Thursday, December 31, 2009

New Year's Eve Day...The Quiet Before the Storm

It's 2010 in Australia already, but still early afternoon here in NYC.  I've sent an e-mail to a number of friends around the U.S. and some foreign countries (China, England, Greece) soliciting from each a photo of their New Year's Eve celebrations.  Most will probably be sedate affairs, dinner at home or at a friend's house (I'm getting old and so are those I hang with...)  Maybe shots of kids and pets.  But one or two may take us by surprise, we'll see. I'll post the best of them tomorrow, but not too early, of course...

I feel obligated to provide a picture with each post (they're boring enough without a photo, I know...) so here's one of my street in Gramercy Park, I took it 30 minutes ago:


  
We had a bit of snow overnight, as you can see, but not much. 

When you start giving the weather report on your blog, you know that you're getting old.  And your post is getting boring.  I'll save the traffic report for another time.  Speaking of which, I have to get moving, I'm heading to my sister's house at the Jersey Shore for the weekend.  

One of the problems with having a blog is that when someone sees your posting, they'll know what you're up to, including why you're late.  It would be tough to fool someone with the standard excuses when they know you were "wasting" time posting. 

I hope my sister doesn't have more snow shoveling for me to do.  The ideal situation would be if I could figure out a way rig up a shovel to the Lucifer-animal known as Sophie the Blog Dog.  I'll work on it and post the results if worthwhile. 

I hope you all have a joyful, healthy and prosperous 2010. 

P.S. As you can see, I'm experimenting with font sizes and colors on this post.  Even a blog entry on a boring topic can be (somewhat) interesting!

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

2009 Holiday Dinner With Insurance Friends

It's a boring title but it'll get better, hang in here.  I'm under pressure to post everyday, the readers are demanding it, corporate is demanding it, the sponsors are demanding it and Google is demanding it, so please be tolerant...thanks.

Last night we held our eighth annual, or so -- nobody remembers precisely how long it's been -- holiday dinner among a group of friends. We all worked together at a formerly-admired-but-now-vilified financial institution in the 1990s.  I won't say the name, but I will tell you that none of us caused the company's problems.  I left there in 2002, so I'm really above suspicion.  And it has paid back much of the government bailout money already, so back off Mr. Disgruntled Taxpayer.  Thank you. 

Below is a partial photo of the dinner crowd from last night.  We ate at Harry's Italian on Gold Street in Manhattan.  They served up some pretty good grub, but don't consider that an official restaurant review.  I'll write some restaurant reviews in the future but they'll be much more comprehensive than merely "pretty good grub."  I know, you can't wait.  KFC will make the cut.  I hope you're not disappointed.


Back to our dinner. We had a great time, as always.  A recent tradition at this dinner involves me inventing stupid bars games upon which a few of us wager.  Usually these contests involve things like olives, ashtrays (when bars still had them), toothpicks, coins, etc.  This year I decided to get really innovative, so I paid a visit to the local dollar store.  It's on the southside of 23rd Street near 2nd Avenue in NYC.  If you live or work here, I'd advise that you not waste your time on this particular store.  Nonetheless, I purchased, among other things (even a bad dollar store can get my business), a pair of goggles and a ladies' bra.  And, in case you're wondering, no, it wasn't the bra of the lady working the register, it was a brand new bra.  Most people don't expect that you would find a bra at a dollar store.  It actually set me back $4.99  -- it's not a true dollar store -- those liars! I purposely left the price tag on the bra so that nobody at the dinner would suspect that I had stolen it from a female acquaintance, paid or otherwise. 

The woman at the register shot me a cold look when I made the purchase, one of those "I know you're a total pervert and I shudder to think what you're going to do with this when you get it home" kind of looks.  You know the one I'm talking about, you get it regularly.  Or am I the only one? 

I'll bet the cashier imagined hearing the bra pleading with her to not sell it as she was stuffing it into the bag.  Too bad.  I forked over my money and made off with my overpriced bounty.   

I brought the bra and goggles to dinner, along with a super ball, which I had at home already (doesn't everyone?)  A bolt of inspiration led me to devise a game involving the bouncing of the super ball off the bar (from behind a line designated by a straw) and into a cup of the bra while the bra rested on top of a pint beer glass.  One bra cup was folded over on top of the other, so only a single cup would be in play.  We used American rules, not European or Olympic, which, as you know, differ.

If a player managed to keep the super ball in the bra cup, he got a full point [I know I should use the politically correct he/she designation but only males play this game.]  If the ball hit the bra cup and bounced out, the player earned half a point.  If the non-throwing opponent, who had to stand behind the bra and try to catch the super ball after each attempt, touched the ball and it bounced off his hand and behind the bar, then the ball thrower (shooter? we'll go with that...) was awarded an additional one-half point.  To make it more interesting, and more complicated, the shooter had to wear the googles.  They gave everything a distorted bluish look.  Here's a picture of champion Bra-And-Super-Baller Mike Kambos shortly after the game:




I posted that photo in an extra large format so as to cause Mike extra large embarassment.  Incidentally, he only won $5.00; that wad of cash that he's so proudly displaying was everyone's share of the cost of dinner.  If you ask me, and I'm sure you would if you could, he looks somewhat like a mentally disturbed aviator from the 1940s.  Charles Lindbergh is rolling over in his grave.

The game had to be cancelled during the second match after the ball bounced out of the bra cup and into oblivion.  Our zealous search efforts, which even took me into the main dining room of the restaurant, yielded nothing.  I believe that one of the restaurant's staff, who objected to our commandeering half the bar surface for our rowdy-and-inane game, became annoyed and simply hid the ball from us.  Personally, I've cleared the bartender from suspicion because she was quite amused by our antics and enjoyed watching. 

I'm thinking of offering this new sport on pay-per-view. I'll need a catchy name, maybe "Bras-ketball."  I'll work on that and get back to you.  Maybe we'll even start a nationwide Bra-sketball league.  I'm not sure if using a hyphen in the name is too heavy-handed of an attempt to call attention to the clever pun.  I'll have to run a focus group on that.  Maybe we'll call the league the National Bra-Sketball ASSociation (NBA).     

Bra-sketball, as you would guess, was a highlight of the night.  Here are some more photos:


This picture depicts George, Ray and Ron. I know that it looks like George, on the left, was sleeping.  But, in fact, he was just resting up before unleashing a torrent of activity on the crowd.  Or maybe he was thinking "If I close my eyes LG will go away..."

Because of the way I formatted this photo I need to fill this white space on the left side with something even though I have nothing further to say about this picture.  These sentences now are merely filler until we get to the bottom, sorry.  It's like all the celery that you get in Chinese food at certain restaurants.  Think about that next time you order a Chinese meal with vegetables in it. Count the pieces of celery.  See, this space wasn't such a waste afterall!




This is a picture of Ron, Anthony and Leslie.  I'm not using last names because none of these people gave me their permission to post their photos on this blog and when they find out that I did, at least they'll be happy that last names weren't used.  Ron's facial expression was a result of him being told  told that he'd be denied access to The LG Report on blogspot.com.  Boy was he mad!  Seconds after the photo was snapped, I told him that I was only kidding.  He breathed a huge sigh of relief and calmed down.  You can imagine how angry that would make a person!  Luckily you have not been denied access and can click on this blog as often as you'd like.

That's it for this posting.  All good things must come to an end.  But check back frequently, or, better yet, register to be a "follower" and you'll automatically get an e-mail notifying you each time a new post goes up, what could be better than that?!  It's more ingenious than those mountains that turn blue on the Coors can. What a dumb marketing ploy that is: If you can't feel how cold a can is with your hand, then you've probably hit your limit of beers for the night...  

See you next time kidz. 



 

You may want to call it Nationalism or even Patriotism, but would you change citizenship for money? "Stephen Cherono" So, is it Money or the Box

"MONEY OR THE BOX"
On 27th July 2002, Stephen Cherono lead a pack of highly promising Kenyans' athletes to a clean sweep of Gold, Silver and Bronze in the Commonwealth Games held in Manchester. With him were brothers Ezekiel and Abraham Kemboi who won silver and bronze respectively. The celebrations were however short lived; Stephen Cherono switched citizenship and to the dismay of many, he even changed his name to Saif Saaeed Shaheen! This is where and how my poem below was too born.....! Later, he appeared on track for Qator and so passionately trounced his 'Kenyas' compatriots to win the Gold. I have all the respect for this great athlete and this poem is intended to arouse the debate on Patriotism and Career. Remember the Qatars' offer of 100 million shillings to Denis Oliech? He thou declined the offer and as well became a hero at home. For the earnings, he still seems to laugh all the way to the bank!

KENYAS STEPHEN CHERONO: QATARS SAIF SHAHEEN

STEPHEN CHERONO

Poor lad of Rift Valley
I ‘hear’ you got a new name
They are calling you
Saif Saaeed Shaheen
What happened?
Just how did you dare?
To cut your own roots
Tap root in specific!

Poor lad of Rift Valley
I hear you got a new home
Qatar! Is it true?
You are now swimming in oil
Leaving the fresh waters of Rift Valley

Poor lad of Rift Valley
‘Mwacha mila ni mtumwa’
Just see how they are frustrating you now
Soon you shall be a nuff
Only then shall you know the extent of the damage

Poor lad of Rift Valley
Slavery is long gone
It’s forgotten!
Only that you are now reminding us
Of those bad old days
Poor lad of Rift Valley
Look back at your mother land
Look at your mothers tears
See how miserable you are now

Poor lad of Rift Valley
You got a brother in Denmark too
Kipketer is his name
Abroad a hero
At home nothing but zero
He too basks in the white gold
To your motherland you are big shames
Brothers, who are we to blame
Before you become lame
And they send you home
But not without some shame


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009
RE-PRODUCTION OF THIS POEM IN FULL OR PART IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. THIS IS AN ORIGINAL WORK; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. MWANGI MUTHIORA.


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Monday, December 28, 2009

Holiday Hell in New York City

Most likely this will not be a news flash to you: during the holiday season Manhattan is more crowded, inconvenient and louder than ever.  Long lines are everywhere. There are lines to get in line. Disoriented out-of-town drivers cause gridlock. They stop for red lights in the middle of crosswalks, causing pedestrian bedlam.  Prices are high and tolerances are low. Your chance of getting a cab is about the same as spotting a unicorn. In short, it's Hell on Earth. 

It's also the time of year when, if you live in New York City like I do, everyone you know wants to come to visit.  

The Harringtons came to NYC to visit me today.  I actually like these people.  Love them, really.  In fact, almost too much to embarass them on my blog.  Note, I said "almost." 

Tim is my college buddy.  Jen is his lovely wife and Colleen (junior in high school) and Brian (sophomore) are their kids. I am Brian's confirmation sponsor.  He selected me from among hundreds of candidates.  Good head on that kid.


Here's a picture of Brian in the new hat that he bought today.  He's trying to get admitted to a special school in Russia for kids who can't open their eyes.  These kids guide themselves around using a sixth sense that emanates from their tongues, sort of like a human divining rod.  The hat looks wollen but is made of a reinforced fiberglass that protects his noodle when he falls off his chair in school, which normally occurs six or eight times a day.  None of that is true, actually, but it looks plausible, doesn't it? Brian is one of the top students in his class...but you'd never guess it from this photo!

I promised Brian that if he'd trust me enough to let me take his picture in a goofy pose, I wouldn't publish it on my blog.  As his confirmation sponsor, I feel a responsibility to teach him about being too trusting of people.  It's called tough love.

He'll probably be in the market for a new confirmation sponsor tomorrow.  It doesn't pay much, but you get bragging rights (I try to take credit for his academic success and you will too.)

The Harringtons live on the Coast.  That's the West Coast, although you're probably cool enough to know that since you're reading this uber-cool blog.   

My visitors are actually staying in New Jersey with Jen's parents.  They are very cool people, good New Jersey Italians, and I love seeing them.  Unfortunately they couldn't make it into the city on this trip. [Note: I'll have something to say about the MTV Show "Jersey Shore" in a future blog, stay tuned.] 

Here's a picture of the happy Harrington family at Rockefeller Center earlier today:


This photo was snapped just a few moments before CALAMITY STRUCK! 

But I'll get to that in a minute. I know I scared you with the capitals and boldfacing.  Sorry, it's a literary effect and this is a literary blog.

Earlier in the day, I joined up with my visitors on Canal Street in Lower Manhattan.  Our mission was to wrestle with the unwashed crowds for a variety of counterfeit and probably-stolen items.  We're talking jewelry, handbags, watches, t-shirts, you know, life's essentials. I've never been to one, but my guess is that Canal Street is like an Egyptian baazar...on steriods.

Here's a glimpse of Canal Street:


This photo is somewhat misleading, it doesn't convey the full sense of anarchy and aggression.  See the guy in the yellow sandwich board on the right?  I'll be he's spent time in a prison camp.  He's gotta be on a no fly list. And, most likely, he's wearing an electronic monitoring device (fake Cartier, of course.)  I think I see an Uzi peeking out from under that sandwhich board. 

I snapped a picture of Colleen as some guy was trying to sell her a designer handbag.  I noticed the name on it was "Pradaa" but I didn't say anything (that's Colleen's confirmation sponsor's job, not mine.)  When I went to show the photo to Colleen on my Blackberry, the guy leaned way over to get a look.  He clearly wanted to make sure that he wasn't in the picture.  I don't know what he would've done if he had been, but I doubt I'd be writing this blog right now.  I'd probably still be looking for my fingers on Canal Street.

Tim (see tree photo above; he's the guy in women's ear muffs in the back row) had one job to perform today. One job.  His sister Kaya and her two adorable little girls, Laura and Mia, are visiting from Utica.  They're also staying in New Jersey.  Tim drove everyone to the NJ bus station in Kaya's car this morning so that they could take the bus into NYC.  Tim's ONE JOB was to hold onto Kaya's car key for the day.  Just a single key, that's all.

He failed.

Do me a favor and look closely at the picture of Canal Street to see if you can find the key. We think it's there somewhere.  If you have magnifying software, that might help.  You didn't expect a "Where's Waldo"-type exercise in this posting, did you?

Tim put the key in the shallow "change pocket" of his jeans for safekeeping.  This is also known as the "fifth pocket" or, by those in the garment industry, the "Bermuda Triangle Pocket," from which things disappear.

Tim apparently didn't know of the 5th pocket's vulnerability. 

As we stood in the bone-chilling cold shortly after the Rockefeller Center photo was taken, Tim announced that he'd lost the key.  It was like the kid from "A Christmas Story" getting shot in the eye with his BB gun.  Everyone knew it would happen.  In hindsight, anyway.  Tim thinks he might have lost the key while getting his wallet out to buy that genuine Rolex watch on Canal Street for $40.  When I see how cheaply a vendor with no overhead can sell a Rolex, it frosts my cake to think that they mark them up by about $10,000 at real jewelry stores.  What a rip-off.  

To make an already too-long-story short(er), Tim called Kaya's husband Dave in Utica, who, I'm sure, never expected to be mentioned in a major international blog (I have a Canadian follower) like this, and asked him to Fedex a spare key to Kaya in New Jersey.  All should be well tomorrow.

In the aftermath of the lost key we stopped for hot chocolates.  I tried to cheer Tim up and make him forget that he lost the key by doing things like mentioning my recent trip to Key West and the Florida Keys.  I also asked his sister if she has an account at Key Bank. Then I drew two pictures of keys and left one on Tim's chair when he went to the men's room and put the other into his glove.  Sometimes I like to rub things in. I'm usually a good friend, but not always.

The Harringtons are flying home on Wednesday.  They'll have a very long security line to endure given recent developments.  It will probably be made more difficult when the TSA agent finds that $5 Canal Street switchblade that I slipped into Tim's inner coat pocket while he was in the men's room at the hot chocolate place.  I hope he calls to tell me the whole story, if he's still speaking to me after he reads this.  That tale will make a good blog posting and, as you know, all I care about is entertaining you, dear readers. 

I could've easily slipped the switchbalde into Tim's change (5th) pocket, but, as everyone knows, it would've fallen out long before he got to the airport. 

Thanks for reading today's post.  Tim: I'll call you next week to apologize.  And, no, you can't delete a blog entry from this site once it's posted, sorry.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

The LG Report: The Inaugural Blog




Sure, it's a cheap move to lead your blog entry with a close up of a cute dog (name to be revealed down below, so keep reading animal lovers...) I know that.  And, clearly, I'm not above it.  Hopefully I have you hooked by now.  Don't make me resort to more cute animal photos.

"The LG Report” may sound a bit too pretentious for a blog title.  Maybe it's a bit too Anderson Cooper-ish.  Any guy with a last name for a first name is pretentious in my book (but not chicks, e.g. Taylor Dane, Whitney Houston and Taylor Swift are all good by me.) Maybe I should go with LG360. Nah, that's sort of taken already (Note: I couldn't figure out how to get that degree symbol inserted after the 360, maybe that alone proves that AC is a smart guy.)  Actually it just shows that the pampered SOB has a good tech staff.  I love Anderson Cooper and if he ever reads this I hope he mentions my blog on air.

Confession: I’ve spun around the Blogger.com dial a bit and I must admit that I don’t fully understand the blogosphere yet. I’ve been writing a blog on an insurance industry website (and I still may be doing so if they haven’t cut off my access yet), but this is my first general interest (read: general interest to me) blog. This site has a different feel from the insurance site, as well as different controls, applications, procedures, etc. The world is complicated, I know. And it ain’t getting any simpler.

If you disagree with me, just fill out Blogger.com Comment Form #45DE843-23 in 10-point Times New Roman font and send it to me via high-speed HTML submission with a Windows 7.0 interface beta oscillator code. That didn’t make sense, I know, you don’t have to tell me.  Don't expect a lot of "sense" here.

Second confession: I was initially attracted to Blogger.com by the originality of its domain name. Someone really strained their creative muscles to come up with that one. “Blogger.com” for a blogging site? Pure genius. “Madmen” could use that type of creativity [Note: continued sarcasm like this may get me kicked off Blogger.com before I have a chance to reach my ambitious goal of 10 "followers."]

Third confession: I once picked up these two hot nurses who were hitch hiking after a rodeo and.  Sorry, I forgot this blog is G-rated. 

My blog will contain a mish mash, hodge podge, grab bag and cornucopia (I could riff all day with the synonyms, but I’m sure you get the idea) of various ramblings: book, movie and travel reviews, political and other opinions, and a wide variety of miscellaneous topics. There’s a not a laser focus here, and there probably never will be. One friend advised me that to be a successful blogger I would need to pick a theme and stick with it (e.g. politics, cooking, religion, college basketball, etc.) I’m not known for following suggestions, especially good ones. So there will be no consistent theme here, although there will be humor (or attempts thereat) throughout. How many other blogs use the word “thereat?” Not many. And the other ones that do aren’t worth your time. When it comes to entertaining blog posts, find them here at, not thereat. I know that's a strained and awkward use of those words, it will be an occurrence common hereat. 

I think that Larry the Cable Guy is pretty funny. If you disagree, you might not like this blog. I don’t have allegiance to particular politicians or a single political party, but when it comes to stuff like Larry the Cable Guy and movies like “Animal House” and “Dumb and Dumber,” I don’t tolerate differing views. Sorry to be so rigid. I’m only bringing up Larry the Cable Guy because one of his high-brow movies happens to be on as I type (I don’t know the title, but I think it’s one of those Merchant Ivory/Elizabethan period pieces.) This is the type of totally random inspiration that I’ll be pumping into the gas tank of this blog.

I think that blogs are infinitely more interesting if they contain pictures. Especially when those pictures are accompanied by funny or facetious captions. In accord with that philosophy, I am inserting some random pictures in this first post.

I will have some high-quality pictures to post soon, when my friend Stan, a photographer extraordinaire, sends me some of his most excellent shots of Key West. I will be writing a Key West travelogue piece, (bold faced to get you excited about what's to come; feel free to bookmark this site!) replete with recommendations for places to stay, eat and drink. I will also mention the Ripley’s Believe It Or Not Museum, although not in depth, so don’t get your hopes up (if you did, in fact, get your hopes up over that, you will love this blog.) I know that you are on the edge of your set. I’ll wait while you center yourself…

OK, so here are the random pix:



This is my friend Chris. He lives in Boston. That’s not really a relevant fact but I’m not restricting my postings to relevant facts. He is the one who advised me to pick a single theme for this blog. He looks intimidating in this photo, makes you want to hide your wallet and walk the other way. He’s so scary-looking that Chuck Norris asked to have Chris’s picture accompany his obituary. But, in real life (non-blog life, that is) Chris is not scary at all. I think that holding the camera low, aiming upwards and sporting a new beard makes him look like a bigger, tougher badass. I don’t think “badass” is a real word but, nonetheless, I hope the creative geniuses at Blogger.com don’t censor it. If they do, I will send Chris to see them.




This is a shot of my sister Maria’s sidewalk (call her “Marie” if you’d like a 50-yard field-goal strength kick in the crotch) at the Jersey Shore the day after the recent snowstorm (Saturday, December 19, 2009.) I posted this photo on another blog that I write and I was accused of intimating that I shoveled this sidewalk myself. I didn’t, so don’t think that you’re smoking me out because I'm admitting it: a snow blower did this. But I did spend hours shoveling her driveway and deck. I have no photos of those because I was too exhausted after that back-breaking work to snap a photo. It was brutal work. Prisoners on chaing gangs don't work that hard.  I know, I watch "Raw" on the Discovery Channel. Those guys are wusses.  Chris could take them.




This is a shot of Sophie the Blog Dog (she’s in the foreground) and Jake. Sophie is six months old and is featured repeatedly on another prominent national blog, which is how she acquired her nickname.  She's also the dog featured at the top of this blog.  The paparazzi hound her everywhere she goes (obvious pun intended.) This is not a good photo of Sophie.  She’s actually very cute despite the fact that she’s the offspring of Lucifer and will gnaw your shirt buttons off if given the slightest chance.  I’m in the process of negotiating rights for some of her glam shots. One of them is a Marilyn Monroe redux picture where Sophie is standing on an air duct and her collar is being blown up around her ears from below.

Jake, eight years old, is very docile and friendly, save for the occasional hump of your leg with his razor sharp claws. Chuck Norris would like a picture of Jake’s paws to accompany his obituary. I guarantee you that Jake could hump Chuck Norris until he yelled "Uncle!" 

So that’s it for my inaugural post.

Please spread the word to anyone who you think may enjoy wasting their time reading a bunch of inane and pretentious crap seasoned with sophomoric humor (but there will be some interesting photos…) If I get a certain number of readers the Energizer Bunny will appear on your computer screen and Bill Gates will send you to Disneyland to claim your free laptop from Sanyo and your inheritance from your long-lost Nigerian relative. And if you find any of this amusing but don't want to have to keep clicking in periodically to see if a new post is up, you can simply sign up as a "follower" and an e-mail will be sent to you automatically when there's something new to read.

I haven’t settled on my stock sign-off phrase yet (by all means feel free to post a comment with a suggestion. As I've already admitted, if it’s a good one, I probably won’t listen…) so for now I’ll just go with "Thanks for stopping by."  And I mean it.

Monday, December 21, 2009

You may have heard about them, "THE ABORIGINES OF AUSTRALIA" I have felt it worthwhile Honoring the people with the oldest living culture in the World


THE ABORIGINES OF AUSTRALIA



THE ABORIGINES OF AUSTRALIA

Just like the sun dies a million deaths and
Resurrects every morning, the same way the
Aborigines gives birth and dies un-noticed
Discriminated, hated and ignored
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed

Blinded by trachoma, a disease as old as the bible
Preventable and with a known cure
Poverty ridden and disfranchised
No proper housing or clean running water
Burst sewers are now wiping them out
Chained to their death beds,
By the affluent white
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed

Diahoerra to the soils
Malaria to the soils
Cholera to the soils
Typhoid to the soils
Aborigines to the soils!
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed to the soils

Once happy hunters and gatherers
Reduced to despondent creatures
Soon, they may become the subjects of
Sydney museums

Poverty and dispossession
Diabetes, deafness and gastroenteritis
Has now finally crippled
Once happy hunters and gatherers
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed

Robbed off their citizenship
Basic services-health care, basic education, housing
And indeed a future robbed off
By the merciless affluent
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed

Their extinction has never been this real
Real people in a real predicament
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed


ALL RIGHTS RESEARVED
MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009

THIS IS AN ORIGINAL POEM. TWO HOURS BEFORE HOLDS ALL THE RIGHTS

Reproduction in any other media is strictly prohibited.
Several years ago, (may be five years) I wrote this poem on Aborigines of Australia. I was inspired by the story of the men and women suffering in the clear watch of the elite white who literally commandeered the lives of this vulnerable community. Though they are not the only vulnerable community in the world, i have felt it worthwhile raising the predicaments of the Aborigine Community to even a bigger audience. Back here in Kenya we have read about the Ongiek Community who are as well a threatened community. Listening on the debate on Mau, you may have heard how very affluent politicians and senior civil servants benefited on land originally allocated to the Ongiek Community.

Further to this, its only this week the grand corruption in implementation of the Free Primary Education was exposed. As we celebrate this years Christmas, let as also ponder on the future of Kenya. Our rapacious politicians continues to rape and disfranchise this great nation. And just like the Aborigines of Australia or the Ongiek Community, we might loose this Motherland that we so dearly cherish.

Finally, It has been a great year been around and i must admit that TWO HOURS BEFORE has really achieved alot in just under an year. It is my very sincere hope that next year we shall be bigger and even more entertaining. To celebrate our achievements this far, we have launched the TWO HOURS BEFORE brand and coming soon we are having the Polo Shirts in the market. Have a great holiday and may your new resolutions be smart. Cheers and thank you once again for your kind support.

Do you have an event and you want it beautiful? Get back to TWO HOURS BEFORE. Ok, what topic do you think I should write about? Get back to us on: +254 725 385 654, Email; fafdays@gmail.com
We have some of the best offers in the market; Our charges are affordable. Call us now.......!
TWO HOURS BEFORE



Thursday, November 26, 2009

THE UNTOLD STORY, is a story you will love to read. It has no plot though, neither does it has characters, Its characters have no characteristics....!

THIS IS THE STORY


The untold story
The story of the past
The story of today
The story of tomorrow
The story about a story- untold

This story has no plot
Neither does it has characters
Its characters have no characteristics
Their characters already dead
It’s a utopic story.

It’s a story about everything
The story tells us nothing
No one likes telling the story
But everybody listens to it.

It’s not written anywhere
It has no narrator
Nobody knows its origin
The only story that makes one laugh
And cry at the same time

Its prologue is unending
Just like its epilogue
It’s a story about many stories
Stories about other stories

It talks about birth
It talks about death too
It’s the story about the righteous
It’s a story about the wicked

The only story about the
Past, today and tomorrow
It’s the story that compares men to beasts

This is the story about the unknown
It talks about America, China, and North Korea
The story is strange
It even mentions Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran and Israel
It idolizes Wall Street



However, the story is shy
It is the only story that misses the word Dafur
The story does not talk about Zimbambwe
Nor does it mention DRC

It’s about rape- fathers raping their daughters
Mothers fornicating with their sons
It’s a strange story
Where characters abuse human dignity
It’s the story that compares the incomparable

The story is set in unknown country
A wonder country
Where true stories are told in whispers
They are not written
Nor sang or narrated- only in whispers
It’s a story of sorrow
A story of bewilderment
Set in illusion

ALL RIGHTS RESEARVED
MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009


THIS IS AN ORIGINAL POEM. TWO HOURS BEFORE HOLDS ALL THE RIGHTS
Reproduction in any other media is strictly prohibited.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

YOU ARE GIVEN 30MINUTES ONLY..........TOPIC; WRITE A POEM TO YOUR MOM AND DAD thanking them for what they have made you to be. Start now...........!

Well, I am not giving you an assignment but this is what a friend of mine told me last night. He called in very late in the night and told me that he wanted to prepare a surprise gift to his mom and Dad for what they had done to him. I felt stuck at first since a had very little myself to celebrate about my parents. If anything my friend who we went to the same high school together made me feel somehow bad.....reason been he reminded me about my Dad. Remember my poem LETTER TO MY FATHER which a posted a couple of weeks ago. Anyway, thats enough commentary, THE BUD is a special one for Mr & Mrs Muroki: "You have such a darling Son- Paul Njuguna Muroki, its a bud you so dearly brought up and he is happy with you."


THE BUD

Not so long ago
a bud sprut out,
Each day, a new leaf Developed
Growing stronger than
the previous one.

In the morning, Mom watered the bud
In the evenning the usual nourishment.
During sunshine, Dad offered the shade
and the bud grew stronger and stronger.

The bud is now gone
It has grown into beautiful flowers
Bright and Adorable
The envy of all buds.

Soon, the flowers shall disappear
Only then shall Mom and Dad
Leap the fruits.

Big, Round, Juicy and Sweet
Dad and Mom!
“Thats what you have made me,
I Cherish your love and care”



NOTE: This poem is a special appreciation to Mr & Mrs Muroki, its reproduction in any media is strictly prohibited. TWO HOURS BEFORE holds the rights to this poem and thus it cannot be used for any other purpose, other than the one intended to by the client.
PAUL NJUGUNA MUROKI

It took me exactly 45minutes to compose and post this poem. Did you like it? Would you like a similar appreciation to a close friend, mom and dad, brother or sister, husband or wife? Do you have an event and you want it beautiful? Get back to TWO HOURS BEFORE. Ok, what topic do you think I should write about? Get back to us on: +254 725 385 654, Email; fafdays@gmail.com
We have some of the best offers in the market; Our charges are affordable. Call us now.......!
TWO HOURS BEFORE

Monday, November 23, 2009

"WHO AM I" is a special one for the only woman in my life.


WHO AM I

Who do they say I am?
In the vast savanna
They call me daughter of the sands
The beleaguered woman
The shelter maker

Who do they say I am?
At the coast, I have several names
Saumu, Fatima, Harsia…..
Daughter of the deep seas
The mummy water; others quip
Who am I?
The beleaguered woman
The pilau cook

Akinyi yoo
Akoko yoo, Atieno yoo
Daughter of the fishes
They say my omena is the best
And you, whom do you think I am?
Have you ever seen me dancing?
Off course not to those silly instruments
Not at all
Dancing to the tunes of otutu
Daughter of Ramogi
The beleaguered woman

Irio is my favorite
I also make good matoke!
Many a man fears me
“She is the money manic; the gold-digger?”
Wanjiku, Gaceri, Waithera
All are my names
The beleaguered woman
Pillar of Mt. Kenya

Kitu cha mtongoea
What does this mean?
Others say I am the daughter of the salty waters
The face of the vast plains
The hip buster
Others call me a witch
I am not one,
I am a bed wizard
Look at my curves- my bait
The beleaguered woman
The bed icon


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. REPRODUCTION IN PART OR WHOLE WITHOUT PRIOR CONSENT FROM THE AUTHOR IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.

This is an original work by Mwangi S. Muthiora.

Friday, November 20, 2009

I have not posted a poem for a while, but 2Hrs B4 has now made a comeback. No complains today, I have forgotten the cries its time to CHEER AFRICA.




CHEER UP AFRICA

Sing, dear mother land
Of your richness at hand
No better place one can find
Cool serine air of your land

Sing songs of acceptance
Though must be a rare chance
Sing a song
Dance a dance
And your image you enhance

Quiet beaches you have
Beautiful forests you have
In your waters sweet fishes thrive
Dear lives you saves

Mama Africa oh mother Africa
Sing a song
Dance a dance

Civil war the bother
Conflicts should weather
We dance in clean weather
Donning white feathers

Heal your wounds mother land
Mourn no more
A change is always good
Sing of your positives
And not negatives
Sing the righteous hymns
And leave the wicked dance

Sing a song
Dance a dance
Cheer up mother land,
Cheer!



MWANGI MUTHIORA
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
TWO HOURS BEFORE is a Registered Trademark!

Sunday, November 1, 2009

TOP 100 - Class your man 2009

1° Enrique Iglesias
2° Cristiano Ronaldo

3° Brad Pitt
4° Daniel Craig
5° Hugh Jackman
6° David Beckham
7° Leo Giamani
8° Novak Djokovic
9° Eric Dane
10° Zac efron
11° Matt Stone
12° Robert Pattinson
13° Julian Mc Mahon
14° Patrick Dempsey
15° Marat Safin
16° Ricky Martin
17° Evan Wade
18° Romain Mesnil
19° Michael Vartan
20° James Denton
21° Matt Born
22° Brent van Zant
23° Eddie Cibrian
24° Kerry Degman
25° Jonathan Rhys-meyer
26° Jean Galfione
28° William Levy
29° George Clooney
30° Levi Poulter
31° Rusty Joiner
32° Ryan Barry
33° Derrick davenport
34° Colin Farrell
35° Radoslav Vanko
36° Marx Malachi
37° Orlando Bloom
38° Gaston Justin
39° Chad Michael Murray
40° Shemar Moore
41° Keanu Reeves
42° Filip Nikolic
43° Henry Cavill
44° Jude Law
45° Johnny Depp
46° Ben Affleck
47° Eric Close
48° Roman Heart
49° Simon Czaplinski
50° Ben Pamies
51° Jake Gyllenhaal
52° Mateus Verdelho
53° Antonio Banderas
54° Reynaldo Gianecchini
55° Jesse Metcalfe
56° Ryan Carnes
57° Edilson Nascimiento
58° Leandro Okabe
59° Olivier Martinez
60° Rafael Verga
61° Chris Poydenis
62° Josh Holloway
63° Wentworth Miller
64° Cory Grant
65° Jonathan Waud
66° David Rich
67° Joey Sylvester
68° Aitor Mateo
69° Marco Dapper
70° James Lafferty
71° Patrick Swayze
72° Bryan Thomas
73° Adam
74° Brad Alphonso
75° Tom Cruise
76° Carlos Freire
77° Paul Francis
78° Benjamin Godfre
79° Amaury Nolasco
80° Tyson Ballou
81° Justin Thomas
82° Victor Webster
83° Jason Chambers
84° Justin Chambers
85° Chris Rockway
86° Andres Mercado
87° Andrés Velencoso Segura
88° Raoul Bova
89° Joseph Sayers
90° zack johnathan vazquez
92° Eric Martsolf
92° Enrique Murciano
93° Brandon Beemer
94° Bastian Buxx
95° Fernando Bacalow
96° Jeff Tomsik
97° Tony L
98° Carlos Bernard
99° Djimon Hounsou
100° Akihiro Sato

1° Enrique Iglesias







Thursday, October 29, 2009

"ANOTHER BIRTH" 24 GIRLS IN A CLASS OF 25 HAVE DROPPED OUT OF SCHOOL-ALL OF THEM PREGNANT.

Last week there was a very sad story on Kenya's leading newspaper the Daily Nation about the high rate of early pregnancies. This came at the time when there has been a debate about contraceptives and the HIV prevalence rate going up. The story on the Daily Nation was about this school that twenty four girls out of twenty five have dropped out of school because they are pregnant. This are girls well under 16 years and infact most of them are just 10 years or slightly above. This has made me think about Birth especially the young mothers most of them barely 15 years old yet expectant.

Could this be the new tread in the rest of the world? I have just one more question, how shall tomorrows birth look like?

Below is the Poem, " Another Birth"




ANOTHER BIRTH

Yesterday’s birth was good
The new born survived
There were pains- as usual,
Every woman cried,
Wailed,
Screamed, to welcome the guest
Many of them are used to this treat and test

Today there will be another birth
There will be more pain
It will be unbearable
The wails and screams will likely be louder
The first experience- more to come
Today’s birth will be different from yesterdays
Today’s birth may be better than tomorrow’s

Everyone is talking about it
The women are talking in whispers
The grannies are dumb
How about the men?
Only a few are shocked
After-all this yet another strike
A strike from an iron rod
That she handled without care

Young and tender
She let it tore her fabric
She let the ink spill on her fabric
She let the sword pierce the fabric
She let them, him, skin her alive
She let it happen nine months ago,
Innocently

Everyone is waiting eagerly
For tomorrows birth
To see the little thing
And how it shall look like
The day after tomorrow
Another birth
Then, the world might
Listen and reason
For the fruit is not yet ripe
For that birth

Simon Mwangi Muthiora
COPYRIGHT: MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009
AUTHOR: MWANGI WA MUTHIORA

Monday, October 26, 2009

"WHO AM I" came into my mind when I came across a batterd Woman and I wondered howmuch we appreciate our DAUGHTERS, WIVES, SISTERS and MOTHERS.......!

WHO AM I



Who do they say I am?
In the vast savanna
They call me daughter of the sands
The beleaguered woman
The shelter maker

Who do they say I am?
At the coast, I have several names
Saumu, Fatima, Harsia…..
Daughter of the deep seas
The mummy water; others quip
Who am I?
The beleaguered woman
The pilau cook

Akinyi yoo
Akoko yoo, Atieno yoo
Daughter of the fishes
They say my omena is the best
And you, who do you think I am?
Have you ever seen me dancing?
Off course not to those silly instruments
Not at all
Dancing to the tunes of otutu
Daughter of Ramogi
The beleaguered woman

Irio is my favorite
I also make good matoke!
Many a man fears me
“She is the money manic; the gold-digger?”
Wanjiku, Gaceri, Waithera
All are my names
The beleaguered woman
Pillar of Mt. Kenya

Kitu cha mtongoea
What does this mean?
Kitu gain hii
Others say I am the daughter of the salty waters
The face of the vast plains
The hip buster
Others call me a witch
I am not one,
I am a bed wizard

SPECIAL ONE FOR THE WOMAN WHO BORE ME; PURITY MUGURE, "You are such a darling to me. Despite those very ugly episodes in your life. I attest to the fact that you are the greatest Woman i have ever known. I love you!

"This post will never be complete without the rare mention of WAIRIMU KAIYEHE; You make me proud baibe. I have never known any better way of appreciating our love. But one day i am certain we shall kill the distance. You are special too"
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

TELL ME NOW what i was writing about, first it was a Spoon, then on the way i thought about a Woman's 'Eye'



TELL ME NOW

Oh tell me now
What I have never known
Throughout my long journey
I have had encounters

No one has ever told me the truth
What pleasures they derives from me
I have never explored myself
I may never get the opportunity
I may never feel the taste of myself

Tell me,
Would there be taste without me?
You may say yes,
How then do you crave to scratch my back?
Your finger has always pointed at my eye

During my long journeys
I have been to the corridors of power
I have been to the most holly shrines
I have been to the murkiest forests
I have also been to
Battle fields
Many a night I have slept in tents
In slums
In palaces alike

Tell me now
What pleasure do you derive from me
Your finger always pointing at my eye
None of you has ever exhausted me
That’s why I fly on
Run on
Walk on
Swim on and
Crawl on

Oh tell me,
What pleasure you finds in me
Your finger always pointing at my eye
What pleasure do I give you?
I am tried, tested, tasted and trusted
Your finger always pointing at my eye.


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009 2HRS B4

"AMPUTATED ITCH" is the story of our childhood jiggers that reminds us how far we have come from. Amputation reflects the change of Fortunes in life.


AMPUTATED ITCH

Until the accident
That road accident
I had my toes- I would feel them on
That reminds me of my childhood
Those little creatures
That some time gave me a sweet itch
I would love to scratch between the toes
Not before they breed
And their white eggs
Oozed out!

My leg is now gone
Gone with the scalpel
Knee downward

That reminds me of the accident
That crippled and condemned me to a wheelchair
It is many years now
After feeling the scalpel rip my leg off
After the amputation
But I can still feel the itch
Through an illusion nerve
Reminding of my childhood
The wrong gone days,
Gone long away!

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
MWANGI WA MUTHIORA

Sunday, October 18, 2009

What Osama bin Laden and Ayman al-Zawahri Do All Day, or Why I Cannot Talk About Politics With My Father

I have finally come to understand why I cannot talk about politics, terrorism or international relations with my father, not that it matters much, except as a glimpse of a much larger phenomenon.

It's not just my father. I can't talk about politics or terrorism or world affairs with anyone who has lived his or her entire life under the great umbrella of American propaganda.

They have insulated themselves under an enormous web of lies, and hidden themselves away from actual knowledge of their nation and its role in the world, both of which they see dimly, if at all: the world as a dark, dangerous, mysterious place, and their nation as the best of all nations -- nay, the best of all possible nations.

They have been content to collect the scraps tossed their way by the American War Machine, although they would never call it that. Nor would they ever consider themselves in any way complicit in America's endless war on the rest of the world, a war they never even acknowledge.

It's a war waged on multiple planes, of which the military, being the bloodiest, is easily the most visible. And it didn't start last week, or last year, or even eight years ago.

It's been going on all their lives -- or since they were little kids. For an ever-increasing percentage of America's population, it's always been there.

Like the land, the sea and the sky, it's the backdrop against which their lives take place.

Only a fool would question the sea and sky.

... or the notion that the American War Machine should be what it is, and is what it should be.

Except that it's not true. None of it is true. And even worse -- they know it's not true.

As long as every little lie stays in place, the umbrella stands, so to speak: the big lies remain sacred, so to speak. But once you start to pull and tug, and separate one lie from another, and expose them to the light of knowledge and reason ... well, that's where it gets intolerable.

And I guess I just love to pull and tug.

I came to this moderately interesting conclusion in the hospital room where I've been spending most of my weekends lately, sitting there with my father and reading the newspaper he read before I arrived.

He's so far from where I grew up that I have no connection with any of the local stories: I read them as if they were field reports from places I may never hear of again, much less visit.

One week there was a story about a guy who took some construction equipment and started blazing a trail through a state park. One week there was a story about a new McDonald's opening in one of the suburbs. This weekend there was a story about a schoolteacher who was sitting alone in her classroom doing paperwork when a buck burst through the window.

You just never know what you'll find in the local news, but all the stories share a common feature: they're verifiable. I could go see the damage to the park. I could eat at the new fast food restaurant. And I could visit the school, admire the new window, and meet the teacher who hid under her desk.

I haven't actually done any of these things, and it's not likely that I ever would. But I could. You could. Anyone could. And the same is true of virtually all the local news: you can't predict what you'll find, but you can certainly check it out.

On the other hand, with world news, and often with national politics, it's just the opposite. What there is to read -- what my father reads every day, what he's been reading for his entire adult life -- is utterly predictable, and completely unverifiable. And therefore, he doesn't have any reason not to believe it -- unless I start talking.

I've just had dental surgery and I wasn't doing much talking this weekend. But that's another story -- and one I'll spare you.

I've read a lot of predictable, unverifiable, manure over the years, but I have never seen it more concentrated and hilarious than in Sebastian Rotella's most recent piece in the Los Angeles Times.

Entitled "Setbacks weaken Al Qaeda's ability to mount attacks, terrorism officials say", it had me laughing so hard that I've preserved it for posterity at my "other blog".

I happened to read Sebastian Rotella's newest masterpiece, not because it was in the paper in my dad's room, but because it set off my Google News Alert with its mention of Rashid Rauf. As long-time readers will remember, I wrote extensively about Rashid Rauf and the so-called Liquid Bombers, beginning in August of 2006 when they were arrested, and continuing until I became unable to blog much (or at all). But even when I haven't been writing, I've still been reading, and collecting.

Over the past three years I have preserved more than 330 articles mentioning Rashid Rauf, and it has been fascinating (in an entirely predictable way) to watch his legend develop. (And you can read the word "legend" in either of two ways: it can mean either "a fable" or "an intelligence agent's cover story".)

In 2006, Rashid Rauf was merely a "key figure" in the so-called Liquid Bombing plot -- possibly a messenger of some kind. Then he was the al Qaeda connection. Then he was the bomb-making expert. Then he was the mastermind. Then he was an al Qaeda commander.

The latter was an interesting step in the growing legend. Not everyone gets to be an al Qaeda commander.

I first read that Rashid Rauf was an al Qaeda commander from Bill Roggio, who writes the aptly named "Long War Journal". Upon reading that Rashid Rauf was an al Qaeda commander, I immediately felt a sense of inadequacy -- having read everything I could find about Rashid Rauf, how could I not have known he was an al Qaeda commander?

Then I got a bit indignant: Why should Bill Roggio know that Rashid Rauf is an al Qaeda commander when I don't know it myself? Later I simmered down a bit and became less emotional and more pragmatic. The question became: How does Bill Roggio know Rashid Rauf is an al Qaeda commander?

Much to my astonishment, Long War Journal takes comments from unknown visitors. So I left Bill Roggio a comment, saying: "How do you know Rashid Rauf is an al Qaeda commander?"

To my further astonishment, my comment appeared immediately. So I bookmarked the page and returned a day later, hoping for an explanation from Bill Roggio as to where and how he had learned that Rashid Rauf was an al Qaeda commander. Instead of such an explanation, I found -- to no astonishment at all -- that my comment had been deleted. "Aha!" I thought, "That's how we know Rashid Rauf is an al Qaeda commander." What a thing to have learned!

We also learned quite a bit about Bill Roggio and his "Long War Journal", none of which could have been news. (Long War Journal? Why do you think it's called that?)

Then Rashid Rauf was also named -- as always, by an unnamed source -- as the al Qaeda contact for the dozen Pakistani students arrested in the UK in April of 2009 under so-called "Operation Pathway". No criminal charges were filed against any of the students, who were released from police custody but nonetheless held pending "deportation hearings" which still haven't started -- and most of the students have now left the UK "voluntarily".

Shortly after the Operation Pathway arrests, Rashid Rauf's legend began to grow again. Soon he was was al Qaeda's Commander for European Operations. Then he was a facilitator for the London bombings of 7/7/2005.

How much more is there? I've been wondering: How long it will take before he was behind 9/11? Or the 1993 WTC bombing? Oklahoma City? Beirut? Who really killed JFK, anyway? Was it Rashid Rauf? Or to put it another way: How do we know it wasn't?

I may have been kidding about that last part but the rest is serious, and Rashid Rauf's legend continues to grow backwards. The most recent additions to the legend have proceeded despite (or because of) the death (or not) of Rashid Rauf in a drone-launched missile attack in Pakistan in November of 2008.

Sebastian Rotella's LAT piece hints -- for the first time of which I am aware -- at a connection between Rashid Rauf and a failed attempt to bomb London in 2004. This is a year earlier than the previous publicly hinted connection: the backward legend-building is only three years short of 9/11 now, and it won't be long ...

It's a sick laugh, and one I can't share with my father, but laughs are scarce in these days of bogus terror everywhere, and unspoken dangers everywhere else. And the people who make me laugh have an impossible job.

The task -- for somebody like Bill Roggio or Sebastian Rotella -- is to make the threat of terrorism appear to be diminishing and increasing at the same time. It has to be serious enough to justify spending hundreds of billions every year, and throwing your civil rights down the drain at the same time, and the results of such an enormous sacrifice must be tangible. And yet, despite the tangible success, the threat must never go away, or even be significantly diminished, because then the hundreds of billions of dollars per year would have to stop -- or at least stop growing. And we can't have that.

You might start clamoring for the return of your civil rights. We can't have that, either.

For all these reasons -- not to mention the oil -- we simply can't have an end to the War on Terror (by whatever name the president wants us to call it these days), and that means no president can ever declare it won and no president can ever declare it un-winnable.

Victory, while always getting closer, has to remain as far away as ever.

Very few writers manage it well, and Sebastian Rotella is a master of the art. But he exceeds even himself in his most recent piece. You have to read the whole thing to get the full sick belly laugh from it, but a few fragments may entice you to read more (at the LAT or at my home away from home).

Rotella leads with this give-and-take combination:
As Al Qaeda is weakened by the loss of leaders, fighters, funds and ideological appeal, the extremist network's ability to attack targets in the United States and Western Europe has diminished, anti-terrorism officials say.

Nonetheless, Al Qaeda and allied groups based primarily in Pakistan remain a threat, particularly because of an increasing ability to attract recruits from Central Asia and Turkey to offset the decline in the number of militants from the Arab world and the West.
Rotella even uses the words "diminished" and "increasing" in his opening paragraphs. The man is a wizard!

And he follows with another combination:
Al Qaeda's relative strength these days is of crucial importance in the complex debate in Washington over future U.S. troop levels and tactics in Afghanistan and Pakistan.

Although factions within the Obama administration differ on how best to deal with the Taliban in Afghanistan, all agree that the paramount priority is defeating Al Qaeda. Unlike the Afghan Taliban, the terrorist network Al Qaeda remains committed to a holy war against the West with a goal of matching or surpassing its devastating attacks in 2001.
Matching or surpassing whose devastating attacks in 2001? There's the rub, isn't it?

All chroniclers of the Terror War, from hacks like Bill Roggio to masters like Sebastian Rotella, must write as if 9/11 had been fully and impartially investigated and that the conclusions of said investigation had been accepted as final by all thinking people. The fact that only non-thinking people believe any of the 9/11 manure is routinely glossed over, by wizard and hack alike.

Rotella is not only a wizard himself but he also has some wizardly sources:
"Some pretty experienced individuals have been taken out of the equation," a senior British anti-terrorism official said in a recent interview.

"There is fear, insecurity and paranoia about individuals arriving from outside, worries about spies and infiltration," said the official, who requested anonymity because of the sensitive topic. "There is a sense that it has become a less romantic experience. Which is important because of the impact on Al Qaeda the brand, the myth, the idea of the glorious jihadist."
"Taken out of the equation" is British math-talk for "killed along with hundreds of civilians in a series of drone attacks".

But "Al Qaeda the brand"?? And "the myth"?? This senior British anti-terrorism official has one foot in the grave and the other on the truth, does he not? Outrageous!!

But it gets better! Enter the president:
President Obama cited the debilitated condition of the terrorist network last week during a visit with U.S. counter-terrorism officials.

"Because of our efforts, Al Qaeda and its allies have not only lost operational capacity, they've lost legitimacy and credibility," he said.
I almost stopped laughing long enough to ask myself: How could this fiction lose "legitimacy and credibility"? Is Obama pulling our leg, too?

Next in line for Rotella: an "ex"-CIA man working for the NYPD (whom Rotella calls a "scholar") virtually confirms the long-simmering notion that the entire al Qaeda legend is built on entrapment:
The number of failed plots in the West, whether directed or inspired by Al Qaeda, also shows that the quality of operatives has declined, scholar Marc Sageman testified at a hearing of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee last week.

"Counter-terrorism is working," said Sageman, a former CIA officer and New York Police Department expert. "Terrorist organizations can no longer cherry-pick the best candidates as they did in the 1990s. There is no Al Qaeda recruitment program: Al Qaeda and its allies are totally dependent on self-selected volunteers."
Self-selected volunteers, indeed. Knuckleheads of the world unite!

I won't make you wait any longer. Here's the bit you've been waiting for, and once again it's from the unnamed senior British official:
In several recent cases, Western trainees in Pakistan allegedly had contact with Mustafa Abu Yazid, also known as Said Sheik, a longtime Egyptian financial boss. Abu Yazid acts as the day-to-day chief of the network while Osama bin Laden and his deputy, Ayman Zawahiri, spend their time eluding capture, said the British official.
It's a thing of beauty, is it not?
Osama bin Laden and his deputy, Ayman Zawahiri, spend their time eluding capture.
As I was saying, it's a sick laugh. But it's a laugh all the same.

The pity is that my father (who reads three newspapers a day and has done so for the past 40 years) and millions of other mainstream media Americans believe every word of it. It doesn't matter to them if Osama bin Laden is obviously dead, or Ayman al-Zawahri (whose name is always misspelled as "Zawahiri" in the Western press) is obviously an agent of Israeli propaganda -- just the same as it doesn't matter whether Rashid Rauf is alive or dead: if he's dead, his death is a victory for the forces of good (the US military, of course) and if he's alive, then he's a threat that must be eliminated by the forces of good (ditto, ditto).

It's no wonder we can't catch bin Laden or al-Zawarhi.

And only a fool would question the sea and sky.

So I rubbed my jaw and tried to smile. Dental surgery is such a bitch!

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Saturday, October 17, 2009

"APPEAR TONIGHT" is a poem about wife inheritance. A practice as old as time, it remains deep rooted in our society! But we can all say no, TONIGHT.




"APPEAR TONIGHT|

Oh my poor man
Man of a woman
Son of a woman
Did you have to leave?
At one million hour
When I needed you most?

A son was not all I wanted
One was not enough
Three or four would have been better

Could you be watching this?
Your lustful brothers
Your cruel mother
Oh! I hope I left instead

I remember those days
When we soiled and toiled together
Remember the ever dying promises
Promises of a prince to a princess
The kisses
All those adventures,
Now gone and washed away

The moment you shut down,
A part of me went under
It went with you
I hardly live again

Why did you have to go?
Was it natural?
Could your mother have a hand in this?
Probably she is the bad omen

Your splendid smile
Is still fresh in my mind
My body is nostalgic
Missing the golden touch
Warming the loins and
Illuminating my womanly faculties
Were you here tonight…?

To share my wet dreams
Did you see him force me?
Please forgive me my dear
They forced me
Threatened me with eviction
If I declined!
I am sorry I lay him, I know you saw that
But I had to, or else your sons would loose
The land would go
And ‘home’ is no better, my brothers are no better
Neither is dad any good!

Your lustful brother has made me swell
Is this the way to sorry a widow?
Lay her night long?
It’s him to blame, eating from your plate.
This could never have happened, if you were around

I miss your smile
You would be cheering me up
Please cheer me tonight
Let me see beyond
Let me feel you
Only for tonight
Creep below my blankets
And warm my loins
Creep deep in, and
End my thirst, the thirst of a widow
It is only you who will know how!

Before they retires to bed
I don’t know who will be the man tonight
But, feel me before ‘he’ comes
I want you one last time
Touch me
Appear tonight
For a night


This a special one to all Inherited Women in Kenya and other parts of Africa. This practice is as old as the Bible yet women continue to suffer silently. Besides been inherited this women are battered and treated like deities by preying male who use them as sex tools.

ALL RIGHTS RESEARVED
MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

He was young at the time of his death, but his strong Will & Love was enomous. Simon Kamatu, your typical young saint, "My Tribute To Simon"

DEAR SIMON- "MY TRIBUTE"


"DEAR SIMON- MY TRIBUTE"

I doubt you will read this
I hope you will anyway.
It hurts to think about you
Atleast not now

How much I wish you are on a short journey
Oh, how much I wish you are just somewhere
Smiling as you always did.

Simon, my pen is refusing to write
Its innocence is open
My mind is refusing to think
My guilt is open
This paper is refusing to bear you
Its innocence is open

Why did this happen to you?
Why?
At that tender age!

When you lived
Very few people cared, just a few
Many didn’t bother.
Very few
Wanted to be with you,
To know you,
To help you,
To feed you,
To listen to you,
Or even to think about you.

You were always jovial,
In an empty stomach
You smiled
In torn shirts and shorts
You laughed
When no one showed love
You simply praised God.
What a heart!

Now that you are with us no more
We are all crying our hearts out.
Our eyes are swollen
A true sign of guilt
And even pretence

Wish we loved you when you lived
Wish we made you laugh
Wish we smiled together
Wish we appreciated you
Wish you would live again.

Simon, all and sundry gave eulogies
Young
Cheerful
Playful
Prayerful
Faithful
But they were all regretful

Your love for the world was not in vain
It was the best lesson for us all
That the ‘will’ is bigger than people, years, and it
Can conquer this world.

As we celebrate you Simon,
We just make one request…..
That we are all guilty,
Fill our hearts with joy again
And heal this cancer
That has eroded and eaten away
The Love of our hearts!



Simon Kamatu was my cousin and he died young. He had the spirit and will of a real gentleman.

All rights reserved. Simon Mwangi Muthiora

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Dear Troops ...

Tonight I drove past a "Christian" church with sign saying this:
THANK THE TROOPS. WRITE A LETTER.
So I did. And here it is:
Dear Troops,

Thou Shalt Not Kill.

Please always remember this Commandment, and go find a job which does not require you to violate it.

Thank you very much.

Sincerely,
WP


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