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WE ARE MOVING TO JOWALJONES.COM!!

Posted: January 14, 2015 in Uncategorized

So I finally registered my very own domain! It has been a long journey, from blogspot to wordpress and now, my very own Jowaljones.com!

I want to thank you, my unfailing reader, for sticking with me all the way.

Let’s continue with our new chapter at http://www.jowaljones.com!

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to-the-woman-of-my-dreams-lets-dream-together-eve-riser-robertsDream woman. Does she even exist? An optimist will argue that she actually does exist in real life. A pessimist will give me verse and chapter about how a dream woman, or true love for that matter, is but a bucket-load cockamamie. Sitting on the third side of the coin will be the realist, holding forth that a dream lady is actually made, not found. The jury, which includes yours truly, is still out on whom among the three is right.

No matter where you stand, I believe most people have a check-list, even if subconscious, of their preferred mate. It might be a dark-skinned complexion, sinewy abs, great cooking skills, a comedian’s humour, a melodious singing voice… The list goes on and on.

I used to belong to the minority school of thought, a faction of people who never have any set of preferences in their potential mate. Somebody would ask me what I looked for in a girl, and I’d reply honestly that I had no type as far as this dating business went. And indeed for me, everything went. The girls I’ve dated are legion. Their looks are as unalike as chalk and cheese, they come from different backgrounds and they all exhibit a diverse array of personalities. You can’t tie down Jowal to a specific ‘type’.

But then one day, while cheating on the manhood fraternity by reading a sissy book by Steve Harvey, I came across a passage that inadvertently revealed to me what the apotheosis of a woman should be like. I tweaked the paragraph from Act like a Lady, Think like a Man, and here’s my customised version; the qualities I’d like my woman to have:

“I want a woman who will walk on water and through a mountain for me, no matter how I’ve acted out, no matter what crazy thing I’ve done, no matter the time or demand. If I am her man, she will talk to me until there just aren’t any more words left to say, encourage me when I’m at rock bottom and think there just isn’t any way out, hold me in her arms when I’m sick, and laugh with me when I’m up. And if I’m her man and that woman loves me—I mean really loves me?—she will shine me up when I’m dusty, encourage me when I’m down, defend me even when she’s not so sure I were right, and hang on my every word, even when I’m not saying anything worth listening to. And no matter what I do, no matter how many times her friends say I’m no good, no matter how many times I slam the door on the relationship, she will give me her very best and then some, and keep right on trying to win over my heart, even when I act like everything she’s done to convince me she’s The One just isn’t good enough.”

Is that too much to ask? I’m I too ambitious?

When somebody bleached her skin and bought herself a new pair of mammary glands, my old man, Grandpa Richard, blew his top and has been in black moods ever since. His blood pressure exacerbated when comrades kidnapped infants, a fraudulent preacher used Chemistry to fleece his flock, comrades wore skinny-jeans and perverted men stripped pulchritudinous ladies. Clearly, a review of 2014 is an unsightly tableau that’s akin to gutting a pig.

With the new year barely 48 hours old, Grandpa Richard is already quaking in his boots with trepidation. I suspect one of my comrades might have introduced the greybeard to whatever they smoke over Christmas, because lately Grandpa has not been himself. He has been making horrid predictions about 2015, painting a doomsday scenario that would be right at home with Mayan prophecies.  Here are Grandpa’s fears:

A Facebook religion

Nowadays, spirituality is no longer expressed through beliefs and deeds. All you have to do to secure a room in God’s mansion is to type ‘Amen’ in the comment box and forward that Whatsapp message to ten contacts.

In 2015, houses of worship and holy books will be abandoned altogether in favour of social media. Even the commandments are likely to be revised, complete with smiley faces, misspelt words, and they will all end with ROTLMFAO.

Human garages

Vera Sidika, who bleached her skin and got new boobs.

Vera Sidika, who bleached her skin and got new boobs.

2015 will reveal an apocalyptic picture whereby Chinese hawkers will set up shop along Nairobi’s streets from where they will conduct speedy skin-bleaching services. Similar human garages will spring up across the country where ladies will pop in to acquire bigger breasts, mountainous derrieres and broader hips. All these will be available for only three easy payments of dignity, soul and intelligence.

And because intelligence is in woefully short supply, we may have to import brain supplements and medulla implants from China too.

An aggrandised lexicon

Over the years, Grandpa Richard has been extremely frustrated by the gatekeepers of the English language who keep adding extra pages to their blown up dictionaries with every subsequent edition. The past few years have seen an asinine trend by which words such as ‘selfie’, ‘twerking’, and ‘marijuana’ have been uncannily sneaked in.

If this goes on unbridled, daft words like ‘MILF’ and ‘nyenyenye’ might be consented. Grandpa suggest that they should as well consider freeing up some space in their tome by deleting words like ‘credible’, ‘meaningful’ and ‘scholarly’.

Overpopulation

A study done in Grandpa Richard’s mind predicts that if the current rate of procreation persists, millions of Kenyans will have to migrate to Jupiter by December this year in order to grant room to the incoming generations. In order to avert this, the retiree opines that this year, parents should beat their kids until they’re too sore to have sex—both the kids and their parents.

Habitual intoxication

Grandpa’s crystal ball evokes horror images of a highly inebriated nation. By August, beer will have successfully overtaken water as the most consumed beverage in Kenya. Coming in at number three will be boiled cannabis.

Is my old man right? Welcome to 2015, comrades.

I recently attended the Story Moja Hay Festival, and perhaps the most scintillating session was a forum titled “The Future of Kenyan Men,” moderated by renowned columnist and retrosexual Oyunga Pala.

Meant for men, the forum was however hijacked by a coterie of ladies who took every available opportunity to shoot down any opinion expressed by a man that had a lick of common sense. For instance, Tony Mochama, the literary gangster, was nearly clobbered with high heels after he opened his heart and explained the reasons that might cause him to slap a lady.

One opinionated lady grabbed the mic and complained about how today’s man wants a lady who cooks and cleans, yet he himself contracts plumbers, electricians, painters and mechanics. “You outsource people to do ‘manly’ tasks yet you don’t want me to hire a maid to cook and clean?”

She made a lot of sense, that iron-lady. I turned to my friend Lameck and whispered to him, “I normally don’t like feminists, but this one sure has a point.”

Unbeknown to me, a feminist sitting next to me heard my words and got so enraged that I swear you could see smoke coming out of her ears. When opportunity presented itself, she pounced on the mic and gave me a seething dress-down, accusing me of being a died-in-the-wool misogynist.

Some of you may be of the opinion that I am an individual who advocates for male dominion—perish the thought. I fully and wholeheartedly believe that gender equality should be the norm. What I have against mainstream feminists is they propagate abhorrence and vitriol against men under the aegis of feminism. Feminism has evolved into a hideous movement with a sole aim of pitting women against men; man-hating is their main agenda.

It’s amazing how so many people continue to turn a blind eye to the harm that feminism is doing. No, I won’t shut up on this one. Not when the lava inside is threatening to spill over. What feminists are now clamouring for is not equal rights, and I won’t keep quiet about it. Just as Nelson Mandela said he was against white dominion and the same time he was against black dominion, I am equally not at ease with female dominion in quite the same measure that I loath male dominion.

I used to think that feminism was a reasonable movement aimed at lobbying for equal opportunities for both genders. Boohoo! Joke’s on me. Unfortunately, as with aliens, mermaids and fairies, no solid proof of reasonable feminists has ever been found. Scientists are still searching though.

Today’s feminists think that all men are arrogant, sex pests, rapists, obnoxious, unromantic, dead beat dads and insipid a**holes. They hate the entire male gender with passion, and they make no bones about it. They have made it their mission to sow their seeds of discord in other girls, and they push their agendas all over the media. To me this is sexism at high noon, and it needs to stop.

A common trend with the most aggressive feminists is that they hold positions of power and influence. Now this is highly commendable, but it becomes a thorn in the rectum when feminists, most of them go-getters in life, use their position to annihilate men more. And mind you, today’s feminists have the goods—the whole works. I mean, the entire kit and caboodle—the brain, pedigree and the looks. They crush men the way a JKUAT student crushes bedbugs by cutting them up with their razor-sharp minds. You can never stand in their way and survive the ordeal. This is clearly illustrated by one Sharon Stone, who said that “The more famous and powerful I get, the more power I have to hurt men.”

As a result of their odium towards the bearded species, feminists have evolved weird peculiarities. Love? What’s that? They don’t need men in their lives, and to them men are nothing more than ATMs for financial support and providers of no strings attached sex benefits. No one said it better than the supremo of feminism herself, Valerie Solanas. “To call a man an animal is to flatter him. He’s a machine, a walking dildo.”

Methinks feminists are not after equality. They want more power. Because, when it comes to the inequality they claim to fight against, they themselves are guilty as sin. You can never correct discrimination against women by stepping on men. Two wrongs never made a right.

And this blanket accusation of men should also come to a moratorium. Not all men behave like unfathomable pricks. And just because a man once hurt you does not give you a pass to pour your revenge on an entire gender. Just like you can’t point at a random Muslim and blame them for terrorism, you also can’t hold every individual man responsible for all the historical slights ever committed against your gender.

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And that’s my beef with feminism. Join the discussion on twitter @JowalJones.