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This is a trailer. This is a taste. This is the little thing before the big thing. This is the whispery whistle before the full blast of the fart of one of the funkiest bowels of bloggery. This is the teaser for Urban Legend Kampala, the next step in the evolution of blogging.

First spot.
SleekandWild: a man who is so badass that he is actually two people and both of them are fraught with danger and concealed weaponry that massacres every single Monday.

You may perhaps have noticed over the past few so and so weeks a marked lack of activity on this blog. I mean, the fool comes here, changes the theme, notes the dark threat from commenter Pinky, (She said “get yo ass off the couch Baz n write somethin dimwit”) shivers, but then still somehow manages to leave without an update.
To steal a word I read the other day that I have been dying to use, you might be wondering, “Whasgono?”
I like that word a lot and shall deploy it again very soon.
Some of you haters out there might even be sneering at your screens saying, “You see? He thought he would never run out of crap. Well, there you go! Finally the crap is finished. The bowel, so to speak, is empty!”
To such people I say, don’t be so hasty. I know what I’m doing.

Potholes used to feature a lot in newspaper columns. Even by those written by my favourite columnist and Ian Clarke.
The two of them would often, when their hacks were raised, thrust their fists quivering into the air. And harrumph loudly. And belch plumes of fire into the sky. While doing all this, they would simultaneously type spirited and beautiful tirades about the state of Ugandan roads all over my newspaper.
I couldn’t relate. Potholes, schmotholes. As a member of the public transit class, such a set and confirmed and prolific taxi rider that I even had a favourite seat, I had no idea potholes were anything but picturesque deviations to the general grey of the road.
Taxi drivers are, as we all know, forged in the fires of hell. They are not humans created by God. The other guy made taxi drivers.

Mrs Ruth Kavuma Nvumetta is a Ugandan member of parliament. She represents the islands of Kalangala.
She was recently seen participating in the continent-wide reality TV show Big Brother Africa, prompting much distress. Big Brother Africa is known as a place for pointless social misfits to compete, if you can call it that, in idleness. They sit around in what is called the Big Brother House just scratching in their pants and rearranging their bits and hoping that, from this, they will gain some celebrity. The whole business is embarrassing and silly, because this isn’t dumbed down television: dumbed down TV needs to bend over and extend a telescope to see Big Brother.
This is no place for an honourable elected member of the third arm of government. How did she end up in there?
I have a theory.
I imagine her aide was rustling through her mail one day in her island MP office and came upon one letter. “They want you to visit the house next week, Hon.”