Heck, I have never even registered as a voter. I don't care about politics; I don't care about politicians. And why should I when I have never seen a young, intelligent and sexy politician? There is this Filipino joke about politicians. That a mother was concerned about the dullness of her kid in school that she decided to consult a psychiatrist.

"Madam, there's no need to worry," the shrink reassured the distraught mother. "Your kid is going to make one hell of a politician when he grows up."

If you have the brain of a politician, you might have missed the joke. So I will spell it out for you - politics is a game of dimwits. How then could I have ended up in the Movement?

It all started last Friday at Silk Royale. As usual, I am seated by the counter, green one in hand, surveying the scene. Suddenly, a smashing beauty, perched quietly on a stool across the dance floor, arrests my darting eyes.

I can't say she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, for no such thing exists, but she is certainly right up there with the sexiest among them. From her physical features - a 6-type figure, small sharp nose and glistening, light skin, I quickly conclude she is a Movement girl, straight from the land of milk and honey.

With my looks that can't be said to be from anywhere near the west, I figured that the only way I was going to strike a conversation with her was by talking Movement politics. Armed with this "vision", I quickly make my way across the dance floor, pull a stool next to hers and introduce myself, adopting a "miriki" accent for good measure.

I can see a puzzled expression on her face. She obviously can't make up her mind whether I am Movement Solid, Movement Liquid, Movement Gaseous or even Movement Fake.

"Natunga vizoni mwana. Tugyende tujoininge movemente aha dansi furowa" ("I have got a vision girl, let's join the movement on the dance floor").

Despite my doggy looks, she must have concluded that I am Movement Solid, for she accepts the invitation. Although I go to the nightclub almost everyday, I haven't actually danced in more that 10 years. But I can still pull a few moves (it is all in the blood), and I show her one or two. Pity squeeze dance has since gone out of fashion.

It certainly would have made my work easier. Time to go home, and I drop her off. It turns out my conclusions about her were spot on, for she lives in a proper Movement house in Bugolobi. I take her number and we agree to meet in the same place, same time this Friday.

Now when Museveni says he is the only one with a vision, I know exactly what he means, especially when that vision comes in the form of knockdown beauties from Rwakitura and associated lands of milk and honey. If giving him a third term will ensure a continued flow of such beauties into the city, I am all for it. So don't be shocked to find me voting, in both senses of the word, next time round.

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