It is said that humour is one way in which humans
cope with tragedy. Unfortunately my tragedy is that people laugh when I am serious
and don’t laugh when I am joking. Luckily, during the 2013 Sema Tall Talescontest, I got the hint that I might not be human at all but a Dromindan. Thank you very
much +Alligator Makori.
I subscribed to the contest to live the
dream and lift the trophy. Well, I thoroughly enjoyed my five minutes of fame until Ralph Palmer, seriously intoxicated after imbibing those liquids available only
at Lavington West, elsewhere referred to as Kawangware, came zooming away in
his risky contraption in the form a car missing 2 wheels.
How I wished that I was as stoic as the six
feet less three inches, Dainah Kibera who remained unruffled as +Waihiga Higgz Muturi threatened to scatter and scuttle the contest using a crude weapon
in the name
of protecting his Olympic millions and ego. Had I with me my M16, I would have
showed him how +Joyce Kaduki felt shedding green tears after snacking on spinach
between green pepper snacks in the name of dieting after hearing the truth that
she is not fat in just that one dress but in any other dress any place any time,
including the other side where Anthony Wang’ondu sneaks to to share an illegal drink
with Jomo before being processed.
Lastly I thank the tie breaker judge for
breaking the tie between me and myself for position of 'others in the contest'.
If you still would like to know what sort of madness was going on there, below is my speech and it's video here.
Mr. Bee!
Sir! yes sir!
Please take the stand.
That is me being discharged from the military.
Some of you may call know me Mr. Bee, but do you wonder how it started? Well I can tell you; It all started during my stint serving as a Navy SEAL.
Who are seals and how can they have the audacity to call someone Mr. Bee?
It is an elite, rapid deployment force drawn from various units of the US military. Occasionally it does recruit from friendly foreign armies, and that is how as a soldier serving in the 82 Air force, I got to join. While in team six, my compatriots would say that my M16 stung like a bee, then after leading outstanding successful missions into enemy territory they said I was the honey maker for the team. And when I designed and deployed the current sensation that is the surveillance drone, they started calling me Man-Drone that later mutated to Mr. Bee.
East of Mount Kenya we have a saying that a young man looking at his
Grandmother thinks the clan wasted animals in her bride price. So, if my face that
has started scaring young children makes you doubt that I was once a fine
soldier, you are not alone. To qualify, we had swim 500 meters, then
do 42 press-ups, then 50 sit-ups, then sixty
pull-ups, and lastly run 1500 metres all this in less than 25 minutes.
The training is punishing and painful but the results are
rewarding. And am neither talking about the 1 million USD dollars I was paid after
that small matter of my dropping Osama to the depths of the gulf of Aden.
Neither the 2 million US dollars I was paid by the family to retrieve back the
body.
I am talking about how it got me a wife and a name.
After being honorably discharged from the military I did the logical
thing; I joined Toastmasters in the hope of meeting a young clever retirement
wife.
Day one she was sitting right there. When she smiled like
Toastmasters do, I felt like it was to only me. Then like toastmasters
frequently do, she disappeared. How I frantically I searched every club in this
town in the guise of speaking and other roles! I even started one. Then like
all Toastmasters finally do, she reappeared.
Presently, we got to the scene where I present myself before her
relatives so they could enumerate the animals and liquid intoxicants I needed
to send to her clan.
Well it turned out to be only one item. A beehive!
Full of bees!
To their chagrin, because I was not prepared to share my
Osama or is that Obama millions as they cunningly intended I decided to deliver
the beehive. In disbelieve, my uncle promptly donated one of his. But I had an
ace up my sleeve. In the SEAL service I had learnt an antidote to the bee sting
pain. Which is; you I squeeze a little lemon juice into a yellow bottle top. Cut
the tip of a red chili, then use it to stir the juice two times counter
clockwise and three times clockwise, then pour the drops down your left nostril.
That is what I did! It is not painful. No. It is
excruciating. But it is the antidote to a bee sting pain. I delivered the hive and
henceforth everywhere you go in the whole of that land between mt. Kenya and
the coast, Mr. Bee is a house hold name second only to Tiger Power.
