Its no secret, there are no more formal jobs for any of us who do not have one already, and not enough money for those who do. The number of graduates tarmacking after four years of sex and alcohol (and a few lectures) is worrying so we all need to knock up some ideas that will bring everyone money, not just to live on, but to buy that shoe (for women) or peace (for men) that you have really craved.
Also, if you are a self-righteous Kenyan who is easily offended by things that do not even concern you, this is where you get off…*opens Word Press Door*…I am not willing to apologize for any of this 7 entries, and if they offend your religion, morals, ethics, personality, sanity or any of those long words they use in court, ahem, spare both of us the online hassle (am saying this because someone got offended by the Wangari Maathai entry here)
*waiting for you to close tab*
Okay, now that the party poopers are out….
#7 Makmende’s ON MY WAY HOME BAR & Other Nagging Wife Solutions
If Maina Kageni and Mwalimu Churchill are to be believed, women are so nagging that God blessed them with men. How are they nagging? They expect their husbands to be home early (which btw, is relative, and adherence will not solve), cheat on them with more beautiful girls (as if it reduces the pain), let them buy all the shoes they want (which Imelda Marcos proved is an infinite number), let them have their credit cards, bank account details, and walk around with a sign saying ‘I AM MARRIED TO….DO NOT EVEN THINK OF IT!”
So, what does Makmende’s NWS (which intentionally sounds like NYS) solution offer? It offers a host of solutions for the nagging wife including but not inclusive to not marrying in the first place (preventive measure), running away from the wedding (suicide), answering in the affirmitive when she asks you whether she has added weight (another suicide), looking at a girl’s boo-(insert relevant consonant)y, leaving the toilet seat up (the first strike), farting in bed (second strike) and kicking the cat/ or leaving socks on the coffee table (whatever you fancy).
On My Way Home bar is a one stop solution because the man does not have to lie, he will be answering to the question “Where are you? “ with “On My Way Home” truthfully.
You have probably read the joke about the boss who slept with his secretary? (Women, warning, you might not find this as hilarious). So, he went to his secretary’s place after work to do that thing that bosses do with their vulomptous (at last, I get to use the word on my blog! Is it even spelt right?) Subordinates. It was as engaging, sweat inducing and bed breaking as one would expect it to be, so after he deposited and withdrew (hint: not money) they fell in a heap and slept….overslept!
He woke up and it was 3 am in the morning (Grammar Nazi’s I just repeated myself…twice! *go jump a balcony*). There were like a million missed calls on his BlackBerry (Lets assume, for the sake of this story, that it was working at the time), texts that indicated the 20 moods the wife had gone through- simple question, concerned question, mad as hell question, on the roof question, blood in mouth question, I will kill you question, I will call your mother question……….and at last, concerned question, please tell me you are okay question.
So, see the dilemma this guy is in? What is a guy with two brains and the balls of a thousand camels to do? He tells his secretary “take my shoes and go rub them in the grass…”, “why?”She asks. “You don’t wanna know”. So, she does as he demands. Then he gets into his Mercedes (Which btw, is singular) and drives home.
As he gets to his driveway, you can see his wife seething in her pyjamas? You can see her getting up from bed and onto her menstrual cycle (Don’t worry, I’m seeking witness protection)? Yes? So he gets into his house and she is there, one arm akimbo, the other ready to point at him as she begins the declaration of war. “Where were you?”She demands. What is our antagonist doing? He is calm as the dead, looking as if he just walked into his second honeymoon. “I left for work and went to my secretary’s, we had mad steamy sex and I overslept. “He says, risking his life (Spoiler: he lives!). So you can see her getting the OP-gun from her cycle, yes? Shooting him and then spitting on his mangled body? Yes? Actually no, she takes one look at his shoes and says with a smile on her face “You liar! You were out playing golf with your friends.” (Technically, that’s true)
<Do not try this at home by the way if your wife is not a sucker, or you do not play golf, or you do not play on a golf course that has lighting at night>
#6 The REAL Matatu Driving School
Am sure you are thinking I just placed this entry here to slow down your getting to the top three, right? Well, you are actually right…half-right…
‘Locky’ (Inspekta Mwala calls it that and since he is their mascot…) have a few buses and all, but there is no specialized school for the real matatu driving. All drivers have to learn how to overlap, drive into small spaces, brake like the brake is running away and multitask. The last one is the freakiest if one is an amateur, I was in a matatu the other day and the driver was sexting (I know this because he was smiling ‘sheepishly’, like he had just typed the most genius of all things). Get this, this was on Thicker (no, autocorrect did not do this) Road, or you could call it China Wu Yi Wei (Get the last part?). He was at 100 kph, center lane, and telling a girl how he was going to undress her. It’s a manual of course, which tells you that at some point when he needed to change the gears and the sexting was too steamy to stop, he let go of the steering wheel and pushed against it with his sexting hand as he changed gears (so much for men not multitasking). That I am here now tells you I lived (or that Steve Jobs has already brought the iNternet to the Afterlife.)
There was the driver who was navigating through traffic jam holding the steering wheel with two fingers (index and the disrespect finger). And the other one who hit someone as he swerved on a ‘tight spot’. All this things require more than just talent. Seeing that the government intends to make the CBD inhabitable for people with personal cars, the demand for matatu drivers who do crazy shit can only increase, yes?
So, why not start a specialized school for the real matatu driving business? The kind that waits for one matatu to overlap before they overlap because “you can never fish all the fish”. The kind that has twenty traffic offences recorded at the court, and 1000 he has not yet been arrested for. The kind who, as an avid blogger suggests, knows that we Kenyans are dirty people who hate showers, and does a favour by splashing muddy water on us (We thank thee by the way). You don’t need to know how to do it yourself, if you have enough capital and care enough for people who get to work late because their matatu driver did not know the REAL Highway Code, then I can hook you up with the number of the driver who was multitasking ( the number plate of his car, not his phone number, lest you think he was sexting with me-not that I was sexting –I am not really helping my case am I?)
#5 Judgment Day Alibi Network
First, I know that in your head ‘Alibi’ should be read with the vowel ‘I’ but no, grammar Nazi’s just had to mess it up by making it sound like a ‘y’.
Its Judgment day and you are part of the Gabriel 6. You are accused of doing the PEV with a few girls or boys (depending on the gender and sexual preferences of you, the reader-and the E in the middle is followed by ‘r’, not ‘l’), of drinking booze, of smoking joints, of looking at a religious building suspiciously, of peeing on the road, of not helping the poor and desolate, of having pre-marital sex (which is like the marital one, only you do not have to sign half of what you own to get), of thinking badly of the thugs who robbed you, of thinking the world is round (poor Galileo, why did you have to think of the world as a boob? Cost you your life…) and of a million other things, you will need an alibi, right? That is someone who says that despite the fact that the great Judge, <insert your deity’s name here> is omnipresent, you did not “…have carnal relations with that woman” (and to think The Washington Monument is not called the Clinton Mount). You need someone to vouch for you, so how about you start getting witnesses early. You will need to coach them as soon as immediately so that they can defend you in light of Angel Gabriel’s accusations. You need someone to speak up for you when you are accused of having added weed to the cookies at your friend’s birthday party, or someone to say you were not lynching that thug who had tried to rob you when you were lynching that thug who tried to rob you (deliberate repetition).
So, Alibis and witnesses need to be paid, if the current ICC case is anything to go by. I do not think the Judge minds because we all assume he approaches each case on a clean slate (or iPad, again, since we have sent Steve Jobs to handle the connections up there). And since we will die at some point (except those who are reincarnated as jellyfish, you buggers will live forever, okay, maybe until some other sea creature eats you.), we will need alibis. So how about we all start coaching each other early? We will pay depending on how many sins you see yourself committing in your life, and how many of those will be considered as serious enough to be discussed on Judgment Day. Since you need a credible witness, bad people will have to get good people because they will be more believable, and the reverse is true because they will have committed such few sins they will not even be tried. I don’t know how much you could charge for, say, someone to say you were not having premarital sex when you were having premarital sex, but if you see the kind of business this idea will open up, we can repay the debt we owe all Western Countries, and now Eastern Countries, the World Bank, IMF, ICC, and others within a year or so of doing such brisk business.
<Judgment Day Communications Department does not follow my blog so you can relax, they won’t know what’s coming…unless, again, they have an iPad, internet connection and Google>
#4 Flea Market for Politicians
If you live in Kenya, or you know a Kenyan, then you know that we do not need our politicians because they do little to add to the value of our lives. Why do we vote them in then? Coz we pay taxes and would be sad if there was no one to waste them on (its sort of like that lastborn brother of yours that everyone spoils). We let them raid our public coffers, take us to war when tourists are kidnapped (Kenyans can be kidnapped all we want, we enjoy it, no? But Europeans are a special breed because…urmmm, I can’t come up with a witty remark for this part).
However, now that we have twitter, Facebook, Gmail and Safaricom, we have proven that we can have Kenya without politicians. So, what are we to do with the lot? If you think of it, there are countries that need to be robbed, whose parliament offices need to be clogged (need, that is the keyword), who are paying taxes but no one is wasting them. Think Libya, now that they desperately need politicians who know what they are doing because no one has been a politician for 40 years, they need the lot. So that’s where we set up a flea market to sell all our politicians, we will have a discount for the ones who look pregnant (the men of course), another for those who talk like they did not pee before they went to bed, and another for those who sit in the backbenches and dream of how they will get out of the chamber (which would make them sound like bullets if they could pack a punch).
This flea market will not be the American idea of a flea market because, what is a flea market without the fleas? How about we put all the politicians on display with a bag of fleas for each to keep them awake until someone re-buys Laico Regency and Libyans have some money to spend that is not from loans?
Or we could just let the fleas keep them…
#3 Ha Maina Kidney Shop
Kidneys are the in thing!
You have two kidneys, and take it from someone who has handled more than just one cadaver, you do not need one (okay, you do need one, at least one). This is not even a new business, organ harvesting has been around for ages, and it even has the whole cartel business and all (If Karate movies are to be believed). I first saw it in KNH where a boy was selling his kidney to his uncle (don’t think of the ethics of it yet), for a cool 400 k! That’s 400 k for another thing you do not use, imagine! And it was to a relative and this nepotism country of ours that was a fair price (I would have loved to listen in on the bargaining for that).
Now, think if there was a shop somewhere in town , called ha Maina (Coz it sounds like Maini, the liver) or Figo (which just sounds either like a classy clothes shop or something Elephant Man would shout) where you could walk in and sell your kidney. Now, since this is one time sale, and we will establish that there is a market for kidneys that goes beyond those who need them for transplants, we could adjust for inflation, and the negotiation with Maina of Ha Maina Figo shop at City market (I couldn’t think of any other place with the necessary equipment in the CBD) could be anywhere close to a cool Mil! That’s a million you don’t have now, and that you can buy a ProBox with and start transporting miraa (or mirrors, whatever tickles you) from Meru at breakneck speeds. Or you could just hand it over to that gorgeous looking mama who is offering to double it for you (I should probably tell the sucker that that’s Maina’s wife, right? Or just let him…)
Lazy med students who have no psyche to go class, church organists (I am sure one of you will try to tell me they do not deal with organs, yes? Well, smartass, then why are they called organists?) And the very brilliant students who want to take their homework home (but cannot because cadavers are too heavy, cold, and they smell like they have been drinking all night-that, or drunks smell like they have been preserved all night.
Ooh, yuh, and I should probably add that Kidney Stones are not worth more….and no refund if the other kidney fails or is stolen by mean-looking organists.
#2 DevilNgarasha-Soul Shop
No, before you cringe, I did not just misspell ‘sole’, Bata already beat me to that as a business idea. Think of it, the devil pays in six figures, if tales from Placenta Party are to be believed. Or the benefits listed here or here.
We all tend to think of the devil as an old grumpy old fella with no sense of humor but think of it: This is the guy who controls sex, alcohol and he is the not-god of partying, how could be grumpy? His greatest creation is Lady Gaga…oooh, wait, that was the aliens, but still, this being knows Tupac, MJ, all dead prostitutes, and basically everyone else. If all religions believe that if you are not a member of their religion you will die and go to hell (except Indians and Buddhists, they believe you will be reincarnated as the ‘the guy who got it’, or a hen in Bungoma), and since you cannot be a member of two religions, then it is safe to say that everyone who has died has gone to Dante’s hell, or the Devil’s, whichever you believe in. it is also safe to assume that the economy in hell is thriving because he needs more souls (he’s been sending spam emails). What are you doing with yours except strolling around with it, risking it every day on our dangerous roads and poisoning it with smoke (first-hand, second, third and fourth-hand, and from the jiko) and liters of Yokozuna and Kuona Mbee?? You technically do not need you soul in this lifetime, and since we have already concluded in the point above that you are going to hell anyway, why not earn that MP’s salary without having to give up your brain and morals?
Now that you are convinced (because you are still reading), think of only there was a shop in Nairobi, say, where Pizza Inn stands today (relax, we will still have Terrific Tuesdays, just a slightly different theme and product) where you could sell your soul. Better still, you will have a loaning option where you give that guy your currently unneeded soul, you get a check, you cross to StanChart, cash it, cross to Hilton and get the Presidential Suite, and ask for a ‘Pillow” (which, btw, in five-star hotel refers to a ‘someone’). Even better still, and am going a little on a stretch here, say Lucifer is like Al Shabaab and deals only in cash? Then you get to walk in town with a bag of cash for selling something you did not need, you can even just cross to Hilton without having to get to the other side first (and hope to God a mad City Hoppa does not run your over then because you will need your soul but you cannot get it because the devil has not gotten the investment back).
Suffice to say that you can then wake up at 8:30, or even midday, on a weekday and not have to make up some reason why you cannot get to work (btw, don’t try the ‘sick’ excuse if you work in a hospital). You won’t even feel guilty about it, partly because you are now in the real Camp Mullah, and partly because…..well, you are soulless?
#1 Wanka Sperm Shop
Feminists, relax! There’s something in this for you…
If you think of it, most of the other entries are one-time sales. Once you get the worth you do not have the product anymore, true.
Then I said sperm shop, not sperm bank, because the other is just a wrongly named storage place (with no interest, no tellers, no G4S guards looking at how much money you are withdrawing, and no long queues, how can it qualify as a bank?…and once you deposit, you can’t withdraw?)
So, what’s different with Wanka Sperm Shop? It’s a place where the spermatozoa, those wriggly looking things that men with balls of steel and titanium do not have (eat that, all you badasses!). Do they have market? Yes actually, most women, and I am sure most married men reading this will agree, do not want to be married, but they want kids (and if Steve Harvey is to be believed, a gay guy to talk to, and a retarded guy for the sack and an old guy for the expensive dates and rent). So, how much could they go for? Sadly, this is a class market and the market is differentiated, it’s sort of like going to a car shop without a bank loan.
Where can you put this? (I have not even thought about this twice) Where MR. PRICE stands! There, right next to the Tom Mboya statue on Moi Avenue and not Tom Mboya street (#justtoConfuseMyEnemies). If you think of it, there’s no better place, Tusky’s is right behind so Vaseline and Lotion deliveries can be made in real time, there’s a real bank next to it (And The Soul Shop on the other side will bring hornytoad campus kids to town on Terrific Tuesdays). And assuming that Gor Mahia fans who thronged the statue before the match do so every time, the supply of good, South Nyanza seed will be more than enough.
Market differentiation? It will depend on what the buyer wants; do you want a good, meek guy who will most likely end up in a government department asking himself what he is saying when he is saying it? Do you want your child to be an MP who pours flour on his head to protest against food insecurity? Or do you want a child who will be so beautiful that her posters at Muthaiga Roundabout make China Wu Yi take two years at a single spot? Better still, do you want a brilliant child, a child so sharp that he or she is born tweeting? Do you want your child your child to thank Google at his graduation?
The money paid for a vial will vary with the person’s personality and the health of their product. Unlike what teenagers believe, sperm is much like human beings, there are those that are double-tailed (sounds like the Matrix, yes?), double-headed (ahem, this is not funny anymore), those that are headless, or tailless….or, wait for it…..wait for it….weak! Now, I don’t know whether you know what a weak sperm is, it’s basically the underdog of sperms. Let me give you an idea of what a weak sperm is…since you are here now, and reading this, you are obviously the strongest –weak sperm, or the luckiest strongest-weak-sperm, or the closest-luckiest-strongest-weak sperm (you get the idea). Weak sperms generally die ‘on the way’, which is sad because they live for this, it is their last frontier, the pilgrimage to Ova! (For a moment there you thought that was an actual place, yes? Technically it is…)
So say, you have a vial of seed from, urmmm, Biko of the Sevens Team, or Oliech, or Usain Bolt (because his name suggests the buggers bolt for dear life) or Rudisha (although a discount would have to be given because the child will cry ‘faaaaaa’ instead of ‘baaaaahhh’ before he asks for his ‘fiatu’), the price is a premium ( I would have added Samuel Wanjiru, but from the fact that two men claim the winning sperm of theirs, maybe we should leave him out). And what if you have Lumumba’s (PLO, the guy who talks like he ask for his shots ‘on the books’, the one we booted from the KACC), or Mutula Kilonzo’s (Used to be brilliant, then he went into the cabinet-first letter not capitalized intentionally) or Bethuel the Genius (Boy could draw the heart in class three-when you were still peeing in bed), then the premium is even higher. You could as well be jobless and title less but still have a decent pair of balls, the point is, there are a million reasons to sell your seed (which is in millions, but we should not go there just yet.
And don’t think that sperm is not valuable, the have actually been sperm bank heists and break-ins okay, maybe not yet…
So there you have it, stay broke at you own peril!
As you might have noticed, not only am I the master of Suspense but I…