Saturday, January 31, 2015
Be A Slob, Get Cancer and Die With A Bottle of Black Label and A Marajuana Joint
Slob. The Oxford English dictionary, defines slob as: “An offensive term that deliberately insults somebody regarded as having an unhealthy lifestyle or poor standards of hygiene or manners.”
Hmm, but the Oxford English dictionary got it wrong. They lied. If you ask men what the correct definition is, they would say: “A man who spends all day Saturday and Sunday lazing about on the couch in a torn T-shirt and tattered boxers while nursing a hangover, scratching away at his scrotum, passing wind and drinking beer in an attempt to cure the hangover while watching Premiership football on DStv with a group of equally hung-over slob friends as Wifey or Girlfie slaves away in the kitchen making pork ribs and gizzards for them while she juggles changing Toy-ee’s diaper and running down to the shops to get more beer for the slobs.”
I agree with that definition and there is no harm in being a slob because it is expected of men and it is something that men subscribe to. Tell Top Gear presenter Jeremy Clarkson or our very own Sanyu FM presenter, James ‘Fat Boy’ Onen that they are slobs, and they won’t be offended. They would wholeheartedly agree with you.
Women don’t like us men being slobs for health reasons like getting cancer. But they need not worry anymore because Professor Bert Vogelstein from John Hopkins University School of Medicine in Baltimore, USA tells us in a paper he presented early this year that, “getting cancer is down to sheer bad luck of acquiring a mutation in a cancer driven gene regardless of lifestyle and hereditary factors.”
So there it is and from a professor – his key words being ‘regardless of lifestyle’. What Vogelstein is telling us is that yes, we are allowed to be slobs. We are allowed to smoke. We are allowed to eat our fill of red meat and fatty foods. We can drink more beer than our bodies can handle and that with all those excesses, if we get cancer, it’s purely bad luck – much I guess like crossing the road at a zebra crossing and a man pushing the wheel barrow knocks you over dead rather than a car.
What’s more, it’s also cool to die from cancer. Richard Smith, former editor of the British Medical Journal, which is as respected in the medical field as Vogue Magazine is in the fashion industry lamented when he added to the debate by saying, “if you are going to die, it’s best to die from cancer because the long slow death from dementia may be the most awful as you are slowly erased. Death from organ failure – respiratory, cardiac, or kidney – will have you far too much in hospital and in the hands of doctors. Death from cancer is the best...you can say goodbye, reflect on life, leave last messages and it’s a nice romantic way of dying – all achievable with love, morphine and whiskey.”
Might I be justified in repeating Smith’s last sentence for the benefit of Slob who missed it first the time round and for Wifeys, Mums and Girlfies who now want to shoot me for encouraging their men to become slobs and for glorifying cancer?
I am? Cool. Smith said when man departs the world arena, he needs some morphine and I guess if that’s not available, a joint from a pub in Kabalagala would suffice plus some whiskey. Smith does not however, tell us which brand of whiskey is the best to depart the world with but, I am sure somebody at Kampala Wines and Spirits will be kind enough to advise us.
Would they recommend a Johnnie Walker black perhaps? It’s a tight call, but I am going to opt to die out with a Jack Daniels and a couple of Tusker Malt beers and I guess some pork ribs from Wandegeya.
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