Pilato’s Corner

October 18, 2007

MEN ARE FROM HIGH SCHOOL, WOMEN ARE FROM COLLEGE

Filed under: Uncategorized — pilato @ 9:11 am

What do “chanukad jamaas” say is an important quality in a She? Intelligence. Well, I have recently realized that we are deluded. Forget Mars. Forget Venus. Men are from high school and women are from college. Why do I say this? Is it something having to do with perceived differences in maturity levels? Not in the slightest. It all has to do with the simple fact that women are smarter than men.

Think about it Jamaas. How do you make your muscles stronger? Exercise them . Our brains are the same way. But when it comes to so many things in life, men’s brains are warming the bench while women’s brains are getting a full cardiovascular workout.

Men have ONE shoe size. Ask one Archer, he wears size 13. Simple. And his She?… well it depends. Am sure she is  like an astrologer doing a natal chart on the shoe. Where was it made? Who made it? Was it made in the winter or spring? What was the geographic elevation of the shoe factory? Was the leather from a happy or a sad cow? Eventually she finds some imported  stilettos at Sunbeam and the shoe-shopping mission has been completed.

Modoathii  what’s your trouser size? You’ll say 32:30 or 34:32 or something simple, basically the waist and inseam. But ask your She… “I’m a size 5 on the eighth day of every third month when it’s not raining. Eish these women!

And let’s not even get into colours. We men are not unfamiliar with the fact that there are multiple shades and can probably tell 4-5 different ones in each main colour group. But women make us look like simpletons. They carry portable physics labs with them and can apparently discern a variation of one hertz in the spectrum of visible light. What’s the difference between eggshell white and bone white? Hell if I know, but my She does.

Think of certain words you’d probably never have heard if not for women.  taupe, mauve, lavender These are not words that come naturally to the dudes  vocabulary. They are inserted there after associating with women, sort of like the medical terms you know from watching “ER.” Sure, you can say them and sound cool, but damned if you know what they actually mean.

And don’t get me started on purses. Go ahead, ask any woman why men don’t carry purses. She’ll turn into a Naomi Campbell mad at her maid. “You want a purse? You want a purse? You can’t handle a purse!” And you know what? She’s right. We can barely handle briefcases. That’s why every article of our clothing has a pocket. But still, even with just a couple of pockets, like if you’re wearing jeans and a t-shirt, you will at some time or another become an amateur cop. Just observe yourself the next time you can’t find your keys. As you start looking around the room, you’ll do a pat-down search. Essentially, you’re frisking yourself.

But a woman just throws every item she comes across during her day into her purse. My mama used to have this huge purse when I was a kid. I stared into that black hole once. There were receipts, business cards,  a five-year supply of peremende… I just figured that Mom was God in training. She was collecting matter until she had enough for another big bang and then she was going to start her own universe.

In fact, the bigger her purse, the smarter a woman is. That’s why most women don’t start carrying the really big purses until they’re married, because they don’t want to scare off any easily manipulated Jamaa until they’ve got him. Bomseh,  do you have ladies with big purses there in the BT? Hell No, unless she is planning to shuka the BT for a night in  some lucky Jamaa’s crib. Inside the  big purse would probably be a  bra and a thong to change the next morning before she panda the BT again.

So the next time one of you BT dudes says an important quality in a woman is intelligence, just face it… if she can dress herself with a modicum of class and colour coordination, and she carries a purse , she’s not only intelligent, she’s smarter than you. And if you should somehow end up getting the impression she’s not intelligent enough… that just means she doesn’t like you.

October 14, 2007

THE OPTIMISTIC STORY

Filed under: Uncategorized — pilato @ 1:33 pm

I’m an optimist, a relentless, uncorruptable  and incorrigible optimist. If I were married to Nini Wacera, that Nawty TV girl, I’d say, “Well, at least I’m not married to the hard partying  hot- panted Paris Hilton .” If I were married to Paris Hilton , I’d say, “Well, at least I’m not married to a Zulu .” If I were married to a Zulu , I’d say, “Well, at least I’m not dead.”

Yes, I have a very positive outlook on life. Sometimes I just look in the mirror and smile, for I know that although I’m not half as handsome as Brad Pitt , I’m twice as handsome as Osama bin Laden. Life is good!

Optimism keeps my spirits up, even when things aren’t going my way. Tomorrow will be better, I tell myself. My Feature story will sell tomorrow; my Heaven floodgates will open tomorrow; True love will come knocking tomorrow.Perhaps I’m lying to myself, but I’d rather do a little bit of lying than a lot of crying.

Not only can optimism make you more successful, it can make you healthier. For example, a new study indicates that optimists are far less likely to develop heart disease than pessimists.

A pessimistic rich boy  would say, “Five cars. I can’t believe I have only five cars.” An optimistic fighter would say, “Five scars. I can’t believe I have only five scars.”

Optimists tend to be more successful than pessimists, because they don’t let failures get them down. They keep trying until they achieve their goals or qualify for retirement.

In my high school days, I really wanted to play in the School’s basketball team but the only problem was I was very short  and schoolmates would call me kibwengu- Coastal lingo for a dwarf- and others would shout whenever they saw me ” mfupi kama rungu ya Moi

But I never gave up.Deep inside  I knew  That slam dunks were not in my league of dreams but then I could try dribbling. So together with my high school She, we embarked on a serious dribbling and 3 point shooting lessons, and when my tomorrow came, I was the best dribbler and three point shooter in school and man of the match during the schools district championships. My training partner who came from humble beginnings got a chance to play professionally in the States…

Of course, being over optimistic can be disastrous. An over optimistic driver may neglect to wear a safety belt, an over optimistic presidential candidate may forget to campaign in his constituency, and an over optimistic mother may rely on
her husband to keep an eye on the baby during the world cup rugby  game. “Honey, the good news is my team won. The bad news is I sat on the baby.

Some folks say they are neither optimists  nor pessimists. They call themselves realists. But what exactly is reality? Was it realistic for Nelson Mandela, serving 27 years in the Boer run  Robben Island, to imagine himself as president?

Here are two scenarios to illustrate the importance of
optimism:

SCENARIO ONE: Your Girlfriend has just left you for another man.
Realist: “It’s the end of my love.”
Pessimist: “It’s the end of my life.”
Optimist:
It’s the end of my credit card bills.”

SCENARIO TWO: After an accident, you lose your sense of
hearing.
Realist: “I may never hear again.”
Pessimist: “I may never communicate again.”
Optimist: “I may never listen to Beyonce   again.”

If that doesn’t sell you on optimism, I don’t know what
will.

Why all these optimism story. Me want to resign from work tomorrow morning but thats all a story of tomorrow but one.

Right now  Pilato  got rush  church for evening service and then sit back laters and watch Springboks devour the Pumas in the Rugby World cup.

Wish you an optimistic week.

October 11, 2007

FOUR STAGES OF FINDING A SHE/HE

Filed under: Uncategorized — pilato @ 11:16 am

 My She  and I have just completed two  years off the BT , but no one’s offering us a degree not even a diploma. I might get in trouble for saying this, but I’m not sure which is harder: two years off BT  or four years of college. At least in college, if you fail a test, you don’t have to sleep outside with the dog.
But don’t get me wrong. I’m happy to have someone I can count on for love, affection, and, whenever needed, a wag of the tail.
Best of all, I can smile whenever I see a soul trying to get off the BT, knowing that I survived that stage of my life.

There are actually four stages — and I almost went through all of them.

CAREFREE STAGE:
This stage occurs in your late teens and early twenties, usually in high school  or Colle. There are so many attractive people around, you can’t decide which
ones to stare at. Playing “hard to get” seems like a good strategy, even if no one is trying to get you. Everyone seems available, and if they’re not, just wait a minute or two, they will come running to you

HOPEFUL STAGE:
This stage occurs in your mid to late twenties. You’re hoping to run into Mr. or Miss. Right at your workplace, but in case that doesn’t happen, you’re keeping your eyes open at the local . There are so many attractive people there, especially late at night, after your fourth Tusker.
If you’re a woman, you’re enjoying loads of attention. One jamaa buys you a drink, while another while swinging car keys charms you with a clever pick-up line: “Hey sweetheart, wanna have my children?”
If you’re a man, you’re trying your best to make a connection with the hot waitress in the skimpy outfit. She might be your soul mate, for all you know, so what if she has a tattoo on her backside that says, “Ali Makwere was here.”

CONCERNED STAGE: You’re starting to get worried, wondering if the person you were meant to be with, the person whom fate intended for you, lives in a grass hut in Loitokitok. For the first time in your life, you’re considering enrolling in a seminary or Convent.
Depending on your background and culture, you find yourself reading matrimonial ads, personal ads, or toilet ads. “you want to feel good all over, call Johnny,” one toilet ad reads,and you wonder if Johnny is a doctor.
You even start to go on blind dates. As soon as you see the person your friends have set you up with, you close your eyes and pretend to be blind.

DESPERATE STAGE:
You don’t want to seem desperate, but the idea of an arranged marriage is beginning to grow on you .If you’re a She, you’re relieved that there are still a few good catches in your age group, never mind that they all live in Kitui. You wonder if it’s better to be “single and stomach full” or “married and hungry.”
You convince yourself that you’re not lowering your standards -you’re just focusing on the positive aspects of men you meet. “He doesn’t have a job,” you say, “but he does have most of his teeth and a friend between his legs.”
If you’re a man, you’ve started saving money for marriage expenses, though you haven’t quite decided on a bride. They all look beautiful, especially the ones on the front of the catalogue. Your search for a She comes down to two important decisions:  Regular or Chips funga.

I don’t know how far blogger riding the BT has gone but thank God, me got a She to call gachungwa.

October 4, 2007

HELP…MAN CAN’T COOK

Filed under: Uncategorized — pilato @ 3:57 pm

Hungry and wasted the other day, I tiptoed into the kitchen and tried to fix myself some hard thing  .That was a big mistake, because I wasn’t alone. My flatmate, Natomb-something, was watching me closely — like that bellicious afande at the driver’s license center – waiting for me to do something incredibly stupid.She didn’t have to wait long.

“Why are you using dried maize and beans when we
have so many fresh vegetables?”

“ai we always use dried maize and beans back  home.”

“Don’t you know that fresh vegetables are more nutritious  than dried maize and beans?”

“I … well … uh …asi..yebo”

I felt like an accused murderer who had just been declared a bongo lala(read insane).

I could already  envisage her going on a character assassination mode spreading udaku to her best friend whom I had unaccomplished mission with.

Flatmate: “Hi,  Veliswa,This Kenyan guy is definitely
bonkers. He used maize and beans to make a
hard thing. Do you need any more proof that the guy is not worth a shot?”

Friend: “No dear, you’ve proved your case well. It’s
too bad I can’t  give it  to a guy who’s clueless in the
kitchen.”

Flatmate: “Trust me, my dear, that’s not the only
room he’s clueless in.”

I don’t know why my flatmate brought up nutrition. Had she ever seen me snacking on onion bulbs? Had I ever eaten a cucumber for dessert? In my world, such foods barely exist. I hurry past them in the grocery store as though they’re carrying something contagious.

Needless to say, my flat mate took over the cooking, tossing all sorts of fresh veggies into boiling water and probably wishing she could toss me in there too.

 Let this be a warning to all men: If you live with a woman, the kitchen is dangerous territory. You’d be safer in Mamba Village, wrestling with crocodiles. At least when they snap at you, it won’t hurt your pride or deflate your ego.

Just look at all the tools and gadgets in the kitchen and admit to yourself that you have no idea what some of them do. Don’t even bother with all the seasonings and spices. How can men be expected to understand coriander, cumin, oregano and periperi, when we’re still trying to figure out Salt and pepper? My flatmate has so many spices in so many bottles, I’m beginning to think she’s a collector . She has got not only garlic powder,but also garlic salt, and soon she’ll be getting I don’t know garlic what.

And what about the refrigerator? . Aside from occasionally fishing out  bottles of  Viceroy, I’m afraid to look through our freezer. It has far too many UFOs (unidentified frozen objects). Some have been frozen since Easter.

I am thinking of  moving flats, but then I am only good at  boiling githeri and maybe deep frying some eggs… I can’t stand my power-hungry flat mate but then I don’t want to starve to death..its a terrible way to die with an empty stomach.

This man can’t cook. What to do what to do?

October 1, 2007

3 HOURS WITH ZULU VIRGINS

Filed under: Uncategorized — pilato @ 12:23 pm

I cherish September month end and it has got nothing to do with the paycheck   I get from the dog poo I call my boss. It is always my time to enjoy a fair glimpse of topless Zulu virgins doing their jig around the streets of Zululand.

So on  Saturday Morning, I set myself up  on a doomed paparazzi junket in a  ghost town feted for its nut-dragging hobos, free-spirited outdoor criminals and boob flashing young virgins. It is an out-of-sort town of raving drunks, horny mamas who hang onto your arm and never let go and Sugar-daddying chicks who can’t even give out clear directions.

                             6am

I am already there  …Braced enough not  to miss a boob here and a boob there.

                        6.23am

 The hunt begins.Get this virgos doing some warm up before the real jig ..I am beginning to enjoy myself..

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                          6.26am

I like what i see and I let them know..then do it click click.

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                  6.28am

Focussed the virgin way.

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                   6.30am

The virgins pray to the zulu gods of virginity.

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                     6.32am

The prayers goes on..

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                                  6.33am

And on…

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Maybe we should get closer for the gods to hear us..

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Then sing and praise the gods of virginity

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More singing..

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                                   6.35am

Dancing in the name of virginity..

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                              6.38am

old man couldn’t believe his luck..

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                          8.27am

Back from 2 hours retreat..meet this virgins while cruising the grounds.

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                           8.29AM

Met this virgin here.. let me have a bird’s eye view of her chest.

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                          8.37am

The jig begins..

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                                  8.32am

The beat goes on..

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                       8.40am

Virgins can banjuka !

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Hurraaaa!!! we are virgins

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                          8.41am

Kumbe virgos can katika kwasakwasa too..

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                             8.43AM

Princess virgin..

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                                 8.44am

Samba samba!

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                                     8.45am

Oops!

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                                    8.47am

Met Zama. Proud to be a virgin.

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                            8.49am

Sindi..She is hot virgo

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                       8.50am

Shy kids

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                          8.51am

They told me the want to be models

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                         8.54am

Proud to be virgins.

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                       8.56am

Smile Smile virgins

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                             8.59am

Sisanda thought  macho of me

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                  9.00am

Virgins forever..Sisanda and her friend Thuli

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                     9.01am

back in my crib.

                   4.26pm

Damage already done

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