Michael Logan

Novelist, Journalist and other things ending in -ist

Kenya cops and their guns

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You know, I do rather wish that Kenyan police officers would keep their automatic weapons pointed at the ground a bit more often.

I’m sure you’ve seen the scene in Pulp Fiction, when Samuel L. Jackson is a bit too casual with his handgun and ends up spraying gore out of the back of the kid in the backseat’s head. Well, on more than one occasion, a cop has sat down next to me on a bus with his gun clutched across his chest. It is very disconcerting to have a gun barrel waggling around inches from your temple as the rickety old bus jiggles over potholes. I have this strange desire to keep my brain inside my skull, rather than splattered all over the grubby windows of a KBS banger. Call me picky if you like, but that’s just the way I feel.

Equally, having two officers sauntering in front of you in a busy shopping center with their guns slung over their shoulders, the barrels swinging around jauntily at head height, makes me feel a touch uneasy. Such moments are the only point in my life I wish I were at least a head shorter. It isn’t like the guns are exactly modern either, and who knows whether the safety is on.

Every day you read that the police have bravely shot dead “suspected” criminals in a variety of situations. I do wonder how many of those deaths were of the “my gun went off when I was picking my nose too vigorously and blew a hole in the forehead of a 79-year-old blind cripple, who has just become a notorious criminal” variety.

When not to cheat in your exams

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I know that the cops in Kenya are trigger happy, but this image from today’s Standard shows things might have gotten a bit out of hand.

Teacher: “Johnson, is that writing on your arm? Cheating, eh? Officer!”

BLAM! BLAM!

(Johnson sprawls dead to the ground, blood mixing with ink on his scrawny 15-year-old arm).

Teacher: “Let that be a lesson to the rest of you.”

(Silence and the sound of scribbling. Whispering at the back of class)

Teacher: “Njoroge, are you passing a note? Officer!”

BLAM! BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM!

Njoroge turns into a bloody rag.

(More silence. Then the sound of scraping)

Teacher: “Hey Odinga. Are you writing answers on the floor with Njoroge’s blood? Officer!”

BLUDGEON! SMACK! BLAM! BLAM!

And so on.

Could this be a solution to the breakdown in discipline in UK and US schools? I find teenagers really annoying, so I’m all for it.

In fact, maybe we can send some Kenyan police to Geneva to wipe out all those tectonic kids with their spazzy dancing and daft haircuts (please note kids: the mullet looked appalling the first time around, inserting euro- or fashion- before the phrase does not actually affect the sheer awfulness of this style)*

Officer: “Hey, are you dancing like you have a family of large and energetic spiders living in your pants, spraying teenage hormones over passers by and generally just blocking the street with your desperate, pathetic attempts to find someone who is actually foolish enough to shag you?”

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM BLAM BLAM-BLAMBLAMBLAM! (Brief pause for reloading) BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMM!

We have to be sure they are dead.

*Disclaimer: I am not really advocating the mindless and brutal slaughter of teenagers who are simply finding ways of expressing themselves, as I too have had many stupid haircuts and wore things like leopardskin fringe jackets. If a psychotic killer armed with grenades, knives and automatic weapons should head down to Lake Geneva, just down from the Jet d’Eau, near the bridge and just across from the Old Town on any Saturday afternoon and let fly, I am not responsible.

When not to cheat in your exams

by

I know that the cops in Kenya are trigger happy, but this image from today’s Standard shows things might have gotten a bit out of hand.

Teacher: “Johnson, is that writing on your arm? Cheating, eh? Officer!”

BLAM! BLAM!

(Johnson sprawls dead to the ground, blood mixing with ink on his scrawny 15-year-old arm).

Teacher: “Let that be a lesson to the rest of you.”

(Silence and the sound of scribbling. Whispering at the back of class)

Teacher: “Njoroge, are you passing a note? Officer!”

BLAM! BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM!

Njoroge turns into a bloody rag.

(More silence. Then the sound of scraping)

Teacher: “Hey Odinga. Are you writing answers on the floor with Njoroge’s blood? Officer!”

BLUDGEON! SMACK! BLAM! BLAM!

And so on.

Could this be a solution to the breakdown in discipline in UK and US schools? I find teenagers really annoying, so I’m all for it.

In fact, maybe we can send some Kenyan police to Geneva to wipe out all those tectonic kids with their spazzy dancing and daft haircuts (please note kids: the mullet looked appalling the first time around, inserting euro- or fashion- before the phrase does not actually affect the sheer awfulness of this style)*

Officer: “Hey, are you dancing like you have a family of large and energetic spiders living in your pants, spraying teenage hormones over passers by and generally just blocking the street with your desperate, pathetic attempts to find someone who is actually foolish enough to shag you?”

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM BLAM BLAM-BLAMBLAMBLAM! (Brief pause for reloading) BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMM!

We have to be sure they are dead.

*Disclaimer: I am not really advocating the mindless and brutal slaughter of teenagers who are simply finding ways of expressing themselves, as I too have had many stupid haircuts and wore things like leopardskin fringe jackets. If a psychotic killer armed with grenades, knives and automatic weapons should head down to Lake Geneva, just down from the Jet d’Eau, near the bridge and just across from the Old Town on any Saturday afternoon and let fly, I am not responsible.

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