Police on 2nd March wrote to Dr Stella Nyanzi summoning her to Kibuli on Tuesday 7th for grilling and making a statement over “Offensive Communication and Cyber Harassment”. The Dr, made a stern response as she prepares for the D-day.
I have been summoned for interviewing and statement-making at the headquarters of the Criminal Investigations Directorate (CID) in Kibuili. I should buy a new purple coloured lipstick to enhance my smile as I speak with the CID Afandes.
I wonder what colour of kitengi I will wear on that Tuesday morning next week. Perhaps I will visit my tailor tomorrow and order her to make for me a new tight mini-skirt with the longest slit at the front that will expose my juicy brown-skinned thighs. I will also borrow a tighter wonder-bra from my young sister, to hike up my adult breasts so that the nipples on my tutus are re-modeled to be saluting the CID boys throughout the interview.
They state that they are investigating a case of Offensive Communication and Cyber Harassment. This follows from the Computer Misuse Act (2011). Huh! Trust dimwits, nitwits, ijits, idiots, pea-brains, puddle-minds, dwanzies, dafties, dizzy-ducks, imbeciles, fools and all other sorts of shallow-minded people to run to the corrupt police with a case against me.
I don’t give a rat’s arse about these scare crows. I am a writer. I am a poet. I am a lyricist. I am a story teller. I am an author. I am a scholar. I am an academic. I am a voice. I am onomatopoeia. I am speech. I am metaphor. I am simile. I am allegory. I am syntax. I am diction. I am rhetoric. I am a dictionary. I am lexicon. I am a thesaurus. I am a thinker. I am a critique. I am a wordsmith. I am a communicator. I am a typist. I am a scribe. I am a script. I am words. I am spoken word. I am graffiti. I can speak at length about my written and spoken words.
I will go and meet the Deputy Director Investigations. Is he handsome? Is he hot? Will he fall for my adult brown thighs? Will his brain get my words? I will defend my acts of writing, my freedom of expression, my poetic license, my literary justice and my academic freedom.
I slay with words! I fire words. It is futile to attempt to gag or censor or silence me. If they shut me up, I will break into dancing or farting or a raising of my fist. Unless the system cuts out my tongue, and my voice-box too, I will not stop speaking my critique of the dictatorial corrupt lawless and rogue regime of the Musevenis.
“Offensive Communication and Cyber Harassment” my foot!