04/15/2026
Oh, political discipline, you say? I’ve mastered it like a ninja in flip-flops. I now keep my views to myself so tightly that my own shadow doesn’t know my voting preferences. And let me tell you—life has been sweet. Sweeter than mangoes in December. Until the other day when I made the mistake of opening my mouth just once—some mild opinion about roadside chai taxes—and my dear wives (yes, plural, don’t do the math, just enjoy the chaos) gave me a rare applause. Rare, k**a wali wa daku. I froze! Applause from them usually means they’re either mocking me or about to hand me a bill for their shopping sprees.
So there I stood, sweating, waiting for the catch. And then it hit me: I’ve been so apolitical, so gloriously neutral, that I’ve achieved the ultimate dream—no one can force me to resign (from what? My couch?), and no one can take me off the group chat or the wall (I’m not even on a wall, unless you count the “Wanted: Peace and Quiet” poster my wives made).
So please, pals, don’t stone me. I’m just a simple man who traded opinions for peace and applause for panic. Being apolitical isn’t cowardice—it’s survival tactics in a house where the opposition party has better snacks and sharper elbows. 😅