To those of you disengaged from reality

bleh

There are a couple of words in the gay world you can say if you want to get ahead and look really clever. Use words like pederasty, libertine, exhibitionism, heterosexism et al in one sentence and this turns you from (let’s say) some simpleton with a Diploma in puppetry (do not take offense puppetry people) to some genius with impeccable erudition. Coming on the heels of the Anti-Homosexual bill signing in Uganda are queer bashers having a field day from here to Murang’a. Let’s leave Museveni and his fragile ego thing for now and talk about these facebookers and their 140 characters neighbors.

Christ! I bet this is the closest some of these people have ever got to a climax. I don’t befriend them for one nanosecond but their avalanche of crap somehow finds its way towards me. This is a huge culture of mediocrity and it has a huge following. No amount of muting or blocking will stop them. I am sure they gathered somewhere at night when they were adding friend requests and following each other on these social media platforms, did some weird rituals and decided let’s go and create havoc to the wicked. They are voluble and pestiferous; and they are idle. Stop them dead on their tracks and they will pounce on you like the proverbial crap hits the fan. Really, I have never seen so many difficult words in my entire internet life.

One of those idle people is Irungu Kangata, Kiharu MP. I won’t give him much airtime here but he is out there in Facebook practically surviving on huge doses of homophobia; which is putting it mildly cuz if this guy had a wish he would decapitate our heads. Update after update on his page on how homosexuals will cripple the economy of this nation and I am doing a running commentary in my head that it’s either these updates are for the amusement of small children or he is just deeply, deeply boring. I am not being figurative by the way; it is there on his wall. The economy of Kenya is coming down y’all.

So you got blood pressure? Bad hair day? Anglo-leasing? Marital issues? Jehovah witness at your door? Caught watching porn in the office, anyone?

HOMOSEXUALS!

Satan has nothing to do with it.

I am a seasoned lesbian. If you are going to spend your days thinking that your bashing is going to send heterosexual shock waves to my brain, you better come prepared. I’m driven by very primal lesbian urges and all the English vocab is not going to save me. The seasoned lesbian thingie comes fully equipped with immune for two. And I have had it since my pre-pubescent days.

Ah-ha. Kenya is very democratic. And you should voice your opinions. Now, assuming we were to all march the streets of Nairobi and torch vehicles every time a girl in her early twenties is made Deputy Ambassador of some country? It would be very unprofessional for a citizens known to stomach bigger scandals. We don’t carry placards and publicly rub ourselves on innocent pedestrians at the first opportunity. That’s what counts.

This post is about to turn political and it might rub on some people suggestively. I will leave politics to the intellectually inclined folks.

Stop being so melodramatic about it is all. It’s hackneyed and cartoonish.

What’s the worst that could happen?

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A Sunday.

First, I would like to apologize to my atheist readers because this post is church related. Also, it’s about God so to the rest of the religions, I pray for tolerance.

So- Newsflash!- This lesbian goes to church.

And I will tell you this for nothing, the church happens to be a good place. That is if you are into sitting at one place transfixed at a certain object for five hours straight. That is totally my thing, I happen to be the most patient person in the history of the world.

 

The above certain object happens to be the cross. Nothing to instill the fear of the Lord in your soul like the good wooden cross.

 

So this particular last Sunday came after the Valentine’s day (you know the day the town is in bloody circus?) that’s me admitting that I’m happy for everyone of you that got red flowers and undies, not. I happen to be sitting next to dad, as I always do. I’m a protestant and that means we carry our own hymns and Bibles because the millions and millions Church offerings get channeled towards our reverend, deacons and deaconesses Per Diem. The church therefore, cannot (and of course I don’t possibly see how) afford to buy the congregation the said books and so I will have to sit next to dad every Sunday so we can share. Why can’t I just buy my Bible you ask? Well, that is a very important question.

 

Most churches (this particular one is quite clear on that) are gay intolerant. Homosexuality arouses very strong passions in people, the devil is also quite clear too that he has a corner specifically set for us at his place. It’s unimaginable EVIL. But that’s beside the point. Despite everything that’s wrong with my life, I am here. The Reverend is giving us a little spiel about love, he is intoxicated by the Valentines love bug me thinks. He is referring to every love verse; this is especially a traumatic ordeal for me because sitting next to father means I get to have the huge task that is to locate for the said verses. Painstakingly, he marks every sermon with his special mark pen. Different one every Sunday, his Bible is now multicolored from years of use, and I automatically love it. You know, rainbows. I love rainbows my gentle readers.

 

What is love? Reverend says it is kind, it does not judge blah blah blah. Right, love does not judge. Now, my eyes are transfixed on the Reverend. I would love to hear him explain this one. And during one of those life’s rare coincidences, our eyes locks for a whole two seconds. My poor attempt at nonchalance ensures that I nod vigorously and together with the faithfuls, chants a big AMEN! I’d like to think it is God’s commanding presence but at that instant where our eyes lock, I think about Messiah’s second coming, I think about the lady I was checking out on our way to church, I think about my web history, I think about the gay people in Nigeria and Uganda, I think about the laptop I left unattended in my bedroom and all its lesbian porn and at the spur of the moment, I do what a good lesbian Christian would do, nothing.  You see, the church has a way of specifically loading on homosexuals’ shoulders, the sins of the rest of humanity. And they are many. But if you want to target my sexual orientation without even mentioning your nightly orgy of masturbation dear Reverend Christian, I’ll need a damnly good reason why.  

 

Love does not judge. The Reverend is unstoppable.

 

The church was built to instill good values in our hearts. Without a doubt, this is true. I don’t even question the credibility of that for one second. I don’t even justify my extreme gayism behaviors, I am a sinner dear gentle reader.  The fact that I will burn in hell is the final piece of the puzzle. But will you at least stop drumming this in my head every one second? I think the intolerance surrounding the hate for homosexuals makes a mockery of the whole Church structure. The blabber in loving your enemy is sickening mendacity and plain bigotry.

 

Why not quit church altogether you ask? I go to church to be alone with my thoughts, and for many other reasons I don’t have to necessarily explain to anybody. The Great God of the universe has not yet struck me with a sword, I WAIT. Also, I think who or who won’t burn in hell is too close to call for any fellow humanoid.

 

What would the Holy Virgin Mary do?

 

She would give unto the Lord what belongs unto the Lord. And so it is offerings time and I raise my note unto the high heavens. Praying to God that could he please remember me in his kingdom? That despite my extreme earlier mentioned behaviors; I paid the good Reverend to spread the gospel. It’s not for me to question what he does at night under his duvet.

 

Unrelatedly, on my way out I run into the lady I was checking out earlier on our way to church. This is definitely a sign. Do you know how to interpret dreams and signs my gentle reader? Neither do I.

 

Go ye in peace.

 

 

The elusive Gaydar

 

Walks into a coffee house, spots beautiful unchaperoned woman, stares at woman, fiddles fingers, scratches head, sips coffee, pours scolding hot coffee on self’s tits, makes a hot mess, looks up to stare at woman, woman is leaving now, holy crap she is coming over to your table….

That is Hollywood for you. Now back to Kenya. You are screwed and nobody gives two hoots.

It’s like the writer’s muse. Writers will go batshit crazy looking for it at the insides of their cigars, they will run naked in the middle of the night and come back with all of two sentences if they are lucky, or in most cases they will end up writing one book in two decades. Physical and emotional miseries.

I was having a conversation with a programmer who told me that he might be in the process of building a particular application but there is this line of code that just won’t work. Then it will appear to him like a dream in the dead of the night and it doesn’t matter whether he was making sweet love to his dear wife, he will hit the sheets like a demented creature and make a run for his laptop.  Else, he won’t remember it for months on end. What a life to live. Also, poor wife!

Gaydar is far much worse. I mean, we are talking about a heart and a homophobic population. I can’t remember which site this was but someone left a comment and said that if their kid was gay, he would skin off their manhood and spray pepper spray on them. I don’t know about you but getting sent to hell with hot flaming balls isn’t my idea of dying. Especially now that I am a woman and I don’t have balls so I am thinking that maybe this particular reader would have chopped off my breasts. It’s dreadfully scary what hitting on a straight woman/man can turn into. You don’t know whether what you have is an abnormal attraction masquerading as gaydar. Many of us were denied this God-how-much-we-all-need-it skill.

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memecentre.com

 

 

It is a fundamental law of nature that our lesbian hormones are always on a 24 hour clock shift. We will stop at nothing. Seriously, you just can’t stop us. How else do you explain flirting with a married heterosexual woman who even the devil knows you will never have. How do even explain to her how you get erotic dreams of you giving her earth shattering cunnilingus. How do you know she won’t tell on you to the authorities. When in the midst of all these emotions do you know what’s gaydar even if it were to hit you smack dead on your face. BUT we will hit on these married heterosexual women anyway, because that’s what winning means.     

 

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My gaydar is generally not so bad. I can call it neutral, occasionally edging toward bad. I will stare at a woman and two seconds into it I know she is lesbian. I will however practice the same with another woman and tumble head-first into the whale-belly of scoring an E. You can never tell with the dress code here. The old-age plaid shirt giveaway for instance does not apply on our streets. Lesbians have mastered the art of camouflaging in the crowds. Yours truly included.  Stereotypes or no stereotypes, gaydar is your best friend. I will be speaking for many lesbian women when I say that sometime you just want to hug a random beautiful woman on the streets, in a matatu..she look so divine, she looks like a lesbian, oh God you just wanna kiss her.

Gaydar entails confidence. It entails learning how to hold a stare; it also entails having a third eye. It is all about having killer conversation starters, and keeping the conversation going. If you are homosexually stunted, you will need to be laid hands on. There is no way you will survive in this hot and dry season in Kenya if you are the type to wait for a gay angel to rise from hell and cure your dry spell. Forget about snuggling in cold winter, there is something in this hot February sun that turns on all your horny hormones. I happen to know because I am speaking for myself. Pick cues from everything and everybody in her life. Compliment her and study her body language. There must be something there. Also, lesbians are generally friendly people. Take this to your advantage and study her keenly. You know, I am just giving you my two cents worth, this ain’t the gospel yo. Somebody needs to explain to me in writing how you spot a lesbian say 500 metres away and all your gaydar bells goes off. I mean, there are effeminate men for instance who can get you all so confused. But they happen to be as straight as a round-about. Same case applies to our tomboys and butch sisters. I think it is constitutionally wrong to judge people’s sexuality by their dress code.

So where to from here?

I suggest you work with intuition. It is pretty much the straight twin sister to gaydar. If it feels right, then it is right.

 

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