Jones' Say on the Elections

Throughout this election period, I have been rather indifferent and mum about the ongoing polls. But though I appeared rather inscrutable, I’d like to inform you that this does not in any way reflect a measure of my patriotism. My love for Kenya is huge, because this country is the only place I have ever called home. So today, allow me to digress from my usual bloviating and instead serve you with my thoughts on the recently concluded elections.

First and foremost, allow me to put it to you that me thinks the elections were conducted freely and fairly. The water tight system set by the IEBC left a snowball’s chance in hell for anyone with sinister motives to rig the elections. We should all accept the results as they are. However, anyone of a contrary opinion is free to challenge them in court. Chief Justice Willy Mutunga is more than capable of delivering justice.

Let us all support Mr. Kenyatta.

Once again, let me thank you Kenyans for turning up in large numbers during the March fourth elections and keeping the peace. Kudos also to Mr. Isaac Hassan and his team for showing complete probity in handling the elections. And congratulations too for our President-elect, Mr. Uhuru Muigai Kenyatta.

This is a happy moment for all the citizens, a moment in which a new Kenya has been born. It behooves all and sundry to give praises and celebrate the moment.

Mr. Kenyatta, the president-elect

It is time that we all come forth and support our new president, whether you voted him or not. He will be your president too. As my mercurial friend O’Brien Telly  states, Mr. Kenyatta will not be president for the Kalenjins and Kikuyus only. He is a president for us all. We should all support him as Kenyans without a trace of rancour.

This is a moment for all of to put aside our blood and ideological feud. Kindly shake off your ethnic jingoism and tribal myopia, for they are of no use now as Kenya enters Canaan. All of us are obliged to abide by him, Hobson’s choice.

The ICC is a very emotive matter I know, but me thinks Uhuru’s burden has become Kenyans’ burden too. At this juncture, we should all deal with the ICC as a nation now. Mr.Uhuru is not a perfect man, no one is. But if we could all get down our high horses for a moment, we would realize that the Hague duo needs us now more than ever.

It would be wise for Uhuru to make friends with the erudite Mr. Odinga. Uhuru should elevate Raila to the position of government consultant, as Raila’s experience in matters of governance is vast and will surely come in handy.

It would interest you to know that I myself did not vote for Mr. Kenyatta. In fact, I backed a totally hapless horse, Peter Kenneth who emerged a disappointing fifth. But I am going to give my new president my all.

Oh, and accolades are also in order for the dark horse Mr. Mohammed Dida. Methinks Dida deserves to be awarded the trophy for man of the match.

                           Thank you Kenyans for Keeping the Peace

The world braced itself for the worst on March fourth as Kenya went to the ballot. Foreign media had already trooped into the country, prepared to pen columns galore that would otherwise have been outright scurrilous and would have painted Kenya in bad light. They anticipated that like in 2007, our elections would be an abysmal failure.

But what we chose to give them instead was a horse of a totally different colour. Thank you Kenya for driving a chariot through the foreign media’s nefarious agenda. We instead chose to stand by peace and harmony, and stood true to the words of our national anthem. Thank you Kenyans for choosing peace.

Thanks also to IEBC for conducting the polls excellently. Methinks the election results are yoked to free will, unlike in 2007 where a bitter concoction of the results was rammed down our throats by the then Electoral Commission of Kenya.

Black for all wananchi, red for the blood all our forefathers shed, green for all land and most importantly, white for peace. Here’s to Kenya. 

Spectres of my Girlfriends

Dullsville Section

If you missed the last post about knowing your professor, click here. 

 Specters of my Girlfriends

It is with great gloom and disquietude that I funerally jot down this frighteningly fiendish and macabre experience that has been tormenting me relentlessly of late. For the past couple of days, yours truly has been having atrocious nights that are threatening to pass a chariot and horses straight through his sanity.

Lately, diabolical and outright horrid nightmares have been driving me to the precipice of insanity. I am no longer enjoying the peaceful nights that I have always known ever since I became old enough to recall my dreams. Something went completely astray the past couple of days, and all of a sudden am having the most outlandish nightmares ever. Dreams that are so horrendous that I wouldn’t wish them upon my worst enemy have now become part and parcel of me. I know during the day I might seem bubbly and happier than a king, but let that not fool you. When I retire to bed every night, I’m even afraid of shutting my eyes out of fear of the unknown.

First of all let me make it crystal clear that I have never been scared by the notion of those things that go bump at night. Secondly, though I listen to rock music quite often, I am not that type of a psychotic teen full with scary morbid fascinations. Number three, I only watch as many horror films as the next guy. It would help to inform you that though a majority of people find those grotesque films extremely blood-curdling and spine chilling, I never as much as butt an eyelid. I just sit there through the entire flick straight-faced, coz they don’t excite me that much.  

But if what I dream about of late is anything to go by, the phantasmagoria is happening right in my mind! The script never changes much. The setting and plot are forever analogous to the previous versions of the same dream. But the characters are not your regular Angelina Jollie and Brad Pitt. The cast is composed of wraiths of people that I know very well. People who know me like the back of their palms. People I’ve dated. People I’ve broken up with. Girls I’ve had crushes on. Girls whom am considering to date in future. Lasses am currently having a fling with. In total, my phantasmagoria contains over twenty characters.

It would be foolhardy for me to avail this piece to the public domain while it contains the real names of the girls that I’ve nearly had hanky-pankys with. So, for reasons rather too obvious to state, I have tinkered a bit with the names of the lasses involved.

“We had agreed with my girlfriend to go to a late night movie at IMAX Theatre, and we were to meet outside Kenya Cinema Plaza. I think I chose the place because I’ve been there so many times before that I know it like the back of my hand. You know the place? Just outside Uchumi house, the building that abuts Electricity House. Opposite that row of edifices sits a parking lot that also serves as a skating ground on Sundays.

I am not particularly certain which girl I had come to meet, coz some times it’s Catherine, while at times its either Charity or Lynne.

I arrived at the place at around 8 pm, but my partner hadn’t turned up yet. Since, the movie (twas Hobbit, I suppose) wasn’t to start until 11 pm; I knew I had a few hours to kill until she arrived. There is a raised edge at the end of the pavement overlooking the parking lot, and I opted to sit on it as I waited for her.

No sooner had I made myself comfortable than my sixth sense began indicating that the atmosphere around that place was rather incongruous.  Something was totally wrong. Something I couldn’t quite put a finger on. For a moment, I felt like bolting out of the ominous environment, but I chose to stay. Now when I recall what happened to me afterwards, I wish I had loped away as fast as my legs could carry me.

A chilly wind brushed by my person and I shuddered, more of dread than of the cold. Before you could mutter “Harry Potter”, a tawny owl landed on a nearby tree and started hooting incessantly. I turned back towards the buildings but what I saw sent kilos of horror tumbling down my being. Believe it or not, a poltergeist was shaking the buildings so that they danced as though they were on a divine mission to mock and scare me out of my wits! If you ever read those spooky novels titled Goosebumps as a kid, I bet you get the picture of how haunting my situation was.

Shaking with trepidation, I managed to stand up and prepared to run out of the haunted place. But I knew my goose was cooked when I couldn’t muster enough energy to even lift my leg. It was like I had grown roots which had firmly transfixed me to the macadam.

I needed help. Fast. From anyone! But when I looked around desperately hoping to catch an eye of even a policeman, there was not a soul of humanity to be spotted around this hell. A drowning man would sure clutch at a straw, and so I tried to mumble a prayer. But my lips could not move. I knew I was moments away from the worst.

I am sure I saw someone dashing around from building to building. That someone was actually a human skeleton, clad in a long pitch-black robe that covered him from head to toe. He carried a large scythe. Grim Reaper? Dear Lord!!!

“Jay!”

Only a few people usually call me Jay, my closest female friends actually.

“Jaaaaaaaaaay!” The melodious voice rent the air again. That was Catherine’s voice, no doubt. I knew Cat’s voice so well that there was no way I could have failed to identify it. She used to sing to me regularly, and what a beautiful voice she possessed!

For once, my heart melted with joy and relief. I was relieved that at last she had arrived; to bail me out of this hell hole at last. “Cat! Thank God you are around!” I said as I ran towards her. I hugged her so tightly that if I had held on for a second longer, I am positive I would have broken her back. Hot tears were trickling down my cheeks. “Thank God Cat, Thank God!”

I leaned forward to give her a kiss. When she opened her mouth, I received the shock of a lifetime. In place of her fluorescent teeth sat the ugliest pair of fangs ever! The fangs were so huge that they sent fear coated with horror up my spine. Before I could recover from the trauma, my very girlfriend set on a metamorphosis that gave birth to the most grotesque progeny ever! Her face changed from that of a beautiful girl that had once hypnotized me with her beauty to a hideous creature that resembled none other than the devil’s own grandmother. From her chin sprout a beard that was so long it could win an Oscar. Zits the size of donuts implanted themselves on her forehead. Her fangs grew so long that they could no longer fit in her mouth. Out came the fangs, and with them a slimy thin and pronged tongue akin to those possessed by serpentine creatures. She hissed and the smell that came out of her cunt uh, mouth was so acrid and appalling it could suffocate a new-born.

I stepped back two or three paces and shouted the only words that came to my head like my life depended on it. “Help me! Help me! Somebody help!”

“Jay!” A voice rent the air. It was Charity’s voice. Had she come to my rescue?

“Jay” That was undoubtedly Lynn, my first love.

“Jay!” Twas Maryanne.

“Jay!” Vivian.

“Jay!” Fridah.

“Jay! Jay! Jay! Jay!”

The whole place was now echoing with my name, in voices of myriad female personalities. The chants were fast getting shrill and frightening; I couldn’t take it a second longer. So I placed my fingers to my ear and as though on reflex, I also twisted around with my left leg raised using my right foot as the pivot. My eyes were tightly shut. Silence.

The quiet that descended upon the place was really intense. You could hear a pin drop from as far as Afya Center. As if on slow motion mode, I sluggishly opened my eyes to the parade of the most hideous phantoms ever. In front of me stood ghostly apparitions, about a twenty of them. They all resembled the previous version of Catherine, in that they had long beards, fangs, and pimples the size of donuts on their foreheads. Though the specters looked synonymous, I could somehow tell that each face belonged to a specific girl. Anne, Fatuma, Janet, Njoki, Njeri, Caroline, Martha, Pauline, Maryanne, Charity, Christine, Eva, Cat…

My eyes stopped roaming almost instantly as they landed on Cat. Unlike the other girls who wore uniform gaudy frocks, Cat’s dress was most terrible. Her ghastly negligee conveyed horror of death and disease with utmost realism. I realized that she must be the ghost-in-chief, the prefect to other phantoms.

By now, rivulets of icy perspiration were running down nearly soaking me wet. My knees were knocking like crazy, and I was quaking all over like a pregnant chameleon on a frail twig (excuse the cliché).  

“We warned you Jones, we warned you!” Cat spoke.

“Wh-what did I do?” I stuttered.

In reply to my question, Cat instead burst into a devilish laugh that was really frightening. She was soon joined by her troop, and they laughed on for what seemed like eternity. Then out of the blue, their mirth deflated in an instant like a pricked balloon. Njoki stepped forward and in a sepulchral voice, she repeated what Cat had said a moment ago, “We warned you Jay!”

Then Eva too stepped forth. She twisted around and took a step closer to me, letting out a guttural, weird howl. By now I was sure I had either peed or defecated in my pants; wouldn’t be surprised if it were both though.

Charity came forward too. One by one, all the girls stepped towards me and before I could blink, they all went Django Unchained on me. Blows and kicks rained all over my body from head to toe.  For those who have experienced child-birth before, my pain felt ten times worse. I sputtered blood all over, but that did not seem to evoke even an ounce of remorse in any one of them. Black and blue they beat me on and on, as though they were on strict instructions from the devil himself.

After an eon of torture, the presiding monster, Cat, pushed her disciples back and bent down closer to me. She then extended her right hand towards my chest and for a moment, I wondered with trepidation what she was up to. Then from beneath her nails grew another set of nails which glittered like silver. She then dug all of them into my chest. Squish!

Like a fountain, blood gushed out of my system spraying everything and everyone around. The girls’ gaudy clothes turned crimson. Cat’s face itself was a horror, though she appeared to be grinning with satisfaction as she looked at me. She fidgeted with my flesh a little, squeezing her palm now and again sending torrents of hot human blood shooting into the air now and then. When she noted that no more blood was coming out of my system, the daughter-of-a-ghoul then pulled out a huge chunk of flesh from my chest. Dear Lord!

I must have fainted when Cat bored my chest coz the next thing I remember is finding myself in some place that was full of dead bodies. The cadavers were emitting a really fetid smell that was chocking me to a point I couldn’t breathe. It must have been a mausoleum or a morgue.

I don’t understand how, but in the next instant I was inside a pit. It was raining not only cats and dogs, but also all the other domestic animals as well. The muddy pit must have been relatively shallow, coz I could see the girl-ghosts staring down upon me. From the looks on their hairy faces, I could tell they were extremely happy and satisfied. Some were even stroking their beards and squeezing their pimples leisurely.

Out of nowhere, Cat produced a spade and the other girls followed suit. They then started pouring soil on me spade by spade. I tried my best to get out of the pit, but the slimy walls ensured I always fell back in, thanks to the rainfall. I was being buried alive!

I remember screaming for help, but the girls continued pouring scoops of sand on top of me nevertheless.

The last thing I recall of that dream is hearing the girls laugh out loud with satisfaction.”

Some of you might want to dismiss this as cockamamie on grounds that one can not remember the details of their dream so clearly. Well, I’ve had the same dream over and over so many times that I can now retell it lucidly to anyone. And besides that am a writer, what do you expect?

I do believe that this diabolical nightmare of mine has a meaning beneath it. Anyone out there who knows someone who has the ability to interpret dreams? Please contact me on facebook or twitter by clicking here and here respectively. Or why not drop me an email at jonesdeelder@gmail.com by hitting here?

Know your Professor

Am that type of a person who would rather skip class and catch up later on my own. Not that I am a genius or anything, as my virtuosity itself has been hovering around rock bottom. It’s just that am the kind of a person who would rather bunk class and instead have some fun with my plans. You know, when I look back in my life, I come to a realization that classes never made me smile. Memories did. Again, what’s the use of attending class when you’ll have to beat me to concentrate? Not that I haven’t tried, wallahi nimejaribu! But no matter what effort I put, I usually end up daydreaming or facebooking during lectures. In fact, the only time I look forward to class time is when I got this poem I need to write or when I want to put some finishing touches to some script that’s due. I mean, in class, while my professor is yapping away, that’s the time when my brain gains maximum attentiveness and my poetry skills go from good to super-genius. I know there is this rule that requires students to attend at least two thirds of all lectures before they are allowed to sit for exams, but who actually follows up on that? Remember that story of that billionaire who never paid attention in class? No? Okay, me neither.
And again, am not ashamed to admit that am super lazy.
The semester had gone almost halfway, and there is this one (actually several) unit that I had never attended. All I knew about the unit was that it was mathematics, but I was clueless as to what area of math it covered. Don’t look at me that way now. I’ve got good reasons as to why I never attend mathematics lectures, first and foremost being the prophecy that was foretold by my high school mathematics teacher, that my head would forever be impermeable to mathematics. Can you believe my own high school teacher told me that? The irony of it? I ended up at the School of Engineering.

Occasionally I’d get a text message from the class representative that read something like: “Dr. Makokha’s class at two. Please attend.” Then I’d reply “Thanks for informing me, but am not around.” For all I cared, Dr. Makokha could kiss my ass.
One day, halfway through the semester, I got a text from the class representative that said. “There’s a cat on Tuesday, Dr. Makokha’s class.” A cat? How now? Tuesday was only two days from the day I was informed, so I had some time to catch up. I went to the library that day and downloaded all the pdfs remotely related matrices, and locked myself in my room that night boning up on the matrices. But it wasn’t a smooth ride. There were a hell lot of stuff that seemed Greek to me, and I had to seek some clarification. So the following day I walked into a classmate’s room in full arithmetic regalia, calculator, SMP tables et al, with a numerical mindset and attitude to boot.
“Brayo, there a few things on matrices that I didn’t quite understand, and I think I could use your help.”
“Matrices!?” He snapped in surprise coated with angst.
“Yea.” I answered. I was starting to get a little uncomfortable, coz Brian was looking at me as though I was growing a second head.
“Am sorry bro, but I know nothing about matrices. What are they? A new breed of monkeys?” He chided. I was started to get irritated. One more sarcastic remark and I swear I would have adjusted his dental formula to resemble that of Kiyiapi’s.
“You want to tell me you haven’t read for tomorrow’s cat?” I asked, getting really impatient.
“Oh, you mean vectors?”
“Vectors! Whatever! I mean ECU 106.”
“ECU 106 is about vectors my brother. Not matrices!”
I couldn’t believe how stupid I was. I had burnt the midnight oil last night reading for things that were not even in our scope! If that wasn’t the height of senselessness, then I don’t know what is. I knew I was by now a poster child for advanced folly and idiocy. What could I do? I simply asked Brayo for his notes, photocopied them in a jiffy, and went back to the drawing board.
The D-Day came and at exactly nine am, we were all seated in the lecture waiting for Dr. Makokha to arrive. I had done my homework well, and I was sure I was going to perform well in this cat. Turns out vectors were not a very complicated unit, and terms like Dot and cross product  which a day ago had been foreign to me were now at my fingertips. Told you am a genius, didn’t I?
A few minute past ten, Dr. Makokha had not yet arrived. I was really eager to meet this professor, I don’t know why. In his place was a certain lady who, in her prime, she still looked attractive. She announced that she would be conducting the cat in a few minutes and passed around the answer sheets. The cat commenced soon after.
The lady was pacing all over the room, keen on nabbing anyone foolish enough to have brought along their mwakenya. Then she stopped beside my desk. I could feel that she was staring at me intently, and I was feeling really uncomfortable. “All is well, all is well.” I muttered to myself. I was sure I had nothing to fear, coz am the kind of person who uses underhand tactics in exam rooms.
Then she tapped my shoulder and I nearly defecated in my pants. I slowly tilted my head to face her, then she spoke. “You don’t seem familiar, gentleman. Are you in my group? Do you even attend class?”
“Y-Yes madam.” I stuttered. “Am in the other group.”
“Which one?”
“Dr. Makokha’s class.”
Everyone sited around me burst into uncontrollable laughter. I became more confused than a homeless guy on house arrest. I mean, what’s so funny about me being in Dr. Makokha’s class? The next words that the lady spoke made it all crystal clear why once again; I should be crowned the idiot of the century.
“I’m Dr. Makokha.” She said.
It all sunk in now! You mean, this pretty lady here was the Dr. Makokha I was looking forward to meet? Oh my gosh! That was truly a shocker. For Dr. Makokha, I had anticipated a MAN so manly that his beard alone could make a little girl squeak. I had projected a man with a voice so hoarse that it would scare King Mufasa of Lion King. I mean, the name itself evokes images of stout rugby players, doesn’t it?
“See me in my office after this.” She commanded.
The Moral of the story is; KNOW YOUR PROFESSOR.

In 2013, No More...

 Wasup peeps? I bet you are all having yourself a happy new year. Well, I don’t care. What I know is that the shit hit the fan on my New Years (RIP Granny), but am not letting that dampen my spirits this time round. I don’t exactly have a soft spot for odd years, but 2013; am gonna try and make it my best!

Every Tom, Dick and Harry out there is working hard on making New Year’s resolutions, but we all know it doesn’t take a village witch a black cock (no pun intended) to tell you that those resolutions won’t last a week. I’ve been a victim of these New Year pledges craze before, and am not going down that road again. In the past I have made resolutions that lasted for such a short period that they would make Mudavadi’s marriage to Uhuru seem like a lifetime.  

No, am wiser now. This year I have decided to survive on autopilot. Let the gods lead me wherever they want to, hakuna matata. However, there’s a list of habits I’d like to do away with this year:

1. GAGNAM STYLE.

Seriously, why are people so obsessed with these silly equine boogie moves? Let musicians like Psy remain in 2012. I mean, there are cooler ways to shake a leg than jumping around like a retarded horse. For your information, we will be remembered as a generation who thought a fat Korean pretending to ride a horse was entertaining enough to look at. That isn’t something that anyone worth his salt would be proud of, is it? Very distressing. :( 

2. PLACING BITCHES OVER MONEY.

Like I had either of the two in 2012

3. GLEE, TWILIGHT, JUSTIN, ET AL

Ok, brothers, I admit that I have found myself nodding to Beiber’s song at a small number of unfortunate times. But don’t lynch me or revoke my membership to the males’ club just yet, give me a chance to apologise first. I also apologise for watching Glee, and listening to some fags called One Direction. Apology accepted? No?

If it would help, let me tell you that I deeply regret my transgression. In fact, I have actually contemplated committing suicide the few times I have found myself listening to Beiber. The only thing that held me back was the fact that I was undecided whether “I caught myself listening to Justin” should come at the beginning or at the end of a suicide note.

Am told that you can accurately determine how straight or cooked a dude is by the number of Beiber songs contained in his ipod. Well, for starters, I don’t even own an ipod, so I believe am as straight as an arrow.

Oh,. And before I forget, a moment of silence for my pal who paid 800 bob to watch Twilight.

4. CARING ABOUT PEOPLE WHO ONLY CARE ABOUT THEMSELVES.

In 2012, I had scores and scores of friends. Now that I am a year wiser, I have come to discover that some people would call you a friend when all is well, but when darkness sets in, they flee just like shadows.

At times I sacrificed so much for a friend that I would get myself into a precarious situation. But when my turn of need comes, yule niliyemdhamini kua rafiki wa kufa kuzikana anaadimika kama maziwa ya kuku, na kuniacha nikitepetea na kuyumbayumba katika janga la huzuni na biwi la machozi peke yangu.

A word of advice: The fewer friends you got, the less shit you get to deal with. You all have heard that it is better to have an 1000-bob note than twenty fifty bob notes.

But amid these wolves in sheepskins, there were some diamonds in the rough thank I must give thanks to. Friends like Felix, Job, Mabel, Delilah, Mercy, Sebastian, Dyner, Del, Nancy… (The list is long) truly made my 2012 worth it; and I’d like to grow our friendship come 2013.

5. MISSING PEOPLE WHO DON’T MISS ME

“Hi”

“Hi. Sema Jones, Aki I’ve missed you….!”

*Two months later*

“Hi”

“Hi. Sema Jones, Aki I’ve missed you….!”

Bullshit! If you actually miss me, why am I always the one hitting you up?

This year it’s gonna be different! You ignore me, I ignore you. Simple. With only 200 texts per day, it would be barmy to keep a phonebook a phonebook the size of Encyclopedia Britannica. Would you do me a favour? Aki please delete my number if we haven’t spoken to each other for three months.

6. TEXTERS FROM HELL.

What’s worse than your pal not hitting you up for 3 months? Read on and you’ll find the answer.

“K”. O, how I hate that reply! It drives me nuts! You’d rather smack me on my face with a foko-jembe than reply to my text with a K. What do people do with all the time they save by writing K instead of okay? The answer to that question I don’t know, but what I do know for sure is that I am capable of punching you in the face via sms if you potassium me. Do I look like I’ve got 19 protons to you?

This goes to all those people who are intense on clogging my inbox with those odious generic forwards. Can I tell you a secret? Let me not spill the beans coz if I do, no one will text me for the rest of the year.

There’s a special corner in hell reserved for all those dorky characters who reply to my long from-the-deepest-part-of-my-heart texts with one word. I bet you didn’t know that.

It’s okay (in fact it’s cool) when a girl who probably got kicked out of kindergarten mistakes the letter S for X and thus sends stuff like “Xaxa”, “Xawa”, “Xalama”, et cetera. But it is really discombobulating when you receive such a text from a dude. In my opinion, dudes who put X in place of S also wear pink g-strings and take pictures of themselves in front of the bathroom mirror. Not sexy at all.

Let’s not forget those people who rape our inbox with poor grammar.

Oh, and this goes to that girl who refers to me as “Deer Sweathut” (sic) with admirable alacrity. Pliz don’t text me in 2013. In fact, don’t text me until you can afford a dictionary.

7. NO MORE MISSING MY PERIODS.

I know this is very flabbergasting to all of you with whore-able minds. Relax, because Jones hasn’t been pregnant. By period, I mean class. Yaani, I will attend most, if not all of my lessons in 2013.

In 2012 I had a wrong perception that Campus is the place where people go to make merry, as such I attended less than 10% of my classes and took my studies like a gag. Anyone would tell you engineering isn’t a walk in the park, so am gonna pull up my socks come 2013.

8. GOODBYE PROCRASTINATION

I got a confession. Am the type of a guy who would rather go out and buy a new pair of socks every morning than do the laundry. Yap, am that lazy. When did I blog last? Only God knows. My ardent followers would tell you it takes a period longer than the time between two general elections before I revisit my blog again. But come twenty thirteen, am trading away my lethargy. In fact, I plan to... (I’ll tell you about that later).

9. KIBAO ONCE IN A BLUEMOON? NOT ME

Remember back in class five when we all vowed never to touch alcohol in our entire lives? Well, Jowal Jones, aka Lukorides, is still living in those innocent days.

Bluemoon Vodka? Nkt! How does one stoop so low? Bluemoon is not fit for you. In fact, it’s not fit for any human being’s consumption. There exists better stuff than Bluemoon. In my opinion, you better let your throat get drier than #ChapatiZaAkinaAdrian (Feel free to ask a tweep) than irrigate your throat with Bluemoon. I haven’t had a chance of testing Satan’s urine yet, but I believe it tastes better than Bluemoon.

My pals tell me they take Bluemoon because it’s the only beer they can afford other than chang’aa and busaa. But me thinks being skint is not an acceptable excuse. I’d let a broke guy wear a rubber-band on his hand in place of a bracelet, but I’ll never let him get away with drinking Bluemoon.

What I’m saying is, in 2013; catch me dead inebriating myself with such cheap liquor. Given a choice, I’d happily imbibe a gallon of paraffin than take a shot of Bluemoon. Felix, take my word on this: I cross my heart and hope to be smacked on the forehead with a foko-jembe if I ever insert Bluemoon into my system this year. It’s not like am canvassing for my liver to grab the 2013 employee of the year award or something. I’ve discovered cooler ways to roast your liver, like setting yourself on fire.

10. NO MORE PLOT-LESS FRIDAYS

2012 just wasn’t my year. The gods of financial prosperity refused to smile at my direction. This was the year whereby I was so broke that mice used to point fingers at me and laugh and laugh and laugh. Heck! Even ringworms (read ugonjwa wa mashillingi) gave ma a cold shoulder. As such, I slept-in most Friday nights. Only a person whose senses had taken a leave would invite me to a party, as no one loves broke fellows.

But if my psychic intuition is anything to go by, 2013 is the year of prosperity. 2013 is the year when it’s going to rain paper. So I have made a solemn vow that Friday nights will never find me in my hostel. I shall have to somewhere; anywhere. Even if it’s Suguta Valley or Baragoi. Am gonna party like it’s 3012 , sampling all the finer things in life. Stop! Wait a minute… Did I just quote Justin Beiber?

11. GIVING CUPID A CHANCE

Sniff! What is that smell? Are they Valentines’ Roses?  Do you imply to tell me that Jones is in love?

No! No! No! This can’t be true. You mean Jones, the President and Commander-in-Chief of #Teamforeveralone, has finally started catching feelings even after what he wrote last time? (If you missed last time’s blogpost, click here)

Whether I’ve finally decided to turn my back on #Teamforeveralone is an issue I’m working on, and I’ll be putting it up for on this blog in a few days. Watch this space.

Don’t want to miss a post? Y u no follow me on Twitter (@jlukorides) and Facebook (Jowal Jones) by clicking here and here respectively? You may as well leave a comment in the comment box below, or go an extra mile by sharing this post with your friends on your timeline. Thanks. Am wishing you all a happy and Blessed 2013. But above all, am wishing you love.

Why Relationships aren't my thing

I know it’s too many times that I may cry wolf, but this time I am sincere. I would like to apologize to all my readers for being lazy and not posting stuff as promised. Am I forgiven? Thanx :)

Now, before you find out why yours truly does not believe in matrimony, pliz read today’s dullsville section, will you?

LET"S TALK ABOUT SEX!

Admit it: The title really caught your attention, didn’t it? But before we speak about sex, please read the dullsville section of today’s blog post for me, will you?

Dullsville Section

This is not the first time I have broken a promise I made to my readers, and I hope that you will forgive me this time round too. The reasons I haven’t posted for over a month is because I’ve been too busy lately. While I was away, I was busy with my studies, finding publishers for my books, and most importantly, turning 18. Yeah, I was busy turning 18. Now that I am already an adult, I see nothing special in being an adult really. If anything, I think there is too much paperwork involved, lol!

Now that I am back, let’s get all educational and real. I promise that no matter how busy I might get, I will never forget my readers. This month, I am going to post about really controversial topics such as sexual orientation, religion and atheism, and guess what? Even the illuminati and other secret societies will be demystified in jlukorides.blogspot.com! Talking about my URL, I’d like you to know that I am planning to move my blog to wordpress, but don’t worry because I will sure inform you about my move. And, something else, am gonna tell you an interesting story about the VCT one of these fine days. Trust me; you do not want to miss that!

By the way, if you are a teen and you haven’t liked this page yet (https://www.facebook.com/Teen101Townsel?ref=ts#!/Teen101Townsel) , then you are missing out on a lot of stuff. This page is totally cool! Like it and post all your experiences, questions and we will try our best to get back to you. Thanks for hanging around till the end of the dullsville section. I bet that when watching movies, you usually hang on till the all the credits have rolled up.

Sex Ed for teen virgins

The movie is American Pie, and the teen characters are about to complete high school. What worries the three boys (I watched the American Pie movies several years back, so I can’t even recall the characters. I would have rewatched them again, had my sister not given out the CD to some perv who refused to bring it back!) Where was I? Oh, I was in the middle of a sentence. What worries the three boys is the fact that they are almost finishing high school and they are still virgins! Seriously, who finishes high school and is still a virgin? Only nerds and morons, right? That’s exactly what the teen boys think, and they make a declaration that before they are through with high school, they would have had sex with several girls each. The pressure on the boys is so much because all their peers claim to be having sex every weekend, never mind some of them are just lying to seem cool. So the boys set out to have sex just for that one reason: So as not to complete high school without having been laid. Poor them! Though they try hard, they fail miserably in their quest to quench their conjugal thirst. But here’s the silver lining: all of them finally had real sex on their last day in high school. How did it happen? you might ask. The boys finally came to realize that sex is sacred, not something done just because of peer pressure, or just to prove your manhood.

At the time I was watching American pie, I was in form two then. In school, guys would talk about their holiday adventures and exploits, never mind most of the stories were full of hyperboles. The guys who spoke about sex seemed cooler than us, the boring guys who still thought that virginity is dignity. Trust me, when all your peers have already experienced the pleasures of the pink spot and you’ve never as much as received a kiss from a member of the opposite sex, it is easy to start thinking that virginity is not dignity at all, but rather a lack of opportunity. Some of my friends succumbed to the peer pressure and spent cash on roadside Borubei whores and prostitutes.

I got to admit that I had also set a deadline for myself for breaking my virginity (Not with a roadside whore!). But after watching American Pie, I realized that sex should not be done just for the sake. Sex is a serious thing, and breaking one’s virginity is an even more serious matter. I vowed that if I am ever having sex, it would be with someone I love and in a time when I feel I am ready for it. This is how I have managed to stay a virgin until now. Yes, you heard me right. I am a virgin! Surprised? I am 18 and a virgin. Any virgins reading this? Please leave a comment below.

Does it mean I haven’t found the right person yet? Nope. In fact, I have a girlfriend and we talk about sex sometimes. We’ve both agreed that we will only do it when we are both ready for it. Good thing she’s a virgin too! She also knows that my favourite sex position is virgin. Don’t you know the virgin style? OMG! I can’t believe that you don’t know it. It’s really simple, and I suggest that you start using as soon as possible. This is how it is done: You just stand still with your legs closed waiting for the right person to come around!

This sex topic is far from over. In the next series of posts, I will make sure I exhaust everything about the use of contraceptives, how to open up to your parents about sex, porn, how to make sure you do not regret about your actions, and how Americans do it. Please leave your comments below. If you have any questions or issues that you would like me to address here, feel free to email me at jonesdeelder@gmail.com. You can also hit me up on Facebook (www.facebook.com/jlukorides) or twitter (www.twitter.com/jlukorides)

Today’s parting shot

Boys, try to touch her heart, not her body.

Girls, open books, not legs. Blow minds, not guys.

Hope to see you around.

DON’T HOPE,…DECIDE! and Keep your dream

Am so sorry I haven't posted for a long time, but it's because i was a bit sick. Now am almost well, thanks be to God. Today am not well enough to blog either, so am gonna live you with two great motivational stories by some guys. The stories are 100% true, and I hope they will help you alot.

Tommorow, however, I'll blog something you do not want to miss. Tommorow we'll be speaking about Sex! Yea, you heard me right, SEX EDUCATION for teens.

DON’T HOPE,…DECIDE!  

 While waiting to pick up a friend at the airport in Portland, Oregon, I had one of those life-changing experiences that you hear other people talk about — the kind that sneaks up on you unexpectedly. This one occurred a mere two feet away from me.

Straining to locate my friend among the passengers deplaning through the jet way, I noticed a man coming toward me carrying two light bags. He stopped right next to me to greet his family.

First he motioned to his youngest son (maybe six years old) as he laid down his bags. They gave each other a long, loving hug. As they separated enough to look in each other’s face, I heard the father say, “It’s so good to see you, son. I missed you so much!” His son smiled somewhat shyly, averted his eyes and replied softly, “Me, too, Dad!”

Then the man stood up, gazed in the eyes of his oldest son (maybe nine or ten) and while cupping his son’s face in his hands said, “You’re already quite the young man. I love you very much, Zach!” They too hugged a most loving, tender hug.

While this was happening, a baby girl (perhaps one or one-and-a-half) was squirming excitedly in her mother’s arms, never once taking her little eyes off the wonderful sight of her returning father. The man said, “Hi, baby girl!” as he gently took the child from her mother. He quickly kissed her face all over and then held her close to his chest while rocking her from side to side. The little girl instantly relaxed and simply laid her head on his shoulder, motionless in pure contentment.

After several moments, he handed his daughter to his oldest son and declared, “I’ve saved the best for last!” and proceeded to give his wife the longest, most passionate kiss I ever remember seeing. He gazed into her eyes for several seconds and then silently mouthed. “I love you so much!” They stared at each other’s eyes, beaming big smiles at one another, while holding both hands.

For an instant they reminded me of newlyweds, but I knew by the age of their kids that they couldn’t possibly be. I puzzled about it for a moment then realized how totally engrossed I was in the wonderful display of unconditional love not more than an arm’s length away from me. I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if I was invading something sacred, but was amazed to hear my own voice nervously ask, “Wow! How long have you two been married?

“Been together fourteen years total, married twelve of those.” he replied, without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife’s face. “Well then, how long have you been away?” I asked. The man finally turned and looked at me, still beaming his joyous smile. “Two whole days!”

Two days? I was stunned. By the intensity of the greeting, I had assumed he’d been gone for at least several weeks – if not months. I know my expression betrayed me.

I said almost offhandedly, hoping to end my intrusion with some semblance of grace (and to get back to searching for my friend),  “I hope my marriage is still that passionate after twelve years!”

The man suddenly stopped smiling.

He looked me straight in the eye, and with forcefulness that burned right into my soul, he told me something that left me a different person. He told me, “Don’t hope, friend… decide!” Then he flashed me his wonderful smile again, shook my hand and said, “God bless!”

- By Michael D. Hargrove and Bottom Line Underwriters, Inc.
Copyright 1997

Keep your dream    

I got my friend  Monty Roberts who owns a horse ranch in San Ysidro. He has let me use his house to put on fund-raising events to raise money for youth at risk programs.

The last time I was there he introduced me by saying, “I want to tell you why I let Jack use my horse. It all goes back to a story about a young man who was the son of an itinerant horse trainer who would go from stable to stable, race track to race track, farm to farm and ranch to ranch, training horses. As a result, the boy’s high school career was continually interrupted. When he was a senior, he was asked to write a paper about what he wanted to be and do when he grew up.
“That night he wrote a seven-page paper describing his goal of someday owning a horse ranch. He wrote about his dream in great detail and he even drew a diagram of a 200-acre ranch, showing the location of all the buildings, the stables and the track. Then he drew a detailed floor plan for a 4,000-square-foot house that would sit on a 200-acre dream ranch.
“He put a great deal of his heart into the project and the next day he handed it in to his teacher. Two days later he received his paper back. On the front page was a large red F (Yea, In America they give people F. You have to thank God you Kenyans that the lowest grade you can recieve is an E. In Asia, however, I hear there are only two grades available in their curriculum. you either get an A or you get an E. Unbelievable? Believe it.) with a note that read, `See me after class.’
“The boy with the dream went to see the teacher after class and asked, `Why did I receive an F?’
“The teacher said, `This is an unrealistic dream for a young boy like you. You have no money. You come from an itinerant family. You have no resources. Owning a horse ranch requires a lot of money. You have to buy the land. You have to pay for the original breeding stock and later you’ll have to pay large stud fees. There’s no way you could ever do it.’ Then the teacher added, `If you will rewrite this paper with a more realistic goal, I will reconsider your grade.’
“The boy went home and thought about it long and hard. He asked his father what he should do. His father said, `Look, son, you have to make up your own mind on this. However, I think it is a very important decision for you.’ “Finally, after sitting with it for a week, the boy turned in the same paper, making no changes at all.
He stated, “You can keep the F and I’ll keep my dream.”
Monty then turned to the assembled group and said, “I tell you this story because you are sitting in my 4,000-square-foot house in the middle of my 200-acre horse ranch. I still have that school paper framed over the fireplace.” He added, “The best part of the story is that two summers ago that same schoolteacher brought 30 kids to camp out on my ranch for a week.” When the teacher was leaving, he said, “Look, Monty, I can tell you this now. When I was your teacher, I was something of a dream stealer. During those years I stole a lot of kids’ dreams. Fortunately you had enough gumption not to give up on yours.”
“Don’t let anyone steal your dreams. Follow your heart, no matter what.”

- Author Unknown