Some of you are well endowed with nice fat pumpkins at the bottom of your back but decide to misuse them by walking in no pants and using them for “Uganda Zaabu” calling out on suitors. Those with nothing, resorted to God to provide and indeed he brought a wise man to make some artificial ones plus bum pads; but still choose to show off. I have bigger ones, itsoryt.

My Xmas holiday wasn’t the best as I expected. The issue wasn’t money like tabloids have been writing about me. Another paper full of sexual content alleged that I have finally come closer to meeting my fore fathers Abraham, Jacob and Isaac by contracting a cocktail of STDs. Being a celeb is a good thing until such trash is being written about you. I know one of the writers Steven Odeke (Now good friends) who tried to put me down since his acholi girlfriend ran to me for an autograph at Sheraton during the Sauti Soul show. She gladly offered her thighs which I signed on using the signature to my Finance Trust bank where I keep all the 100/=, 50/= basically small small money to avoid suspension that am loaded.

I believe you bought last weekend’s newspapers and saw the headline in purple “Daron’s STD Boil In The Bum Sores”. Haters you made me more relevant than I was in 2016.

The truth is, I visited Bunyoro, Hoima a village called Mparoo to attend Kyomuhendo Catherine cousin’s kuhinjira. We knew each other right from high school times when we mimed My Boo by Usher and Alicia keys. We became hot buddies hence mixing up things with the song Lovers and Friends. But well we’re grown up ass guys who moved on.

The function was scheduled for 29th which of course went one. There was plenty of food, that I ensured I tasted all kinds prepared by banyoro babes. Catherine is such a caring babe who ensured that I saw all the other sisters and relatives just incase I picked interest; in fact I chose the smaller one Winnie but hadn’t pointed my hyena finger yet. My stomach became a blender, mixing all foods that day throughout the night.

One of the key things I normally do when I visit villages is to check out the dumping site (stop calling them pit latrines as it sounds so local), this was one of the most disturbing ones. I understand we were many hence digging a temporary one of 6 feet to accommodate extra waste that couldn’t go into the main house. They planted a few poles around the dumping eye to give privacy to the moving bin (man with his waste). I decided I will ‘tie’ my trash until 2nd when I arrive in Kampala but the mistake of eating a lot was already made because it meant my 24hr clock would elapse hence go dumping soon.

2am, villagers were still dancing, drinking and celebrating to the give away of their daughter, when my time to visit this dumping site had come. See, I have always thought that cool guys shouldn’t be seen going to dump, so I lied to Cathy that I’m just checking on my prospect list (her relatives). With her wide juicy smile, it was a yes (to what she didn’t know). I took the longer route to my destination.

Feeling the sharp pain at the opening of the tunnel, I walked faster in the dark while unbelting my tight jeans. My whole feet couldn’t touch the ground, literally I was on toes, taking sharp turns around banana plantations to my gazetted hole. I cleared my throat louder or shook the nearest small tree on my right whenever I heard footsteps coming my side (there was no door to knock as a signal that “Site In Use”) . The relief on my face was that of the rain in the desert. To summarize my business, I noticed I had no tissue to wipe “my behind”. Being a village and in the dark, I stretched out my left hand to any nearest leaf and plucked about three leaves and used them.

Reader, the leaf I plucked is called Poisonous Ivy, it’s like kamyu; It causes itching and burns. I rubbed it on my bum skins and deep to make myself worthy to seat with people again. It wasn’t the case. It burnt me red hot, I used stones and tree branches to redeem myself in vain. This was the worst night in my life. It’s the first time I stayed longer in the bush that late. People had started looking for me when I popped out but didn’t mention my new problem at hand. I didn’t not sleep and the first thing I did at 5am is leave without a warning. The journey to Kampala was also like 10hrs, I wasn’t settled in the bus because the pain was now too much. What was just itches became blisters and burns.

This wasn’t something you were going to tell the doctors in Kampala, not if you are a celeb especially in my caliber. I googled and the solution was to seat in a basin of warm water. Unfortunately, electricity was off but just choose to do any water. That’s the only moment I got some little peace because the wounds and blisters caused by continuous itching were also doing their fine job on me.

Two days later the itching stopped, but I couldn’t seat on my bums. The pain I felt in all attempts was worse than my circumcision. All I did was lie on my big stomach and I only had one other position of sleeping i.e. Sleeping with my bum pointing in the roof and knees drawn to my chest.

Because of all that, I had to walk while limping to my office daily for 4 days. I remember trying a boda boda but the guy hit me in potholes and all blisters burst again. I worked while standing and never tempted to even seat, NO.

It’s on one of those days when a journalist found me walking from Spear Nakawa to Bweyogerere, my whole bald head was full of dust. I used to snail because walking fast would cause friction hence bursting my new irritating refugees on my bums. Once, some elderly lady asked to drop me ahead and I said no, reasoning that I prefer walking when i’m meditating or talking to God.

It’s for this simple reason that print guys fabricated stories to make money around me.

Brethren if you plan on such journeys
1. Buy your own tissue.
2. Ask for toilet orientation before over eating.

As I sign out, “If you want to know the importance of buttocks, let them develop a boil”.


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