby,
I’m going down to the boring drive,
That’s where the women hang out...

I want to know a man.  A good man, if somewhat misguided.  A man unencumbered by wife and child, but yet encumbered by demands of family, parents and siblings.  I want to know a man who is single, and happily so, fond of solitude and fearing it at the same time.  I want to know a man who is a most spectacular lover, if only because he is obsessed with pleasing his woman, over and over again, but only when sober, when drunk he thinks only of sleep.  A man fond of pursuits of the flesh.  A man who never calls at 2:30 on Saturday morning, because he has a smattering of good sense.  A man who knows not to go in search of sex when he is drunk.  I want to know such a man.  Several, as it turns out.