The Smitta had one of them strange weekend-skiz where you donno if youâre comin, goan, or falling just in-between the piano cracks of the planet. On furahi-day eve, on the invite of Mike n the resta dat Jijue crew, I made me way to the Mavuno Dome for the â Jars of Clayâ concert; leaving the genius Maddo at Alliance discoverinâ the origins of Benga with twerps like Papa Shimita.
Tha theme was Jijue as in know ya health status. Me, the only thing I ever do is update my FB status, so I waznât there on any status Quo â other dan to enjoy the rock band. â Jars of Clayâ were aiiight. But twas the whole savedie scene dat made me go like waaaarrrr!! Guys doing a mugithi train to rock?? (thaz not een deranged, tis derailed). And I knew I shoulda smuggled a ka-quarter into dat scene. Summa niggaz can have fun on fanta, sawa. I just ainât one-a dem. Vodoski is me feet of clay. Bored outta me head, I sed bye to fellow paps my peeps Pip Ogolla, n the verr talented Mr. Kanji, n scattered widout een hearinâ me old hommie Eric Wainaina do his thang sang.
Sato after noon, I waz at anutha pubik free funkie (PFF) outside tha former Sunbeam called âJipe Shughuliâ dat aims to stop Kenyans from running to burn in disaster tankers like Saskachwan (isnât dat de name of a movie too?). MC Makokha cracked several dry jokes dat had the publik in stitches, DJ Israel waz a revelation wit his brilliant spin skills on the tune-tables n a wasted rasta man with a tired guitar called Were chucked one of the nicest songs Iâve ever heard since â¦ âHaiya.â
Later, I had a drink at the Polo near terminus with funky Phreddy of Jipe Shughuli!
Itâs a great inititaivem, lakini how dya juzz give yourself shughulis wen ur a jobless youth. Even me if I waz an idler and a petroleum tank overturned, Iâd grab me a jerrican! Instead of folk telling us youth notta ârega regaâ, we shd reply âNipe Shughuli,â to all those uhurus na kazi and kazi ziendelees. Otherwise, weâll migrate n go help develop Kazkakistan.
At Hooters, layter on dat day, we watched Chelski enjoy a great victory over the villains of Villa (n while Manures would go zero zero at the San Siro with Mourinho, Drogba d layter on dat week stun Juvelin delinquents). Still, an over-confident CEO enjoyinâ his B-day wid our buddy Noah âGusâ Mugaski dropped me home flats.
Twas the B-day of a luvly two year old Elaine hosted by her ole lady Joanne n dad Matthew, although me immediate neibaz David n the Iranians werenât in attendace.
Nine ta midnite, twas a small but nice party, with lotsa Smirnoff n small talk.
Midnite, Sharonova called it a day, n wisely left â but me been Mr One More Drink like they say in dat T-Pain n Ludacris song, I stayed, n by 3am, the bash had degenerayted into a T-painful ludicrous court brawl. Oh well, it seems to have become a bit of a tradition for this particle court party. Pity we wonât be there 4 it nexx year coz Iâm getting fed up of the antiks of one lady Shonde Ree, n wanna make the move north 4rm Wesâ ta Wesside in a coupla.
Sun eve, went for Jazz Rock at Nu-Metro junkie ta listen to âMurphyâs Flaw,â dat verr talented all-lady except Number Tisa rocky band, n drank bad Schweppes wit Blue Moon vodo n skooms. Advice? Stick ta Smirnoff!
Nexx day was Angelâs funeral service at Holy Cathedral n I coont remember any of tha songs coz I was last in kanisa huko âlost in the nineties.â In fact actor OJ Aenea (the Hyena) warned CEO notta sit nexta me, lest God misses wit the lightning n hits him instead. Comedians galore at the service, from the flopped acts (mnaji-yua) to the great success Churchill who was on a mission ter get us on his show â¦ so he can roast us!