kymnjoro
Elder Lister
Ladies and gentlemen, gather around and witness the miracle of Kenyan policymaking, now certified by the Ministry of Irony & Hypocrisy™ — starring Hon. Murkomen, the Patron Saint of Backward Logic.
According to his divine wisdom, if you're craving a cold drink, do NOT order online like a civilized adult. No! Instead, you must jump into your car — preferably under the influence — and heroically speed to the nearest liquor store. Because driving drunk is safer than having alcohol delivered to your door.
Online delivery? Too risky. Might corrupt the youth.
Drunk drivers on the road? Small price to pay for morality!
And now, brace yourselves — the government wants to ban alcohol in restaurants. Yes, those licensed, tax-paying, tablecloth-wearing establishments that serve a drink with your nyama. Why? Because logic left the chat.
Meanwhile… at State House… every weekend, there’s a full-blown cocktail gala, complete with waiters in tuxedos, jazz music, flowing whiskey, imported champagne, and chicken wings with toothpicks. Ministers are toasting to “a job well done” while somewhere in Kibra, a mama is being arrested for sipping a cold Tusker in her own backyard.
And here’s the kicker — they’ve raised the drinking age from 18 to 21! Because apparently, if you change the number on the paper, all underage Kenyans will immediately become monks. You really think Ochieng’ in Form Four will return his bottle because of your new number? He’s already tipsy.
If this government had its way, they’d ban shoes to stop people from walking to bars. Or outlaw cups. Or declare water illegal in case it turns into wine accidentally, like at that wedding in Cana.
Let’s not kid ourselves — we’re no longer a functioning republic. Kenya has evolved into a Netflix dark comedy, directed by confused uncles, written by retired boda boda riders with Wi-Fi, and sponsored by the National Association of Clueless Think Tanks™.
Ruto’s government didn’t just miss the point — they sent it to exile. If Raila’s madness was political, Ruto’s team is now running a spiritual sequel to Madness Unlimited, with cocktail dinner dress codes included.
Where is the logic in this policy?
According to his divine wisdom, if you're craving a cold drink, do NOT order online like a civilized adult. No! Instead, you must jump into your car — preferably under the influence — and heroically speed to the nearest liquor store. Because driving drunk is safer than having alcohol delivered to your door.
Online delivery? Too risky. Might corrupt the youth.
Drunk drivers on the road? Small price to pay for morality!
And now, brace yourselves — the government wants to ban alcohol in restaurants. Yes, those licensed, tax-paying, tablecloth-wearing establishments that serve a drink with your nyama. Why? Because logic left the chat.
Meanwhile… at State House… every weekend, there’s a full-blown cocktail gala, complete with waiters in tuxedos, jazz music, flowing whiskey, imported champagne, and chicken wings with toothpicks. Ministers are toasting to “a job well done” while somewhere in Kibra, a mama is being arrested for sipping a cold Tusker in her own backyard.
And here’s the kicker — they’ve raised the drinking age from 18 to 21! Because apparently, if you change the number on the paper, all underage Kenyans will immediately become monks. You really think Ochieng’ in Form Four will return his bottle because of your new number? He’s already tipsy.
If this government had its way, they’d ban shoes to stop people from walking to bars. Or outlaw cups. Or declare water illegal in case it turns into wine accidentally, like at that wedding in Cana.
Let’s not kid ourselves — we’re no longer a functioning republic. Kenya has evolved into a Netflix dark comedy, directed by confused uncles, written by retired boda boda riders with Wi-Fi, and sponsored by the National Association of Clueless Think Tanks™.
Ruto’s government didn’t just miss the point — they sent it to exile. If Raila’s madness was political, Ruto’s team is now running a spiritual sequel to Madness Unlimited, with cocktail dinner dress codes included.
Where is the logic in this policy?
