Pay social media insulters like they do influencers

Sunday July 14 2019

 

By Jacobs Seaman Odongo

Last week, I landed on a book titled, The Subtle Art of Insulting. Now that sounded like something. As I read the book, I realised that some people are so gifted that the UN should open a special agency in charge of exploitation of talented insulters.
Like the UN Agency for Rights of Insulters (Unari).
But then again, the UN only listens when you are mentioning DR Congo. Last week one of their so-called experts wrote a 54-page report about Uganda apparently invading “North and South Kivu”. Turns out the punk (well, this is all about insults) had been told of Uganda beating DR Congo 2-0 in Afcon tie.
The report had names like Gen Kavu Yo (Kaddu) and Col Maya orchestrating rings as Brig Ok Wing completed the routing and carried minerals back to Uganda. Rumour says there is another report being drafted about a warlord called Murdergascar who attacked a small village called Matampi, also in eastern DR Congo.
The expert vows he will see to it that the Ugandan warlords and their Murdergascan (forget Malagasy) counterpart join Bosco Ntaganda in The Hague.
Anyway, back to insulting, there is this fella called Ssengoba on Facebook. He believes I invented and patented insulting. That when I insult, the word insult tries to run away by editing itself into ‘consult’. I have been thinking, if I am that good, why don’t corporate companies and moneyed individuals contract me to do for them the reverse of what these idlers passing for social media influencers are doing?
Ssengoba, who is right about now pulling off strands of nasal hair in anger because I misspelled his name with double S, can start by being my first client. He just deploys me to insult myself.
There are a few people around who believe I’m more than capable of such. When I feel humble, I try to agree with them. But most times I end up realising that we would all be wrong.
On WhatsApp, some guys felt bloated after losing their bets on Morocco and Egypt. They accused me of insulting them by praising Magogo, the man at Fufa House who is currently dividing national opinion of what “mutual consent” means.
I wanted to cry when a chap said to me: “Seaman, sometimes I need what you only can provide: your absence.”
“I would prefer a battle of wits, but you appear unarmed,” another added.
At this point the emotion that was welling in my tear glands deserted me. I felt a strong urge to fart instead. I did. And was relieved to realise that unlike our CJ, I don’t move around with a Shs400m toilet that is inbuilt with an instant fart freshner. The fetor overwhelmed the emotions via my nostrils. Just like that, I forgot about the attacks.
To many taxpayers, the Judiciary’s toilets that come inbuilt with Wi-Fi (for downloading the real s**t) and BeIN Intelsat signals, is insulting. But did you know that the BeIN signal helps the user see inside their rectum so they can tell that the ‘thing’ they are pushing is ‘finished’ in there. This way, they don’t waste time sitting there and pushing and pushing when there is nothing that will come out anymore.
That important time that would otherwise be wasted is instead used to attend to case backlog.
Imagine at this point the Judiciary needs insulters who can defend their image using faecal blow for faecal blow when before Parliament. Those MPs asking rosy questions in matters of judicial golden pupu would flee when insulters get started.
How can MPs who deplete the Treasury in demand for allowances query judicial toilets?
Nowadays we have one too many chaps with ego issues. We can’t be using bullets on them when ‘insulters’ can sort things with words.
I know a woman who should contract an ‘insulter’ to deal with her estranged pastor hubby, just like the CJ could reduce case backlog not with fancy toilets but by having ‘insulters’ attend to a few cases. Prisons would be decongested.

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