Why aliens don’t like Africa, and such like fiction.

Why don’t aliens land in Africa?

I like science fiction.  I truly believe that one day robots will take over, and that aliens live on Mars.  I believe that I can move things with my mind, I’m doing it right now.  See how I’m making your eyes glide over these words?  I is telekinetic, baby.  And clearly not very intelligent.  I like to watch movies set in a galaxy far, far away.  I like aliens, especially the vindictive ones who just want to kill everyone for no reason.  I like to watch a bunch of 10 chaps get knocked off by some strange mama they gave a lift to in the middle of nowhere, just because, and kumbe she’s actually the great evil on her way to earth, or Los Angeles, to start a new colony with her miracle babies who sprout from her pinkie finger.  I am a sucker for Darth Vader, and Captain Jean Luc Picard.  ‘Event Horizon’ is one of my favourite movies to date, as is The Matrix trilogy.  Slight detour, I had never read science fiction until last year.  As stupid as this sounds, sci-fi was, to my mind, a visual art.  A book about space travel, and it’s not a comic?  Why that’s absurd, she thought, ignorant.  I know better now.  Detour over.

So in all my years of watching the earth get invaded by octopuses with strange goggles, I am yet to see an alien land in this here Africa.  With the exception of District 9, a most brilliant movie that upset the Nigerians to no end (perhaps understandably), I have never seen an alien in my vicinity, at least not on screen.  What the hell, man?  These buggers are racists!  Kwani, me and my kind aren’t worth abducting?   What, only white people get probed up the butt?  Actually, keep the probing to the wazungus, serves them right, they’ve been sticking it to us for ages.  However, might I suggest abducting a few choice specimens from amongst us?  I have in mind a couple of idiot politicians, and the guys who make the ads on radio.  I have digressed.

I want to see a UFO over my city, dammit. I want random gun-toting aliens (higher life form and you haven’t figured out a more efficient way of killing us?  Bloody nkt!) to cruise my skies, blowing shit up.  I want Thor, in all his hammer swinging hotness, to land in my dessert, sorry, I meant desert (did I really?).  Africans of the world unite!  We need us some aliens.  And before you write this off as a misguided rant, keep in mind that alien invasion = civilisation.  For as long as we’re not on screen being invaded, then we’re the langa Maasais jumping up and down at the end of the movie (Independence Day), after the (usually) American hero has saved the world.

I demand aliens, forthwith.

Why are zombies cannibals?

Wait, don’t go, this is one of my more intelligent questions.  If these buggers are dead, and therefore not discerning consumers, being that their brains aren’t working, then why can’t they eat grass, or paper?  I’m just saying, the whole needing to eat human flesh after you die makes no sense.  It’s not like you need the protein to build muscle, you’re dead, no?   Why, for that matter, bother eating at all?  Sustenance?  Pleasure?  The urge to spend eternity chewing?  This zombie story makes no sense.  We don’t need them in Africa, them and the vampires can stay right where they are.  Drinking blood to stay alive, yet you’re undead?  No no no…

Why didn’t those buggers use the giant eagles to get to Mount Doom in the first place?

I love Lord of The Rings, but that plot had some serious holes in it.  Those hobbits thought to walk to the mountain, only to be saved by the eagles once they got there, too many pages later.  Did it not occur to Gandalf to call up his giant chickens, way, waaaaay at the beginning, and just fly there?  I’m guessing Bwana Tolkein couldn’t contemplate writing the return journey, seeing as how he’d spent kendo 1000 pages writing the journey there, but come on man…

Why do female newscasters have the same hairstyle?

Speaking of peculiar fiction, what is it with these weaves on TV?  I call it ‘the Lillian Muli’, that ka Julie Gichuru hairstyle with the luscious locks falling just so, as seen on every station at 9 pm (the 7 pm ladies favour shorter cuts, in line with the Kiswahili, ethnic, feel of the show, sorry, broadcast).  I don’t mind Julie’s, because that’s her hair (as in growing from her head, as opposed to purchased with her money) and she’s worn it so for ages, but those other ones are suspect.  I don’t mind a good weave, mind you, I mind that they all look identical.  It’s kinda creepy, these women look like Barbie dolls, complete with the plastic smiles and perfect make-up…

Why do mechanics never know what’s wrong with your car, but still insist on trying, and the key word here is trying, to find out?

In the realm of good tales, the mechanics must be small gods.  I’ve concluded the mechanics’ curriculum includes a semester spent learning how to frustrate their customers.  Don’t laugh, think about it.  Have you ever taken your car in for repair, only to get it back with the same problem, and possibly others to boot?  Boss, kama hujui, sema hujui. Don’t waste my day pulling out random parts to fix the bushes, and it’s always the bushes, and then putting it all back together only to realise, ‘Haiya! Madam, kumbe taa haiwaki…‘  I know that, you (unprintable), that’s what I came to you fo’!  True story, unlike this next one…

Why do politicians claim to be such good Christians?

It’s not just in Kenya, all over the world there are politicians running around claiming religion and/or God, and then they turn around and bang a hooker, or smoke the odd illegal drug, or steal the odd million, or slaughter the odd innocent.  Si they just tell us they’re the spawn(s) of the devil and get on with it?  We’ll vote for them either way, it’s not like we’re particularly choosy, look at our prezzo(s).  Yes, this is a swipe at my crying-in-church DP, and no, I will not let it go.  This story of buggers claiming miracles, just, it must end.  Brother Paul is still running his scams, all the while still leading a church, and a political party (in this case we can conflate the two), and he hasn’t been lynched?  Perhaps the question should be, why do Kenyans claim to be such good Christians?

Why do men say they like curvy, dark, mature women with natural hair, and then turn around and date super-skinny, yellow yellow, weave-wearing girls of dubious intellect?

If I read one more survey of Kenyan men claiming great preference towards:
a. curvy
b. dark skinned
c. smart
d. natural hair wearing
women, I will slap someone.  Listen, if men really, really, really liked such women, then women wouldn’t spend all their time trying to look like Beyonce.  They spend all their time, and money, trying to look like a skinny, yellow yellow, with blond hair and a spectacular ass, because that’s what they see men chasing, and because they want their own Jay Z (read millionaire).  It’s simple cause and effect.  The day men stop lying to surveys, is the day we’ll start believing them (surveys and men).

Why do women claim to want nice guys, when they don’t?

While on the topic of pure fiction…  If women wanted ‘nice guys’, then the phrase ‘nice guys finish last’ would never have been coined.  Women, we do not want nice guys, we only say we do so as not to look foolish, or shallow.  It’s understandable, but it’s also a bit confusing.  We need to stop lying to these poor bastards, before they kill us with their niceness.  Dammit, a woman can only take so many soft caresses before she snaps and does someone she regrets.

Ahem.

Why do they make leather shoes and then add on a plastic heel, with a piece of paper stuck to it?

This one only women will understand, I suspect.  You know how you buy a kick-ass pair of 3-inch heeled suede pumps with hand stitched detailing?  You know how the heel of said pump is covered in some pretty pattern, to match the detailing?  You know how, a few missteps later, the pretty pattern is peeling off, and the shoes are all of six months old?  You know how you take it to your favourite cobbler and he says he can’t fix it, because it’s paper, and he only fixes leather, being that he’s a cobbler and all?  Say it with me…nkt!   Why do they make a shoe that can last 5 years, and then stick on a plastic heel covered in non-waterproof paper, a paper that will peel off once our rains start, a paper I can’t replace?  And just to show they’re completely insensitive to our plight, they then discontinue that specific line you love so much, because why would they keep making a shoe someone likes?  I know they want us to keep buying shoes, but what the hell?  I’m going to buy more anyway, you bloody idiots, I’m a girl.  They tell us to buy real leather shoes, ati they’ll last us a lifetime.  Lifetime, they say.  Fiction, I say.

I really liked those shoes…