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Is DSTv wicked or what?

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By Ernest Bazanye

Dear Dstv
How are you and how is everything? I hope they are fine.
You have been very diligent in sending me sms keeping me informed of every service update, special offer, price change and so forth. Very dilliget. Even though I have not sent you a single shilling in subscription fees for five years, you have not taken this as a slight and you have not let my neglect of our relationship sour your heart, which still stays warm towards me.
This sort of love is what we need in the world. Sometimes I feel lonely and unwanted in this cold world. I feel insignificant and forgotten. I wonder if anyone out there cares.
Then I get an sms from Dstv about some random shit and I feel reassured. Then and only then do I lay off the heroin.
Some would say your computer just has no way of knowing that the account my number is attached to is inactive and that these sms are wasted.
But I prefer to believe it’s the bonds of friendship that keep us together. I prefer to believe in love.
Dstv, you and I got together many years ago. I got my first decoder to watch Gaetano and Tapuwa scorn each other and see the whole of Africa busy watching people who are idle.

Those were the days. We knew nothing.

Since then the entire world has forgotten who Tapuwa is or ever was and not a single solitary slice of a fuck is given about Big Brother, but you still come to me to check on me.

I think it is time I reciprocated and also gave you an update about ongoing developments in my own life.

So this is what happened. Dstv, I don’t have a dish any more.
I lost it five years ago in the custody battle against the baby mama and her coven of cousins. They are wicked women, Dstv, wicked beyond measure. They are evil. Do you want to know how evil they are?

They kept the flat screen and the dish and decoder and told me to take the tv set with the bum.

The tv with a bum. They knew digital migration was coming!

Solome and her cousins knew this! When I protested, Solome (aforementioned baby mama) was like, ” Deez nuutzz, beeyoooccch!” That was her only response. Delivered emphatically. With the kind of vocal cadence Liverpool fans usually reserve for the Sunderland goalie after winning goal has been served.

“You vulture! You vulture of souls!” I wailed, my entire frame quivering in despair.

“Hahah! Loser! And I’m keeping the remote, too!”

“I don’t believe in tribalism but those who do, its because of you. My mummy told me not to marry baganda from east of the lake and I didn’t listen!” I wailed, my bowels loosening in grief.

“I’m keeping the Dstv dish. Even though my new husband already has two in each of his mansions. This one I am taking for the f**cking dog kennel, Baz! For the dog! Hahahha!”

“Whyyyy solome whyyy!”

“I hate you, baby. And you know I don’t do things in an amateur way, so even my hatred must be pedal to the floor!”

So basically I don’t have a dish and none of your sms help anyone.

Well, they help because when the kids are at my place they leave early if there is something they want to watch, so there is that silver lining…

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