GENERAL INFORMATION IN UGANDA and what most people look at according to what they commonly post on the world’s leading social media platform-Facebook.

END OF AUGUST FACEBOOK EXAM:DURATION: 5HRSINSTRUCTIONS: Answer all the questions.1a) Given Mollis was your boyfriend, design three escape plans. b) What is the English translation of “Mollis Nimechoka”?- Mollis am choking!- Mollis I dig chokers.-Mollis I surrender.c) Besides a broken bed, an exhausted odd walking girl and a satisfied public, give three other aftermath characteristics of Mollis’ escapade.2a) Given that Patricia Ssewungu’s book was named,”PIECE OF CAKE”, find the probability that Golola’s book will be named “PIECE OF WEED”.3a) According to them, Straka is 29 years old, given a detailed analysis of why she has first hand information about slave trade.b) Given that Straka is HIV- as she claims, examine the reactions of all those guys that hit it raw.4a) Using two calculators, all your toes and fingers, find the age difference between Guvnor Ace and his husband.b) The Guvnor Ace wedding was a———-( fill on the blank space)-A bet that he lost.-A business investment- A love affair- A time travel experiment.c) Explain the reason as to why police haven’t arrested the Mzungu for defilement, rape and abuse of “being rich” in relation to this marriage.5- Give three advantages of dating Ivan Kamyuka’s ex.6- With the DNA of Zari’s baby in question, using two answer sheets and a fresh booklet, write the number of men that would probably be the rightful fathers.7a) “AIRTEL SCRAPS FREE MBS”. Write a detailed report as to why, this happened, concluding,”Airtel ssi ya jjajja wo”.b) Over 30 people have picked form for Presidency, why?- Jjinja Road jam is too tight one gets bored and decided to go pick forms.-The mathematics in the offered 20million minus the 8 million.8-Using g=10m/s, calculate the acceleration of Facebook girls at changing names.b) Given that her name is Lucious Mary Beyonce, calculate the possibility that she is actually Namagwatala Fenecansi.9a) Account for the increasing loss of virginity in University freshers last week.b) Examine the opinion that freshers are not actually as “fresh” as we assume.c) Without using the excuse of freshers, account for the increasing Musana Exercise books at various universities.10a) Calculate the speed at which your relationship will end if a UNRA official vibes your woman.b)Explain the irony in the following:- Go Mama album( in relation to Mama Awards)- Byayanga Concert, in relation to concerts.11a) Define “Acute Attention Seeking Syndrome”(AACC) In relation to Lisa Mandy.b) Explain why the government is expanding everything, from The airport, to the current regime.SUCCESS.

CALL FOR ELECTORAL REFORMS:Fellow countrymen and women I honourably greet you in the name of the National Liberation Coalition an umbrella Political and civil Organisation secretly and tactifully following and mobilizing for a peaceful democratic change in governance of our country in the forthcoming election whose date must be fixed after the implementation of electoral reforms as contained in the citizen’s compact.Patriotic Ugandans we must know that without electoral reforms the 2016 elections are already rigged against the rightful candidates.Electoral reforms are not only health for the opposition but also for the NRM members who believe in true democracy.Surely if there are no reforms elections shall be rigged against the true patriotic Ugandans from within the NRM and in the opposition . Therefore all Ugandans must stand and demand the ruling party to ascend to the demand for electoral reforms . Yes if the Incumbent president of Ug and the NRM are confident of their possible victory then there is no worry in implementing the reforms.In 1980 the UPM now NRM demanded for electoral reforms from the then military commission that was charged with the govt and consequently the powers of the law but this was ignored only to lead to a shum election that resulted into a 5year NRA Guerilla war of Gen.M7 that took Uganda to a path of violence.Now it is the responsibility of all those who participated in the 1980-86 rebellion to rally behind the people’s demands for electoral reforms ahead of the 2016 elections .We must ensure Ugandans are not cheated by any one taking away their power by rigigging an election.LET US STAND AND DEMAND FOR THE ELECTORAL REFORMS I BELIEVE GEN.M7 SHALL LISTEN TO THE PEOPLE OF UGANDA.GOD BLESS YOU AND GOD BLESS UGANDA.

Presidential Pet Peeves
Posted by Adrastos
Last week New Orleans was awash in
robustly resilient bullshit and
Presidents, current and former. My
buttons were pushed by the manner
in which the Oval Ones were referred
to. Bullshit is, of course, bullshit
whether it’s robust, resilient, or just
plain ridiculous. Those are the three
Rs of contemporary New Orleans.
Where the hell was I? Oh yeah, the
two common misuses of the language
regarding Oval Ones that drive me
crazy. First, civilians referring to the
sitting President as the Commander-
in-Chief. They’re only in command
of the military, not us. There was, in
fact, considerable confusion over an
ad taken out by malakatude hall of
famer Harry Shearer in the dead
tree edition of the New Orleans
It was published on the day the
sitting President visited and, as you
can see, asked the “Commander-in-
Chief” to admit to Federal
responsibility for the flood, which
President Obama did. There was a
lively debate on my social media
feeds as to whether it was aimed at
President Obama or the Texas
Napoleon who returned the next day
to his Waterloo. I was pretty sure he
was referring to Obama but, once
again, neither the current Oval One
nor his incompetent predecessor is
the “Commander-in-Chief” of
anything but the armed forces. In
short, we don’t gotta salute. Now that
I think of it, W deserves a one-
finger salute…
My second Presidential pet peeve:
referring to ex-Presidents by the
title. There’s only one President at a
time. Harry Truman preferred to be
called Judge or Mr. Truman. When
asked why by a college kid, he said,
“There’s only one President at a
time, son.” Harry was right and
didn’t even engage in the robust
bullshit for which he was known. Try
fact checking Merle Miller’s Plain
Speaking some time. Let’s just say
that Harry was an old-fashioned
storyteller in the vein of Sam
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when
the media started calling ex-Oval
Ones by the title and addressing
them as Mr. President. For example,
TR was *always* called Colonel
Roosevelt as a former President. My
hunch is that this imperfect practice
was perfected between 1993 and
1994 when we had a bumper crop of
former Presidents: five count ’em
five. And two of those ex-Oval Ones,
Nixon and Reagan, were notorious for
an almost fetishistic love of the
ceremonial side of the office. I
suspect Nancy would have objected to
people calling Ronnie Governor or Mr.
Death Valley Days Host. He would
have been okay with the Gipper…
I know, I know, people have been
misusing the title for many years.
That doesn’t make it right or any less
annoying. One thing I love about the
interwebs is that you can find stuff
such as the Protocol School of
Washington’s, Honor & Respect: The
Official Guide to Names, Titles, and
Forms of Address
. It’s a mouthful, I know. I must
admit that consulting it makes me
feel oddly like Miss Manners. Here’s
how the author, a chap named
Robert Hickey, answered the question
of how to address a former
I have been directing people to
refer to former presidents as
President (last name). Is that
— Anna McDonald, Stafford,
Dear Ms. McDonald:
This issue is complicated since
we hear former Presidents
referred to as President
Clinton and President Bush on
the media all the time; Here’s
what is the correct formula as
it appears in my book
(assuming they didn’t have an
honorific other than Mr./Ms. to
go back to … as General Dwight
D. Eisenhower did.):
Former President of the United
Envelope, official:
The Honorable
(Full name)
Letter salutation: Dear Mr./Ms.
Conversation: Mr./Ms.
Here’s the WHY behind the
correct form. This is the
traditional approach for any
office of which there is only
one office-holder at a time.
So, with officials such as
mayors, governors or presidents
… only the current office
holder is addressed as Mr.
Mayor, Governor, or Mr.
President … formers are not
addressed that way.
That’s not to say some reporter
might not call a former mayor
Mayor Smith or a former
president President (Surname)
. But doing so is incorrect and
confusing to the public. The
former office holder is no
longer due the precedence and
courtesies we extend to the
current office holder. He or
she speaks with the authority of
a private citizen. We honor
former office holder’s service,
but the ‘form of address’ —
which acknowledges the
responsibilities and duties of
office — belongs only to
current office holder.
Uh oh, looks like Harry was wrong
about that whole Judge Truman
thing. Since I’m going all Miss
Manners and Perry Protocol on your
asses, I might as well post Mr.
Hickey’s answer as to how to address
a former Oval One in person:
Greeting from Canada. I will
meet President Clinton in a
few weeks in person. What
should I call him when I meet
him or when I introduce others
to him: Mr. Clinton, or
President Clinton? Thanks for
your help.
— Politico, Toronto
Hi Politico:
Former Presidents of the
United States are most
formally directly addressed as
Mr. (Name) and are identified
as “President of the United
States from Year-Year”.
You will hear the media say
President Clinton in a news
story to be clear who is being
discussed. The media using
“President (Name)” in the
third person makes many think
it is a correct form of address.
The correct form for formal
introduction — e.g. from a
podium before his speech to the
audience would be something
like … It is my pleasure to
introduce The Honorable
William Jefferson Clinton.
In conversation address him as
Mr. Clinton.
If you make an introduction
say Mr. Clinton may I
— Robert Hickey
This Robert Hickey chap seems to be
the Dear Abie of the protocol set. He
is absolutely correct. There is only
one President at a time unless, that
is, Hillary is elected, then Bill may
try to do some finagling. It won’t
work: she’s banished him to the couch
before and would have no problem
doing so again.
I’m an unlikely person to be a
stickler for protocol. I am, however,
a stickler for the proper use of the
English language. Additionally, I
believe in honoring the modesty
inherent in small r republicanism.
(That makes me what Gore Vidal
called a citizen of the Old Republic,
not the Empire.) The President is not
a hereditary monarch who holds the
title even after abdication. The
people are sovereign, the sitting
President is the temporary occupant
of the White House.
The moral of the story is: don’t
believe everything you see on teevee
or read in the newspapers or online.
Mister is good enough for former
Presidents until, that is, we have our
first woman former Oval One, then
Ms. will be good enough for her.

Pink Houses and Apple Pies
It was 1983 and my brother and I
watched a lot of MTV. Music videos
were a revelation for artists and the
industry. When it launched in 1981
MTV was a storytelling platform,
giving musicians the chance to render
their songs in a visual language. The
phrase “take the ball and run with
it” comes to mind as creative license
kicked in and coughed up videos
featuring circus animals, fog
machines, boats and cars driving out
of the mist, grainy footage of
candles left out in the rain, a girl
riding the bus and gazing sadly out
of the window (a circus animal
driving said bus). It was a hot stew of
INNOVATION and probably a lot of
Because the only content on the
channel at that time were videos, you
were pretty much guaranteed to see
any one particular video no fewer
than 86 times a day. One such video
was John Cougar Mellencamp’s “Pink
Houses.” Hailing from Indiana,
Mellencamp was a high-80s rocker
with a reliable string of hits like
“Jack and Diane,” “Cherry Bomb,”
and “Lonely Old Night—“ jams about
universal themes of ordinary people
“doing the best they can.” “Pink
Houses” was a valentine to Anytown
USA with lyrics like “Ain’t that
America, home of the free/with little
pink houses, for you and me.” The
video captured the laconic,
disappearing landscape and culture
of America’s small towns in a
montage of images that could have
been plucked from someone’s home
movie: weathered elderly men
rocking on their front porches, a
train pulling through the town depot,
great, sweeping fields stretching to
the horizon, and Mellencamp grooving
in the parking lot of a tiny gas
station with his band, the store front
decked out in Fourth of July bunting
while a lone cheerleader wearing
red, white, and blue dances and
sings. Subtlety was for suckers.
I loved that video, though I can’t say
for sure why, and I had not thought
of it in years until recently when I
attended the annual apple pie
festival in Newport New Hampshire.
Newport is one in a sleepy chain of
towns that idyll through the pretty
lake and mountain regions of
northern New Hampshire. Newport
was incorporated in 1761 and like
most of its sister towns plotted in the
same century has weathered the
impacts of wars and conflict fought
on American soil, endured expansion,
shouldered the growing and leaving
of industry and jobs, and persevered
despite the steady thump of progress
beating its fist against those sturdy,
American made doors.
Looking up and down the stretch of
Main St. that encircles the town
common where the apple pie festival
is held each year with its great, brick
bell tower and the line of shops,
cafes, and (now) banks sporting
large glass windows and pretty white
pillars, all offering similar freshly
scrubbed facades underneath
cheerful awnings, I think that
change and progress are things
dolled out in Newport the way people
mete out full-sized candy bars at
Halloween, judiciously, cautiously.
It’s 9 AM on a Saturday in late
August. The sky is a faded,
watercolor blue the kind of sky
summer reserves for the end of the
line, before fall muscles in with its
shocking oranges and violet sunsets.
The common is already bursting with
people who meander up and down
the stalls of craft and artisan
vendors. A gazebo anchors one end
of the green space where my friend
Tom—a highly accomplished artist,
musician, and writer who lives in a
neighboring town—plays guitar. He
vamps in between Dylan lyrics to call
out to people he knows or tease some
of the little kids chasing each other,
their freshly-painted faces already
starting to streak with sweat in the
quickening heat.
There is nothing to single me out as
an outsider, but I still feel like one.
It’s that first day at a new school
feeling that pools in the bottom of
my shoes. Everyone seems to know
each other. Moms pushing strollers
greet other moms with the shorthand
of familiarity:
Good summer?
Too busy!
Gary’s parents were here and…
Sophie loved camp, but it goes so
fast! School shopping next week.
I know!
Teenagers stroll self-consciously,
shouldering self-possession and an
expected amount of disaffection.
Other teens wander clutching the
hands of boyfriends as if they were
also holding on to this storied time in
their lives. White-haired women with
decades of the life cycle carried in
the sway of their thirsty hips wear
bright red aprons embroidered with
the apple festival logo. They refill
coffee carafes, check in with the
vendors, and ferry neat, white
cardboard boxes of pie to the table
where thatches of people crowd
around to buy them as soon as they
are set down. It’s an easy leap of
logic to assume that many of these
women first came to the festival as
young girls or new moms, the event
feeling like a downbeat in the town’s
steady, predictable rhythm of
ordinary people “doing the best they
I am not an easy joiner by nature. I
guard my heart a little too closely
when it comes to the pull of authentic
connection. It’s a lot like standing on
the edge of high rock with your
friend looking down into the
swimming hole saying, “You go first.”
But that doesn’t stop me from
imagining, a little bit enviously, the
lives of these people, how richly
interwoven with one another’s they
must be, and what it must feel like
to be embedded in such deep
community. It has its moments no
doubt. There’s a reason why fairy
tales are meant to be read, not
realized. Even so, there’s a nearly
perceptible pulse created from the
people coming together to celebrate
their town, to take pride in what it
means to make a life together on
this land, as much as to indulge in
baked goods that is as enticing as a
By noon all the apple pies are sold
out and a couple of pumpkin pies sit
forlornly on the table as if even
they know it’s too soon for such a
“high fall” seasonal dessert. Luckily
for us interlopers, who aren’t privy
to knowing that you get pie first and
then do the festival, there’s a stand
selling slices from pies entered into
the pie-judging contest. Every pie
has its personality and wants to
stand out as much as it needs to
blend in. Star-shaped cut outs in the
crust mark one, another is doused
heavily with sugar and what looks like
cinnamon powder, there’s one that’s
already been cut into to reveal filling
stacked in thick, juicy slabs like coal
fracked from a mountain vein. I
take one cut from that pie. The
mound of vanilla ice cream scooped
on top starts to run immediately.
I find an empty bench at the edge
of the common to eat while the space
seems to close in on itself as more
people fill the green. There’s
something seductive about belonging,
I decide. There’s a sweet relief in
believing that change can be
managed, that progress can be
proscribed. There’s a case to be made
for holding back a little bit of
nostalgia for places in America like
this one, built on a dream of pink
houses and apple pies.

by GBBInc