THE HONEST IMPACT with Gideon Kapuka

POV: You just logged into 2025 where vibes are the only currency, and overdraft fees come in the form of bad energy. Welcome to the jungle, babe. Rent is high, patience is low, iced coffee is expensive, and the only philosophy that still works is back to back, aura for aura, slap for push. Forget conflict resolution. Forget “talking it out.” Nobody is talking. We are all just matching energies like Pokémon battles with WiFi. Me sipping my latte while karma does its thing. Gen Z philosophy is very simple: you match me, I match you. Energy is a boomerang, babe. If you throw shade, I will build a solar panel and charge off it. If you push, expect a slap, but not the boring kind. More like a plot twist in your karma storyline that leaves you wondering why you even thought you could test me in the first place. Old-school people love preaching about being the bigger person as if nobility pays rent. That is adorable. Meanwhile, Gen Z has figured out that being the bigger person just makes yo...

Ah yes, the timeless excuse: “I wear this for me, not for anyone else.” Because nothing screams “self-love” like walking outside half-naked, freezing in 10-degree weather, and pretending your goosebumps are an act of feminism. Sis, if it was really for you, you’d wear that outfit in your room with no audience, no selfies, and no captions. But we both know the Wi-Fi is faster than your moral compass. And men? Please, don’t flex like saints. You’ll lecture women about “modesty” while posting shirtless gym pics captioned “grind mode”. No bro, that’s thirst-trap mode, and your DMs are proof. You can’t tell her to stop dressing for attention while you’re flexing for Susan from Accounting and anyone else who double-taps. Hypocrisy has a six-pack now. Let’s talk “insecurities.” That word gets tossed around so much, it’s basically the garnish on every toxic relationship plate. If a guy says, “Babe, maybe cover up a little,” it’s called communication, not dictatorship. But no, apparently asking...

Let’s take a moment to appreciate one of modern society’s greatest legal mysteries: the case of the unborn child who is somehow not a person, until it becomes inconvenient for it not to be. We’re told, very confidently, that a fetus isn’t a person. Not really. Not legally. Not scientifically. Just a developing “clump of cells,” a medical term that sounds way more clinical than “tiny human with a heartbeat.” That heartbeat? Just noise. The fingers, toes, brain activity? Irrelevant. Until birth, we’re told it’s essentially potential life. Sort of like a rough draft you can delete if it doesn’t fit your story. This logic, of course, makes abortion perfectly acceptable in many people’s eyes. If it’s not a person, it’s not a problem. It’s just healthcare. It’s just a choice. Nothing morally complex about it. No more controversial than getting a tooth pulled or having a mole removed. But then a tragic situation unfolds. A pregnant woman is murdered. And just like that, the news flashes the...

There is nothing more frankly dangerous than a woman with a wounded ego. Forget snakes, lions, or the wilderness. At least in the bush you can sleep peacefully under the stars. In a house with a contentious woman? You are in the middle of a storm that never ends. Personally, they don’t frighten me, I simply avoid them. Survival is about strategy, after all. And lately, avoiding them feels like the ultimate strategy. Why? Because too many women today have become difficult, mean-spirited, and quick to lash out. The reason isn’t all that complicated: men (not all, but many) are no longer chasing them. Once upon a time, a woman could simply exist and she would be showered with attention. But men have caught on, most of that “game” was never about love or partnership. It was just about feeding an ego. The difference between men and women when it comes to ego wounds is stark. Men typically save their fiercest reactions for when they are physically threatened. They fight, then they’re done. W...

Welcome, dear readers, to the greatest show on earth: The Circus of Reproductive Responsibility! Where the rules are made up, the points definitely don’t matter, and the gender you were assigned at birth determines whether you get a sympathetic pat on the head or a one-way ticket to a court-ordered financial panini press. Let’s dive into the funhouse, shall we? Here’s a fun little nugget of logic we’ve all agreed upon as a society: A woman can, for a variety of very valid and personal reasons, choose not to take on the lifelong, soul-crushing, bank-account-draining responsibility of a child. But a man? Oh, a man can go to jail. Jail! You know, that place we usually reserve for people who commit crimes like theft and assault? Apparently, the greatest crime of all is being too poor to pay for a responsibility you may have had zero say in accepting. The advice for men in this situation is so brilliantly simple, it’s a wonder we haven’t solved world hunger yet: “Just keep your legs closed,...

Let's set the scene. You’re prepped for a one-on-one vibe check. The conversation online was fire, the chemistry was promising. You show up, and you see her... and then you see the shadow lurking behind her. The Friend. Your first thought might jump to a hopeful dreamer's gambit, wondering if this is the start of a collaborative event. It’s a fair question to ask, if only to understand the rules of the game. But let's be real, 99.9% of the time, the answer is no. This isn't a threesome; it's a test. And the moment that "no" hits your ears, the dynamic shifts entirely. She didn't make it a date; she made it a committee meeting, and that means you ain't the one. This is your moment to execute a power move so potent, she will never think of pulling this stunt again. The strategy is simple: become utterly captivated by her friend. The immediate, enthusiastic pivot is key. Your face should light up as if her friend's unexpected presence is the best ...

Let’s be real. You’ve seen this philosophical bomb tossed into enough online comment sections to fill a stadium. It’s usually followed by a cascade of crying-laughing emojis, the universal digital signal for “I have just ended an entire community with facts and logic.” The question, posed with the smug satisfaction of a cat who believes it has invented the door, goes something like this: “If body parts don’t determine sex, why do transgender people go through so much trouble to change theirs? 😂” On the surface, it seems like a real head-scratcher, a paradox of the highest order. It’s the kind of question that makes someone lean back, interlace their fingers, and whisper, “Checkmate.” But let’s pop the hood on this gotcha-mobile, because the engine is powered by a fundamental misunderstanding, and the tank is running on sarcasm. Here’s the secret: altering one’s body isn't an admission that parts are all that matter. It’s a brilliant, strategic workaround for living in a world that...

Alright, folks, pull up a chair. Let’s have a little chat about the modern dating carnival. You know the one. It’s all bright lights, enticing promises, and the distinct possibility that you’re going to waste your tickets on a ride that’s broken, leaves you nauseous, and ends with you losing your wallet. I’ve noticed a curious trend lately among my fellow men. It’s not quite a revolt, but more of a collective, weary sigh. It’s the sound of interest slowly deflating, like a whoopee cushion at a royal wedding. The grand pursuit of the fairer sex is starting to feel less like a noble quest and more like being a full-time, unpaid archaeologist sifting through an landfill, hoping to find a single, undisputed treasure that isn’t just a cool-looking rock. Why the sudden mass onset of romantic lethargy? Well, it’s simple. The market is flooded. There seems to be a pervasive, almost religious belief among a certain contingent that the mere act of gracing the planet with their presence is a gift...

Ah yes, the age-old male fantasy: “I want a woman with a low body count.” Translation? “I want the loyalty of a nun with the experience of a porn star.” Cute. But here’s the kicker, many of the same men demanding this saintly résumé are the very architects of the “high body count” they love to complain about. You can’t run around “collecting souls like Infinity Stones” and then act shocked when women end up with actual dating history. But let’s dig deeper into this circus. Why Men Rarely Leave Relationships Here’s the truth: men don’t leave stable relationships, not because they’re deeply invested, but because they’re… comfortable. He gets up, drinks his coffee, goes to work, comes home, and parks himself on the couch. Everything else? Dropped on the woman’s plate. Laundry, kids, emotional labor, remembering birthdays, basically the unpaid internship she never signed up for. So why would he leave? He’s living like a king. The woman, meanwhile, slowly shrivels under emotional neglect. B...

In the old days, marriage was never just about two people falling in love. It was the backbone of societies, the most reliable form of alliance-building. Families joined hands, clans forged peace, tribes avoided bloodshed, and even kingdoms expanded their influence through carefully arranged unions. Marriage meant strategy. It meant survival. If everyone became kin, then everyone could share in prosperity. Conflict was less likely, because bloodlines had already intertwined to create bonds too valuable to break. But in our modern world, the meaning has shifted dramatically. Marriage is no longer viewed primarily as a sacred bond of families, but as a legally binding contract with high stakes and heavier risks. Today it often resembles a business deal rather than a covenant. Licenses, courts, and divorce settlements are proof that it is not simply about romance. It is about assets, debts, liabilities, and obligations. And when the union collapses, the fallout can be devastating. Feminis...