I like writers, scratch that, I love writers. My girlfriend is a writer and nearly all the girls I have dated in the past expect for a brief period of time in and after high school when I used to date any girl who smiled at me. And any other one who didn’t and she had boobs, as long as they did not realise I was dating them. It was a tough but sweet time. The only writers I hate are the one who write inspiration literature. Nonsensical ramblings which leave shallow minded readers with the Jedi effect. It is as if Obi Wan Kanobi has approached them, casually waved his arm at them and confidently told them. “Stop drinking Guinness, you hate yourself and you should be drinking Pilsner.” Now, this situation plays out without the involvement of the mighty Yoda when one, out of curiosity or desperation picks up a book with the big picture of the author smiling at the cover telling you how you are going to use the same tactics and land a millionaire wife or a six-figure job in a period of six months. Your choice.
These writers have, with all intentions of a psychotic murderer, dedicated their whole lives to ripping people off their hard earned money by selling them lies disguised as truth. What a bunch of soulless bitches. I bet right now they are laughing at me with their iPads at the coast of Bahamas.
Kenyans are known as a country which does not read. Hide anything on the pages of a book, I can bet you my half-eaten sandwich that a Kenyan will not find it. Don’t worry, it’s still delicious and it was also sizable before I took those mighty bites I always do off it. Researches have shown that the only readable thing majority of Kenyans buy are inspiration books. It is as if having thousands of television evangelists preaching prosperity gospel every weekend is not enough. Funny this should come up, they also write the stuff after realising people will stick to your every word. As long as they periodically see you smiling, or shouting on national television.
The readers are characterised by among other things their pride when reading a sizable book with a big picture of a person who is probably a child molester smiling on the cover. Damn it! Don’t they know there is something called artistic cover art, and your flabby cheeks aren’t a choice? But then, there is nothing artistic about the book. I find most of them in busses nearly every day. This one caught my attention. Confidence: There are no coincidences. A title bound to trap those guys who have sweaty palms, noses, brows, tongues, well sweaty everything seconds before a big pitch to the investors. Here is what I think it should have said. Confidence is only worth if you are not a frigging idiot. Get armed with confidence and head out to Victoria Falls for water skiing. Or just grab your confidence and go hit the village bully on the nuts and shout you are confident. Your broken neck will bring you back to reality. Words that can fit on a single billboard instead of a 300 page book, what a waste of our resources. The billboard can have a big picture of a confident idiot seconds after they have broken their neck wrestling a bull someplace in Spain, or western Kenya. The title would be, Confidence: You need to have brains.
Next time you walk in to that bookstore be sure to look around. Some other genres of books exist.