The Maid, the Three Weed Cookies and the Girl who gave the DJ her Phone

Everybody Lies.

Everybody who has a heartbeat lies to everyone else, including themselves, most of the time. Some lie even after they die, which is interesting given that the dead tell no tales, unless they have written them before, or donated sperm ante-mortem.

 First, let me state that I am thinking of filing a complaint against Coca Cola, specifically their Fanta brand for almost killing me some time back. There I was, craving the kind of sugar rush only a cold Fanta Orange can provide when I reached into the fridge of my favorite butchery and grabbed a 500 ml (madiaba, my granny used to call it). I must have taken it too fast but the next minute, or few seconds, I cannot quite recall, I felt more excruciating pain than I have felt in my entire life.

The next minute I was nauseated, light-headed, and all I was thinking was how much fun my sadistic friends would have coining an epitaph about how I died because I had something that was too sweet. You know yourselves, you scoundrels, having things about my being overly melodramatic carved onto my tombstone and sneaking in random notes about Who couldn’t handle SWEETNESS? …and thought you had a Sweet Tooth, turns out it was a cavity! Into my jacket pocket at the morgue. Hehehe, anyway, the story ends well though since I am here, typing this, hopefully…

Big Brother here is watching, so the following story is only hypothetical.

So yes, where was I, the weed cookies! Two people, completely unrelated and whose lines are probably on the extreme ends of each other’s six degrees. One is far much funnier than the other, and that is why am telling it…

So , what does a house help do when she is sorting out clothes and she finds cookies wrapped nicely in a breast pocket of a random jacket? The logical thing would be to take them to the boss and ask whether he or she knows of their existence and would mind their being eaten. But who does the logical thing anyway, ever? Don’t we all choose to leave our umbrellas at home in the morning despite that gut feeling that its definitely going to rain in the evening?  Our protagonist today is a curious househelp who found three cookies and ate all of them, gobbled them so fast that she did not see that their were completely green inside. The owner of the cookes had only had one, and he, for it is a man we are alluding to, was Most High! He was so high he could not lie when, a few minutes later, the laundry woman left the pile of clothes and staggered to his door, knocked and asked politely “Kuna kitu nimepata huko juu kwa nguo nikakula, na sasa sijiskii vizuri sana?” Luckily, he could not tell the truth either because he was too high to not burst out laughing.

Dramatization

Our protagonist here, to cut the long story short, got so high she could not finish washing the clothes. She tried several remedies, as I perched on a prime spot to study her reaction (as well as ensure that the high individual did not end up in a police cell). First she went back upstairs, presumably to wash her face and hope that ‘bad’ feeling would go, then she went downstairs and bought milk, most likely because the bad feeling was akin to nausea. That’s not even the hilarious part, the hilarious part, which I cannot even describe as well as it was, was how she held the packet of milk as she sucked the lactose out of it!  I want to envision a gangster drinking the milk, holding it on one side and giving you the menacing eyes still, do you see it now? She went home at last, after all else had failed, to sleep and most likely wake up in the middle of the night to use up the stored energy (if there is a husband involved, apologies for the rough night are in order).

The moral of the story is: Unless you have cooked it, or seen it being made, or your mother has assured you that its safe to eat, do not eat it. If you do, and you start feeling queessy, I have one word and an emoticon for you….enjoy J. Hope the emoticon makes you feel better, lower, less high, or whatever the opposite of ‘most high’ is…

On the topic of umbrellas and rain, Ngwata Francis was right, assuming he still looks up to the skies and feels nostalgic about the days when he used to present the weather report on KBC. The skies have opened and now your favorite punch bag, KPL & C, is KC because it hardly has any P or C. Did you see the outage ‘fair warning’ advertisement in the nation on 3rd May? It had so many places that it makes you wonder who has electricity. But that’s the Kenya we love to hate, when there is no rain, lights go off because the Seven Forks do not enough water, when it rains, they go off because trees have suddenly decided to get touchy with the electricity poles. It’s a relationship I will never understand, no matter how many times I try to because blackouts, such as the one my erstwhile frenemy here went through for almost a week (she has not blogged about it yet but I am sure there is a word processor window open that’s a work in progress-Also, SPOILER, That last post about ten men has nothing to do with an orgy or fantasy….superficially :D).

Do you remember the old lantern, the paraffin one that is always blue and has a single fat wick (except the one in my friend’s house which is painted red, understandably as a defence that he does not use it and it is a mere decoration?)? Do you? You should know it if you want to survive in modern-day KE…

KPLC is NOT a monopoly, I repeat, KPLC is not a MONOPOLY! Now, where’s that torch….

There’s a newer version of it, it’s a combination of the lantern and the electric torch. Instead of a wick it has the lens and all so you charge it when there’s electricity and use it when KPLC becomes KC. Its one of those stupid things which you need to keep explain to everyone who visits because they will, presumably, assume you use a paraffin lantern (and tell their sisters, and we would not want that). So, the answer to every visitor and chips funga (the latter cannot be classified as visitors per se, their rights and responsibilities are contained in a different international treaty called the Funga laws and provisions…..thank me later.

KPLC is, like duct tape…and the Force, it has a light side and a dark side and it holds this world of ours together. During its Dark Ages, its possible to, like our protagonist in preceding chapters, eat a weed cookie thinking it a normal cookie. I imagine it must be really disturbing to be high and not know it, that feeling that you should be feeling good but you are not. Like a certain conference I attended where a very innocent girl happened upon a mug of coffee that was not coffee (after reading so far, you have a vague idea it was coffee brewed with what-or let me just tell you, it had blunts in it). Poor girl drunk it for all she was worth and when she discovered, by which time it was too late and she was higher than a kite, she gave her best friend a telling which revolved around such statements as “I have never so much as gotten high and the first time I do its with THC?” You catch my drift…

So, what about the girl who gave the DJ her phone? I cannot tell the story as well as she does

Owaahh.