Lusting After The Obese Woman

I am not fat shaming, but beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and out there, men and women connect on different levels. Some men like tall women. Some like short women. Others like them light skinned or dark skinned. Some prefer them smart. Others settle for airheads. Some men go in for big busted women or women with hairy legs. Every man – and woman, has a type. One of my tights – Paulo, he likes them ample and kind of bummy. That’s his preference. But while he likes Bummy Woman, he has a cut-off point as in, she’s bummy but, reasonable bummy.

It’s a myth that only Black Man has a thing for Bummy Woman, while White Man, prefers Anorexic Woman. However, there’s a breed of White Man who wants more than Bummy Woman. He wants a woman who is full masaavu – a mix of Kimbo, Blue Band, fat off a 21-piece KFC bucket, Mukwano cooking oil and the layers of fat from the largest sow at an Ntinda pork joint all rolled into one. Basically, he wants her obese.

I’m flicking though the television channels and it jumps at me. A one-hour documentary, Fat Girls and Feeders which according to the synopsis is: ‘A disturbing look at the bizarre sub-culture in which men who find larger women attractive coerce their ample partners to gain more weight – for sexual or more sinister reasons.’

Like me, Mark is lean and has a 32-inch waist. He likes Fat Woman. I don’t and he was determined to find himself Fat Woman and make her the fattest woman in the world so he could satisfy his sexual lust. And he did.

When he met her, Fat Woman was as big as the television presenter, Straka (Below) but, she was trying to lose weight. She watched what she ate, she swam and went to the gym. When Mark came along, he piled her with food. Breakfast was two large buckets of KFC. Lunch, a dozen pizzas that could feed all the cops camped outside Besigye’s crib in Kasangati. In between meals were numerous McDonalds snacks and jumbo bottles of Coke.

And this is where it got perverted. He took pictures of her progress and drooled over her lard. He’d smile to himself when she struggled to walk or was out of breath. He controlled her. He wanted her obese and totally dependent on him.

                                    

Like Mark, Luke was a ‘feeder’ - someone who manipulates and controls his partners diet by feeding her fat gaining foods. Luke wanted Fat Woman house bound – a prisoner almost and to achieve that, he had to make her bed ridden obese. For two years, Fat Woman never left her bed because she couldn’t lift herself out of it. And with obesity came health issues, that the only way Paramedic could get her from the bedroom to the hospital, was to call the fire brigade who, broke down a wall and had to use a crane to hoist her out of her lair.

In the hospital, under the folds of flesh, she was filthy, rotting with maggots eating away. But get this. When Doctor put her on a diet and she began to lose weight, dude cried, went absolutely livid and ditched her.

In Mark’s case, his Fat Woman isn’t yet the fattest woman in the world but she is getting there – though her having a heart attack look set to ruin his plans. She too is bed ridden and barely has the energy to lift her head off the pillow or her arms or legs. Meanwhile, pervy Luke marvels at seeing his Fat Woman naked but, her nakedness almost made me throw up. Her obese dead skin covered body was obscene - vile. Grotesque in fact. 

But like it’s said, each man to their own.


Pictures: TLC, Bukedde

That Bitchy Sista Stare

When hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, women with conventional names, names like – Flavia, Lillian, Martha, Penlope, Esther, Carol, Vicky, Eva or Lucy are not only a spent force but, yesterday’s woman especially when it comes to unleashing a tirade assurances or giving that evil if eyes could kill look that Michelle Obama (Below) and Rihanna (Bottom) seemingly pull off with relative ease.

Take conventional Martha. One Friday as we clambered the stairs to Wagadougu on Bukoto Street – back in the day when it was really kicking with Peter Otim and Co at the helm - when she got to the landing, Campus Boy did the unthinkable. He didn’t even try to camouflage his move. He went in full commando style and brushed his 1st year groin onto her. Martha wasn’t exactly startled and when she looked back at him expecting an apology, he instead swung her a: “What, you never been brushed before” look. With that, Martha’s evening was so cooked. I dropped her home and didn’t hear from her for close to three weeks.

I was with Carol when Viperoom was still the place to go for Oldies Night with the late DJ Banji at the decks when Dude, felt that the best way of making contact with her, was not to say 'hello' or buy her a drink as I would have done but, to give her butt a slap. Way before the slap sunk and nestled deep into the stretch marks of her butt, Carol had spun around faster than Jackie Chan ever did in the Rush Hour movies and for a while, I thought she was going to unleash a - my eyes can drop you dead stare along with the motha of all assurances. Instead, she burst into tears, ran up the spiral staircase for the nearest special hire and was gone by the time I got to the entrance.

While it’s so not the done thing – groping or belittling women, when the likes of Flavia, Lillian, Martha, Jackie, Penlope, Esther, Carol, Vicky, Eva or Lucy sailed into the world, the sailed in with no bark, venom or bite. If Waiter brought the wrong food order, they wouldn’t make noise but accept. If Salon Man ruined the weave, they would rather a bad weave than throw salon tantrums. If Taxi Conductor didn’t give back their change, they wouldn’t beef in case he ejected them miles from home and if Special Hire Man reneged on the agreed fare, the moment he spits the words “I am taking you to police”, they cry out for daddy.  

In politics, we had Cecilia (Ogwal), Maria (Matembe) (Below), Winnie (Byanyima) who many years ago had the most acidic mouths in the land. Cecilia had a voice that roared angrily like the engine of a Mercedes Benz G-65 AMG. Today, it’s a rather pitiful roar – if indeed it can still be called roar and painful to hear just like it is watching people who drive Toyota hybrid electrical cars. Maria can barely make the hairs on the back of my neck stand, while listening to Winnie, is akin to listening Watoto Children’s Choir singing bedtime hymns for the pope.  

   

However, today’s woman is different. She has rampaged into the world with venom, audacity, attitude, contempt, beef and period cramps that would so spin the heads of Flavia, Lillian Martha, Jackie, Penlope, Esther, Carol, Vicky, Eva and Lucy and any woman with a bland name. 

And get this, she also has a badd ass motha fucker name like Shaniqua, Monique, Gaynelle, Jendayi, Kasinda, Lakeesha, Laqueta, Michelle, Rihanna, Laquinta, Latanya, Monisha, Nichelle, Takiyah, and Zalika. 

This woman is not to be messed with. She has an ice cold mortuary stare like the one above. She’s the human equivalent of a black widow spider and who describes herself as: a biach with an attitude, a whore with beef or nigga fuck bitch and who uses bitch words like talk to the hand, my bad and whatever. 

Gaynelle is the type to swing Cop a multitude of tumbavu’s if he dared stop her at Jinja Road traffic lights. Shaniqua and Laqueta are women that Salon Man dreads to see walking into his salon because throughout the two hours of weaving on the weave, he will be on bunkenke and awaiting a hot slap if he dared put a stitch wrong while Special Hire Driver, he won’t even take Jendayi, Monique and Nichelle because they would sneer, mock and assure him all the way to their destination. 

Meanwhile, Lakeesha, and Zalika would in a flash, take delight in telling their WhatsApp chat group how you were no Johnny Bravo in bed but a one-minute man. And Takiyah? She’s the sort to calmly walk into the men’s toilets in Silk Liquid simply because she couldn't be bothered to walk further down to the ladies and then scatter profanity along the lines of: "What you lookin' at nigga, you not seen a pussy in the gents before" if any of the men complained.  

So Flavia, (Below) Penlope, Esther, Carol, Vicky, Eva and Lucy, and any woman with a bland name, please forgive. Campus Boy, Dude, Waiter and all are sorry for pinching your bottoms, trying to fondle you and bringing you the wrong food order for truth be told, you are much easier to deal with than Shaniqua, Monique, Thalia, Gaynelle, Jendayi, Kasinda, Lakeesha, Laqueta, Laquinta, Latanya, Monisha, Nichelle, Takiyah and Zalika.

Photos: Weekly Observer, Internet

When The Cats Away, The MPs Will Play

I know little about parliament and its workings. I do know there is a speaker - Rebecca (Below) and her deputy – Jacob. I also know there’s a chamber where MP debates stuff and the steps at the front where they give soundbites to us in the media which, we convey to you - the public through (and time here for a spot of shameless Vision Group advertising) - Sunday Vision, New Vision, Bukedde, Urban TV, Radio West, X-FM and the rest.

At New Vision, when foreign travel looms, there are procedures we follow – right from CEO, Robert Kabushenga to Editor-in-Chief, Barbra Kaijja. I suspect when Robert goes abroad, he informs Chairman of the Board, Company Secretary and Editor-in-Chief. Barbra too, when she travels, she would have told Robert and various heads of departments. 

At my level, Kalungi Kabuye and I were in the same department. If Kalungi went to SA to cover Face of Africa, I would know about it. Even if it was abrupt, I still would have heard about in the corridors or Head Of Department would have told me to cover for him or Accountant would have in passing said: “Eh TB, this year its KK going to SA?”

At State House, when M7 travels, its plainly obvious that he tells his deputy – Edward, that he’s off. And he goes a step further - telling Kale Kayihura, Katumba Wamala and that man who wears the most awful coloured uniform as you can see below and who is in charge of all rogue elements in the land – Johnson Byabashaija, because the trio are always at the airport to see him off

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But in parliament its different because MP does not follow rules. Last month, Rebecca went off to Boston, USA to attend the UNAA convention. Nothing wrong with that. I presume before she went, her office put out a memo on the notice boards informing all MPs she would be out of office. If not, IT Chap configured her e-mail to send one of those auto ‘out of office’ replies that read something along the lines of: “Peeps its Becky. I will be out of office for two weeks attending a convention in Boston. In my absence, Jacob has the chair.”

So to Boston she flies and in the hotel corridors, of all people from her office, guess who she bumps into aside from shorts clad Kato Lubwama and Meddi Nsereko (Below) looking a tad shy of being slapped with a fashion police deportation order? Like Will Smith said at the start of Summertime – “drum rolls please” - it was her deputy, Jacob Oulanyah who was supposed to be back in Kampala manning the ‘chair’!

Strike a pause. Is that not akin to M7 breezing into the UN General Assembly with Oryem Okello and finding they got nowhere to sit because Ssekandi and Frank Tumwebaze didn’t tell him that they too were representing? Or like Man of The House sneaking to see Maid in the dead of the night and finding Shamba Boy already nestled on her boobie? 

Said Rebecca: “I was surprised to meet Jacob (Below) in Boston with a parallel delegation.” But didn’t Jacob read the memo? Didn’t Rebecca call him and tell him to hold fort while she’s away? Did he not hear her absence being talked about in the canteen or while standing at the urinal?

Jacob not reading Rebecca’s memo or Rebecca not reading Jacob’s memo means Taxpayer paid $8,640 instead of $4,320 to send two speakers to Boston to sit in the same room, listen to the same speeches and watch the same power point presentations. And upon their return, they found that while the cats were away, the MPs had played - with MP demanding sh50m in selfie burial allowances.

Incidentally, happy Independence Day.