In retrospect it seems wrong to say the relationship  was rocky, because how can you say something was rocky when it was built on such a fragile and shaky premise? For anything to last it has to be built on a firm foundation, and firm is one thing we were not.

And foundation was one thing Anna only knew when she was going for her photoshoots.

This means that we both lied. When I first saw her on the cover of Maxim, I was drawn to  her  flawless complexion.

When I first met her in a facebook chat online, she told me, she was drawn to my huge bank account, my fleet of maseratis and bugattis, and my latest CD, which had just been certified platinum and contained one of her favourite songs at the time: “Got Your Back” featuring Keri Hilson.

A relationship cannot survive for long based on lies, so when we met and I found out that without make up she looks like a tree I knew that we were staring at the end of things.

And when she found out that I wasn’t really T.I., that sealed the deal. She told me to go back to Uganda and refund the money she had given me.

That was the last I ever saw her.

The pre-finale hype surrounding the exploits of our Miss World contestant Sylvia Namugenyi came to nought at the London Sunday November 6 finale. Only a handful of the beauties from 113 countries, the 30 that made it onto the leader board, stood a chance at winning the jewelled tiara crown. Miss Uganda Sylvia Namugenyi was nowhere amongst listed as ace hopefuls in the new marking scheme. Contestants had to aggregate points from a number of pre-finale events that included athletics, swimming and a talent show.

Namugenyi’s Facebook cheerleaders had created the impression that our girl was racking up valuable points to getting a shot at the crown. But the leader board revealed otherwise initially getting all the 113 beauties compete for a Top 30 slot after which these were whittled down to the Top 15 and later the Top 7 from whom the Top 3 were announced to yield the ravishing but non-English-speaking Miss Venezuela Ivian Sarcos as the eventual winner of the crown. Miss Phillipines, arguably the one with the loudest in-house cheerleaders was first runner while Miss Puerto Rico came third.

Namugenyi’s visibility at the Earls Court glitzy event, which had a delayed screening on Citizen TV, was reduced to two fleeting headshots. There was the introductory one at the start when all the contestants’ are revealed according to their nationalities, and a random one after the winner had been announced. The fact that “U” is one of the last letters in the alphabet guaranteed her “front row” visibility. Contestants from the “T-Z” countries were introduced last thereby guaranteeing that they stand at the front every time the 113 beauties appeared at a go.

But it was token participation from Africa yet again in a contest that seems to prefer fairer girls to darker complexioned ones. Angola, Botswana, Cote d’Ivoire, Egypt, Ethiopia, Ghana, kenya, Lesotho, Liberia, Mauritius, Namibia, Nigeria, Sierra Leone, Sudan, Uganda, Zambia and Zimbabwe had contestants at Miss World 2011.

Only South Africa and Zimbabwe managed Top 15 slots. Miss South Africa was the lone African amongst the Top 7 who made it Q&A segment as part of the 2011 Miss World crème de la crème. Miss Ghana also came away from the contest with tangible results after her “Beauty with a Purpose” project to start an education initiative for Accra’s slum-dweller toddlers got a thumbs-up.

Otherwise for the most part of the two-hour show, it was fairer faces over darker-complexioned ones, something that seemed to lend credence to Miss Uganda 1996 winner Sheba Kerere’s gripe about “racism” at the now 60-year-old beauty showcase. One couldn’t help but notice the cameras seemed to prefer the “white” contestants over the “black” ones even during the highlights cutaways. The isolated moments where the camera locked onto a black contestant, the screen “captions” revealing her nationality were deliberately left out.

Nigeria’s Agbani Darego is the lone Black African to have won Miss World in 2001. She was also the only black person amongst the judging panel at this year’s Diamond Jubilee event. For Miss Uganda, Sylvia Namugenyi, it is either a [post-Miss World] life of oblivion like most of her predecessors or one with a sense of purpose where like Miss Kenya last year she could bring attention to herself by inviting Miss World 2011 over to officiate at an event that celebrates Beauty with a Purpose. Miss Kenya 2010 already beat us to turning jigger eradication into the next celebrity international pastime.

A city man only identified as Shupeed from Makerere excited his family and area residents after succeeding in his very first attempt at suicide.

Sowaat, his 65-year-old father told ULK that this was the first thing his son had succeeded at in all his 35 years of life. “For the first time ever, I am very proud of my son. No one on this village has ever done something and succeeded at it the very first time. No one!”

When asked where he got the inspiration to pull off something no one had the courage to do, Shupeed intimated to our reporter that suicide was something he only saw on TV and in movies and thought it was a thing for Americans.

“Me I didn’t know that even a normal poor black man like me could do such a thing. I thought it was only for rich, spoilt movie stars who had nothing else to do with their money but spend on suicide.”

“At first I was nervous,” he added. “But then I was like what the heck! What’s the worst that could happen? So I jumped from that floor up there…I think it’s the 11th floor or something, and landed with a big thud right there. I think you can still see my blood and brains splattered allover the cement. I was going to clean it up but you guys came early.”

Shupeed called upon the public to always believe in themselves and get rid of the thinking that some things are meant for the rich alone. It’s the only way they can become successful and win the respect of family and friends like he did.

There is a scene in the film 40 Days and 40 Nights in which Josh Hartnett brings Shannyn Sossamon to orgasm with only a flower.

This scene is bullshit. I have sent lovers home with hands still-twisted into awkward, cramped positions because they insisted on getting me off. Then there are those long, lonely, horny nights, when I just want to cum so the voice in my head will shut the fuck up and go to sleep. My arm feels like it is about to fall off, one ass-muscle is spasming from fatigue, and when I finally get there it is the sexual equivalent of losing a qualifier match with a nil-nil score: Dead-on-arrival and disappointing like when you blow your hardest on a vuvuzela and all that comes out is a sad and strangled, farting sound.

I refuse to believe that Josh Hartnett, who let’s face it, is as sexy as giggling kittens, could get any woman there with Lexington Steele’s dick, let alone a flower. And so expertly that God looked on, saw that it was good and said, So sweet, I forgive you for breaking thine Lenten vows.

No. I feel dirty just thinking about it.

Still, there is something to be said for anticipation; “Sexpectation”, if you will. Those moments before a good night out when you are drinking your Guinness in the shower[1] or slipping on your fuck-me knickers and imagining, in lurid, high-def, digital detail the things you are going to do to that boy as soon as you find a dark-enough corner.

Anticipation like walking around at work with your nipples hard, chafing against the inside of your bra because you are really clicking with someone new, and they have promised to serve you dinner tonight wearing an apron and only an apron.

Sexpectation is the reason some young women wear tiny dresses when they go out and then “forget” their panties.

It is important. I salute all those good wait-for-it feelings because they are also the reason that men with beautiful, successful wives get caught fucking the buck-toothed, bow-legged housegirl. It is also the reason that the guy who is checking you out from the other end of the bar is infinitely sexier than the guy he will be six months from now, once you’ve found out that he gives lousy head and does not always bother to match his socks.

According to Schrodinger’s Pussy, before you walk into Boda Boda on 4/11 you both have and have not had the time of your life and unknowingly taken the Hitchhiker home for a night of wild sex. What? That doesn’t make any sense you say? Don’t argue with Quantum Mechanics. Get yourself to the Legendary Party tomorrow, you never know what may happen.