Why Lesbians Go to Heaven

Wow! It's been over a year since I last blogged. Yeah, I know - downright reprehensible.

But never mind about me, how have you been?

Is there even a you out there? I think I lost all my former readers. That's why they're former, right? Duh!

Well, that will do it: you don't blog for over a year, and you expect folks to lie around waiting for you? What are you, nuts!

Okay, enough self-abuse.

So I've missed blogging, but hopefully I should get my mojo back and start blogging on a regular basis.

And then the readers can come back. For all I know, I could be writing this to an empty blogosphere.

Which is bad coz then it sounds like I am talking to myself. And that's a big no no because let's face it, who wants people to know that he talks to himself? Certainly not me. Even if I was doing it, I wouldn't tell you. And if you heard me, I would deny it, and say that I was talking to you - even though I didn't know that you were there in the first place.

But if I were to talk to myself, I'd probably go to the forest - deep in the jungle - and do all the talking there. Not that I am paranoid that someone would hear me, but can you imagine the things you'd talk to yourself about if you knew that NO ONE could hear you. Boy, even I would like to hear what I would say. Probably a ship-load of secrets.

In fact, if I did that (talk to myself), I would not have the need to talk to anyone - including myself - for a looooong time.

Probably take a vow of silence.

But, I digress - which is something I am learning about myself. I digress A LOT. I'll be talking (to someone else - not to myself) about something and before you know it, I find myself talking about something totally different.
I'll start with talking about how the New Zealand rugby team - All Blacks - are phenomenal and end up talking about the price of potatoes in Mali, or why lesbians go to heaven, or even the mating habits of chickens. I don't know why, but maybe because rugby players eat a lot of potatoes.

So, where were we?

Ah, recovering lost blogging mojo and blogging on a regular basis and getting old readers back, and most importantly, new ones.

Not that there's anything wrong with just having the old ones back, or that the old readers are not important. And it's not like they'll get jealous of the new ones or anything like that, you know.

But it's very important to get new readers. Because there's something exciting about new things, new people, new shiny things...or readers to my blog.

Anyway, bottom line is, I want to blog more often, so that I can have tonnes of readers. Took me a long time to say it, but I finally got to the point.

There! Happy now? I know I am.

Oh, and about why lesbians go to heaven, I just think they should, don't you?

Burn After Reading: What a Cluster F*ck

Watched "Burn After Reading" last night -- after keeping the DVD on the shelf for a looong time -- and I must say I had a pretty good laugh.

Nothing says "What a cluster f*ck" (the funniest line in the movie) better than a light-hearted, funny, silly, easy-on-the-mind kind of movie washed down with an oft-refilled glass of red wine.

What a cluster f*ck? I'll toast to that.

Salt!

I got a chance to watch the movie "Salt" last saturday and I gotta tell ya, meliked! A lot!

Best fun I could possibly have had with my clothes on. Wow!

Watch it.

Men Behaving Badly: What To Wear To a Wedding in Dallas

I know we often take football rivalry a tad too far, but Redskins fans wearing their Team jerseys to a wedding in Dallas (and then taking a tour of the new Stadium in full Redskins regalia) is just sick.

Plus, one guy takes a doggy leak on the Cowboys Star smack in the middle of the field?

It's a freaking wedding, you morons!

What's the Difference Between HP and BP?

When the HP CEO fills a hole, he gets fired.

I know, I am going straight to hell for that one (but in my defence, I heard it on Twitterville).

Shake My Hand, Dammit!

Outgoing Safaricom (K) Ltd CEO -- Michael Joseph (he can go jump in a lake, thank you very much) -- was right afterall.

Kenyans do have peculiar habits.

Take the simple and timeless ritual of shaking hands.

Pretty simple: extend your right hand, the other fellow extends his/her right hand, and, voila(!), Houston, we have a handshake.

Nice and easy.

But not Kenyans. Oh, no! We're Kenyans, and if there's something simple and pretty much common sense out there that cannot possibly be screwed up, yep, you guessed it, we're gonna find a way to screw it up.

And so, World, in true Kenyan spirit, we've F'd up the handshake.

Kenyans have developed this terrible habit of shaking your extended right hand with their clasped left hand and not even bat an eyelid in shame!

Who, pray, gave birth to these people?

It's happening in offices, banks, in the streets, even, and God help us, in the church (that one I am guessing since I haven't been to church in a good number of years, but I know it happens there too since the culprits are some of the most holier-than-thou Bible-thumpers!).

So, my dear fellow Kenyans (with a brand spanking new Constitution to boot), c'mon, drop this bad habit and shake my hand properly, or else I am gonna slap you!

And don't even get me started on that silly ritual of planting 27 kisses on alternating cheeks that I see people engaging in.