We are in a fix. Many can neither be fixed nor fix their own lives- but you can be sure the government is robustly equipped to fix your name in the next corruption scandal. There is a new virus in the city and you can bet it is not Zika Virus. A habit that has degenerated into a disease being propagated by superfluous supply of internet bundles and the skanky delay of Donald Trump to shut down the internet! (Trump actually thinks he is one heck of a party pooper, who can just call Bill gates if he wants to shut down the internet. Really sad. Poor fellow!-leave a pun out of this). People are too preoccupied with other people’s ballyhoo and puffery they could just be seated in their caves somewhere digging if I also had a raunchy romp with Esther Passaris. Meanwhile, Kenyans on twitter will be dancing on my grave and they blow eardrum-wrecking whistles. Whistles louder than those Waiguru blew.
The social media facade cannot be contained anymore, not with people still hooked and overly fascinated with their illuminating screens. Glowing screens amuse zealots to a point they cannot finish their meal in a swanky restaurant before taking a picture to post on Facebook, for everyone to approve that the food has the right amount of salt and can be digested. You successfully see that picture of food and your stomach starts digesting its own walls. The agony. You have never been to a five star hotel before, not even a four star, not Sarova Stanely and definitely not Ole Sereni. You are addicted to watching the adventures your friends partake as they hop from one posh restaurant to another. The only five star meal you might have taken is eating a decent amount of humble pie. A pie that Miguna Miguna cannot eat even at gunpoint or a castration-scare.
You log into social media and before you, will be a myriad of partisan blinkers looking for excessive compliments, approval and admiration to feel good about themselves. On the advertisement section will be stark-raving bonkers socialites perched on the internet like a tropical lizard busks in the sun. The wannabe socialites will be seated at the high tables of the social banquet. Sometimes drama will be served hot on your TV set and you won’t help but anticipate an obvious Melee about to ensue on Nairobi Diaries. Moses Kuria will be sneakily camping behind benches in Villa Rosa Kempinski waiting to ambush a JKL show with mind boggling jingoism. Boniface will walk out of the same show, go to his digs only to find Moses making headlines on TV stations. Boniface will decide to sit on his TV and watch his chair rather than watch Moses. As if that is not enough, MPs will be having jab-full brawls and because we haven’t developed world class fighting arenas in the country yet, Mathew Lempurkel and Sarah Korere decide that the best place to showcase the kicks of a dying horse is right within the office of the president. They had a not-so-stable relationship I presume. (You don’t have to be a horse to see that other pun I pulled)
It’s a digital age that poses an eminent mental health risk to social media robotic zombies. A Kenyan Donald Trump hopeful is given a social platform to present his sober political views, and instead, he spews derogatory expletives and unsolicited sexual adventures of his opponent. Like he secretly wished he was there to record the entire big bang theory he is whining about, as evidence to gain political mileage. Absolute Tomfoolery. Listen, people have different ways to excite their hormones. That they chose to jump into bed with the local chief is water under the bridge when you have to face each other on a political battlefield. It’s a free world and whoever a lady choses to administer her with a hot beef injection is not up for ballot. It gets worse when the moderator adds wood to the vitriol inferno and orders even more popcorn like a toddler watching Tom and Jerry monkey business. Getting laid is here to stay. You cannot wish it away. It is the very reason we are here in the first place, to debate about it. What is the fuss?
The social media battalion has invested more in auditing and approving people’s lives like they don’t have a life of their own. Like their self-esteem needs to be anchored in constant supply of praise and likes. Social comparison is the norm. You pass by two girls with a fair share of shouting makeup and they will be fussing over who garnered 100+ likes. If she is your girlfriend you will be lucky to watch how dire the situation is. She will crave for Facebook and Instagram likes. With the same burning levels a pregnant lady craves crocodile meat and crocodile tears as soup! When you don’t get your targeted likes you immediately want to die because 200+ likes are supposed to save your life and that of an ailing child on facebook. Sick! People are so desperate for likes they will tag you and a gazillion other users to collect enough baskets of likes and surplus reactions. Without likes people sink into a bottomless pit of depression. They panic. They feel like they have lost immunity to the chicken pox outbreak in the country. They become destitute, a poor and miserable lot. They want to call 911. However, they will not chicken out, they will instead put up another picture with enough filters to confuse your judgement, a little more skin to show and rib-cracking torso cubes. Friends will find it hard to jump the bait. Likes will start streaming in like votes with your strongholds still busy at work waiting to log in later in the day and baptize you will a sea of likes. Folks want to rely on external sources for affirmation that they are the bomb!
A study shows that large number of likes activates pertinent areas in the brain. Constant view of other people’s lives which always seems to be better than yours elicits feelings of envy, a twisted belief that other people are living happier and more successful lives than you. People are posting junks of how they are living on the edge and you are there thinking of how you don’t have a life. The more you scroll, the more their lives get better. As Theodore Roosevelt would say, Comparison is a killer of joy. Social media is replacing real conversations. Ezekiel Mutua of the Kenya Films and Classification Board wants to be the prefect of social media content. He wants to impose his extremist religious beliefs and boko-haram-like moral jurisdiction over what people see on their screens. We have more of these moral officers who are always atop their tree of puritanical views waiting for the next sex scandal only to vehemently shout to the rooftops how jumping into bed with whoever you chose is “bad manners.” What they don’t know is people are making love like rabbits even as we speak.
Don’t be so offended, don’t be over-judgmental towards people just because you sin differently. Move on, make you some love instead of making war on social media. Find your soulmate, tell “no one”. Enjoy your relationship. Don’t push people to telling you something like, “ooh I found your nose, it was in my business again.” Fix your life before the fixation with other people’s lives renders you jinxed.