Since everyone gets to show off celebrating blogging for 2 years, I guess I am entitled to show off my 4 years of Blogging, wow...I'm a veteran...4 years solid and going...
Merry Christmas !
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Confessions of a Corporate Hitman
My name is Howard Fry, and I am a Corporate Hitman. I work for companies that require covert action with competitors in order to secure their interests. In the past Seven years I have worked hard to earn a reputation allowing me to compete globally. I have succeeded.
My line of work exposes me to matters that the exposure thereof, would bring severe detriment to serious business players, of course confidentiality is a cornerstone of my work ethic, hence the names of persons, companies and events have been altered in order to preserve such confidentiality.
I was hired by a global pharmaceutical company called Sidley – Remington (SR), who were developing a drug that treats Anger. Since a lot of people could live a lot better with less anger with their lives, the company could make billions with such a breakthrough. SR Pharma is engaged into fierce head to head competition with another global company working on a similar compound. That company is called Phizing.
Phizing had a vacancy open for chief compliance officer for Middle East North Africa. Basically what a compliance officer does, is check that all the company’s dealings are done legally and ethically. Pharmaceutical companies spend a lot of money making sure their operations do not bring about negative exposure. Of course, for a compliance officer to do his job properly, he would have unlimited access to all company information. After securing that position, for being the most qualified candidate for that job, I began making inquiries into the company’s marketing practices in Dubai. Since Pharmaceutical companies are prohibited from advertising their products, marketing is quite different in this sector. It involves awareness programs and collaboration with patients to create brand equity. Some of these programs and collaborations create appeal by offering value added to the patients or health care professionals ( doctors, pharmacists, nurses etc…). Should it be found out that a patient of professional has selected a company product based STRICTLY on the value added, then this act would be unethical. Such practices should merely attract the attention of the target, where the assessment should then be made based on medical criteria since at the end of the day this isn’t a fizzy drink or a candy bar.
This is all small talk and the least of any pharmaceutical company’s worries. The real trouble lies in corruption. Government officials especially this part of the world are very keen on getting kickbacks from Big Pharma, who not only have no problem in catering to such needs in exchange of a favourable position versus the competition, but such companies have allocated millions for that reason in particular. Of course, for such engagements to occur and everyone to be happy, these engagements take on a very sophisticated structure.
Let’s say for example, SR Pharmaceuticals would like to expand its market share in a specific country, one of the options would be to win a tender bid to provide government hospitals and clinics with a specific drug, but in order to procure such a position, SR would have to not only have a better product with proven efficacy, but would also have to provide it CHEAPER than the competition. But what if the Tender Committee awards the bid to SR, without justification?
What if the head of the committee actually is a silent shareholder in a market research company, the clients of which, would include pharmaceutical companies.
What if the bidder uses this market research company for the purposes of the tender in order to better understand the market it is serving? And of course would have to pay that company certain “consultancy fees?”
But then a legitimate question that would be asked by a compliance officer is: “ Do we really need market research to supply the government with painkillers? And if we do, do we really need to pay them 35,000 Dollars a month?”
If we also do need to do that as well, is it necessary to pay these fees to a bank account in the favor of that company’s lawyer in the Cayman Islands?
In order to answer the said questions, I met up with the Commercial Manager for Intercontinental Operations based in Zurich. His name is Alfred Braun.
Braun has been in service of the company for over 35 years, he was there since the cold war. He is Swiss of German origin, and very little is known of his past, prior to joining Phizing. A lot of people below him, seem to be making it to places above him, and he is very close to retirement. His not so brief tenure in that function has also given him unlimited access to secretly held info. Not only that, but has given him a say in the decision making process of the sensitive and not so sensitive matters.
All of the Company’s Intercontinental Operations pour back into Zurich in one way or another, so any dirt there would eventually be okayed by this old frail yet incredibly alert man. This man was isolated, lonely and about to be sent out into the cold…for good. We met in Zurich under the premise of regular work in early 2006, where joint smoking breaks, a small souvenir from the middle east and small talk eventually led to dinner and drinks at a downtown bistro during my trip. I also touched base during that trip with a discreet arms dealer based in Geneva, his name is Amir Nassif.
After Dinner and Drinks with Braun, Braun shared with me a few instances where the company did things I am sure they wouldn’t be keen on sharing with the public or even myself, one of which was a specific manager we have in Russia, handling our tenders in some of the “Stans”(Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, etc…) who has consistently favored a key opinion leader in Oncology ( Cancer) as a consultant to the company’s tenders in one of the Stans. It’s okay, the guy can be good. The problem is, he is also consultant to the Russian Health Minister and has a desk at the ministry. He received consistent monthly payments from Phizing averaging 5,000 Dollars a time, for the past 3 years. Such payments should have been okayed by the compliance department since the guy serves an official government post, even if he is merely a consultant to the ministry.
What makes this all the more interesting is how corrupt the system in Russia is, since a few weeks later I head on to Moscow, meet that opinion leader, who has an office adjacent to the minister himself. I explained the situation when he interrupted me saying that he is not a government official and has no affiliation whatsoever with the Russian Ministry of Health.
I asked him if he can provide that in writing.
The following day I find a package delivered to me at the lobby of the hotel I am staying in. In that package is a letter from the Russian Ministry of Health, signed and sealed by the Ministers office saying that Yuri Popov has nothing to do with the Ministry, and no affiliation whatsoever on both official and unofficial levels.
Funny them Russians. They tell you to go fuck off, and we help you get your way, so don’t try to be a moralist when you also are moved by the bottom line.
Braun and I later met in Paris, that was the last time I saw him for he crashed his rented car a year later in New Jersey.
Back to Amir Nassif….
Nassif is a very respected man in his community. His gentle and courteous demeanor always gave people the best he had.
Being a Christian in Europe was being like a native, he used that to his benefit and led a very incognito lifestyle to avoid tabloids back home. At the office by 8 am in bed by 10 pm. Rarely went out in the middle of the week, if he did it was for business reasons.
When I was in town, it was quite the exception, he made sure we had a good time. He had a set of cars in his garage that guaranteed that. One day it was the Scalgetti, the other it was the Bentley Azure, and in between was the S-class Benz modified by AMG. He warned me that my current client was up to no good, and told me of a compound they were trying to get FDA approval for that had the possibility of reversing the Oncogene growth process. Basically molecule SR-432-15-04 made cancer tumors shrink, and feed on themselves until they are no more.
What is so not good about that? Well, before coming up with that molecule, they did come up with 7 others…all of which cost too much to throw into the bin and have to be released, with a 10 year patent coming for each of them…that means we wont see this miracle cure on the market before 70 years time. Braun wanted to come clean with that, and that is why he is being distanced. I later found out that the car crash in Jersey came after Braun was rumored to be talking to the press..the NY times specifically.
Amir Gave me an offer I can’t refuse. Get the molecule, and he will give me 10% of what he would get when he sells it.
Not bad for someone my age, but it looks fishy, I will need a good reason to come up with the money, I will need a stable job, outside of the industry…
“Would you like to retire in the FMCG Business Howard?”
Like I said..T’was an offer I cant refuse…
My line of work exposes me to matters that the exposure thereof, would bring severe detriment to serious business players, of course confidentiality is a cornerstone of my work ethic, hence the names of persons, companies and events have been altered in order to preserve such confidentiality.
I was hired by a global pharmaceutical company called Sidley – Remington (SR), who were developing a drug that treats Anger. Since a lot of people could live a lot better with less anger with their lives, the company could make billions with such a breakthrough. SR Pharma is engaged into fierce head to head competition with another global company working on a similar compound. That company is called Phizing.
Phizing had a vacancy open for chief compliance officer for Middle East North Africa. Basically what a compliance officer does, is check that all the company’s dealings are done legally and ethically. Pharmaceutical companies spend a lot of money making sure their operations do not bring about negative exposure. Of course, for a compliance officer to do his job properly, he would have unlimited access to all company information. After securing that position, for being the most qualified candidate for that job, I began making inquiries into the company’s marketing practices in Dubai. Since Pharmaceutical companies are prohibited from advertising their products, marketing is quite different in this sector. It involves awareness programs and collaboration with patients to create brand equity. Some of these programs and collaborations create appeal by offering value added to the patients or health care professionals ( doctors, pharmacists, nurses etc…). Should it be found out that a patient of professional has selected a company product based STRICTLY on the value added, then this act would be unethical. Such practices should merely attract the attention of the target, where the assessment should then be made based on medical criteria since at the end of the day this isn’t a fizzy drink or a candy bar.
This is all small talk and the least of any pharmaceutical company’s worries. The real trouble lies in corruption. Government officials especially this part of the world are very keen on getting kickbacks from Big Pharma, who not only have no problem in catering to such needs in exchange of a favourable position versus the competition, but such companies have allocated millions for that reason in particular. Of course, for such engagements to occur and everyone to be happy, these engagements take on a very sophisticated structure.
Let’s say for example, SR Pharmaceuticals would like to expand its market share in a specific country, one of the options would be to win a tender bid to provide government hospitals and clinics with a specific drug, but in order to procure such a position, SR would have to not only have a better product with proven efficacy, but would also have to provide it CHEAPER than the competition. But what if the Tender Committee awards the bid to SR, without justification?
What if the head of the committee actually is a silent shareholder in a market research company, the clients of which, would include pharmaceutical companies.
What if the bidder uses this market research company for the purposes of the tender in order to better understand the market it is serving? And of course would have to pay that company certain “consultancy fees?”
But then a legitimate question that would be asked by a compliance officer is: “ Do we really need market research to supply the government with painkillers? And if we do, do we really need to pay them 35,000 Dollars a month?”
If we also do need to do that as well, is it necessary to pay these fees to a bank account in the favor of that company’s lawyer in the Cayman Islands?
In order to answer the said questions, I met up with the Commercial Manager for Intercontinental Operations based in Zurich. His name is Alfred Braun.
Braun has been in service of the company for over 35 years, he was there since the cold war. He is Swiss of German origin, and very little is known of his past, prior to joining Phizing. A lot of people below him, seem to be making it to places above him, and he is very close to retirement. His not so brief tenure in that function has also given him unlimited access to secretly held info. Not only that, but has given him a say in the decision making process of the sensitive and not so sensitive matters.
All of the Company’s Intercontinental Operations pour back into Zurich in one way or another, so any dirt there would eventually be okayed by this old frail yet incredibly alert man. This man was isolated, lonely and about to be sent out into the cold…for good. We met in Zurich under the premise of regular work in early 2006, where joint smoking breaks, a small souvenir from the middle east and small talk eventually led to dinner and drinks at a downtown bistro during my trip. I also touched base during that trip with a discreet arms dealer based in Geneva, his name is Amir Nassif.
After Dinner and Drinks with Braun, Braun shared with me a few instances where the company did things I am sure they wouldn’t be keen on sharing with the public or even myself, one of which was a specific manager we have in Russia, handling our tenders in some of the “Stans”(Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, etc…) who has consistently favored a key opinion leader in Oncology ( Cancer) as a consultant to the company’s tenders in one of the Stans. It’s okay, the guy can be good. The problem is, he is also consultant to the Russian Health Minister and has a desk at the ministry. He received consistent monthly payments from Phizing averaging 5,000 Dollars a time, for the past 3 years. Such payments should have been okayed by the compliance department since the guy serves an official government post, even if he is merely a consultant to the ministry.
What makes this all the more interesting is how corrupt the system in Russia is, since a few weeks later I head on to Moscow, meet that opinion leader, who has an office adjacent to the minister himself. I explained the situation when he interrupted me saying that he is not a government official and has no affiliation whatsoever with the Russian Ministry of Health.
I asked him if he can provide that in writing.
The following day I find a package delivered to me at the lobby of the hotel I am staying in. In that package is a letter from the Russian Ministry of Health, signed and sealed by the Ministers office saying that Yuri Popov has nothing to do with the Ministry, and no affiliation whatsoever on both official and unofficial levels.
Funny them Russians. They tell you to go fuck off, and we help you get your way, so don’t try to be a moralist when you also are moved by the bottom line.
Braun and I later met in Paris, that was the last time I saw him for he crashed his rented car a year later in New Jersey.
Back to Amir Nassif….
Nassif is a very respected man in his community. His gentle and courteous demeanor always gave people the best he had.
Being a Christian in Europe was being like a native, he used that to his benefit and led a very incognito lifestyle to avoid tabloids back home. At the office by 8 am in bed by 10 pm. Rarely went out in the middle of the week, if he did it was for business reasons.
When I was in town, it was quite the exception, he made sure we had a good time. He had a set of cars in his garage that guaranteed that. One day it was the Scalgetti, the other it was the Bentley Azure, and in between was the S-class Benz modified by AMG. He warned me that my current client was up to no good, and told me of a compound they were trying to get FDA approval for that had the possibility of reversing the Oncogene growth process. Basically molecule SR-432-15-04 made cancer tumors shrink, and feed on themselves until they are no more.
What is so not good about that? Well, before coming up with that molecule, they did come up with 7 others…all of which cost too much to throw into the bin and have to be released, with a 10 year patent coming for each of them…that means we wont see this miracle cure on the market before 70 years time. Braun wanted to come clean with that, and that is why he is being distanced. I later found out that the car crash in Jersey came after Braun was rumored to be talking to the press..the NY times specifically.
Amir Gave me an offer I can’t refuse. Get the molecule, and he will give me 10% of what he would get when he sells it.
Not bad for someone my age, but it looks fishy, I will need a good reason to come up with the money, I will need a stable job, outside of the industry…
“Would you like to retire in the FMCG Business Howard?”
Like I said..T’was an offer I cant refuse…
See You there
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Postscript: On being a Dead Man
" The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled, is convincing the World he doesnt exist"
- Verbal Kint-
I'd like to take this oppertunity to turn back the clock to 1995, the world finally sighed relief now that Bosnia was over, we were all fascinated with the British Royal Family's debacles and tuned to CNN as if we were watching some soap opera, Rednex were big, and so was Saturday Night...
It also was the year Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts did some random movie called Conspiracy Theory. Max ( Mel Gibson's Character) was a deluded taxi driver that wrote newsletters about conspiracies - he noticed with his twisted mind - involving the practices of the US Government.
Max, along with a few other similar characters that popped up in Hollywood Movies at later stages trigger something inside you...an urge to live out your wildest fantasies, with no limits...bring out your dreams to reality..pick a piece of how you see the world, and show it to the rest of the world, saying...this is how i see the world, whaddya think...?
What if a dead man can do that? what if a dead man still roams among the living? can we hold him accountable to what he does? hey he's dead...but to us, he's living flesh, thinking, feeling...and most importantly...doing...
I don't think you are getting this, let me explain more....
We all have Egos the size of hot air balloons, actually theres alot more in common than just size. A hot air balloon, in order to serve the purpose it has been created for has to be over-inflated, has to be full of hot air, and if deflated takes up alot less space in existence than what we have allocated for it. The more over inflated the balloon is, and the hotter the air, the higher places it goes.
What is any man's most basic threat? Death...a certainty we all fear and dread. probably the only Bad thing you can ascertain for sure is going to befall you. this thought controls you, moves you, motivates you...its your driving force...its one of the givens that compose what you would call your "basic understandings of life"
We seek pleasures just in case we die tomorrow, our lives wouldnt be in vain, we'd find something to say, i didnt die in vain, there was meaning to my life, Im not just an organism God created and killed off. Which, really is nothing but the truth, but our Egos, sorry hot air balloons prevent us from accepting that.
But what if you really can put things into prespective? that you are just an organism God created, smiteable, like a cockroach in a dirty bathroom.
What if you get over yourself, and have managed to liberate yourself from that consuming thought, and managed to focus on tapping into your potential, you are a cockroach with a Mind, not a brain, a mind...a cortex? folds of grey matter under your skull...a character, a personality, taste, opinions, abilities...not only to survive..but to prosper during your survival.
what if you have your death early on in life...get over it and move on, live your life with a sigh of relief now that the worst is over? relief comes from "re-live"
What would you do?
Have a Jag? an Aston Martin?
Buy a Jet, fly everywhere on Earth?
Buy an Island? in Switzerland?
Roam the streets of Paris after midnight, walking above a cemetary?
Surround yourself by pretty people and Gorgeous women?
Work in a risky business? for the kicks?
start a Gang? do drive bys?
become a movie star?
a teacher?
a writer?
a mad scientist?
a bald Evil Genius in a grey outfit?
have a secret Lair?
a Secret Agent?
a Cop?
an Assassin?
What would you do?
lets take it to the end....for a bigger take on things and getting the big picture...
What if you do all that? whats next?
where is the end? the peak? the punchline? the climax?
See? Death makes alot of sense, doesnt it?
accept it...
Just Die...
*Smiles Confidently*
See you on the Other Side...
- Verbal Kint-
I'd like to take this oppertunity to turn back the clock to 1995, the world finally sighed relief now that Bosnia was over, we were all fascinated with the British Royal Family's debacles and tuned to CNN as if we were watching some soap opera, Rednex were big, and so was Saturday Night...
It also was the year Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts did some random movie called Conspiracy Theory. Max ( Mel Gibson's Character) was a deluded taxi driver that wrote newsletters about conspiracies - he noticed with his twisted mind - involving the practices of the US Government.
Max, along with a few other similar characters that popped up in Hollywood Movies at later stages trigger something inside you...an urge to live out your wildest fantasies, with no limits...bring out your dreams to reality..pick a piece of how you see the world, and show it to the rest of the world, saying...this is how i see the world, whaddya think...?
What if a dead man can do that? what if a dead man still roams among the living? can we hold him accountable to what he does? hey he's dead...but to us, he's living flesh, thinking, feeling...and most importantly...doing...
I don't think you are getting this, let me explain more....
We all have Egos the size of hot air balloons, actually theres alot more in common than just size. A hot air balloon, in order to serve the purpose it has been created for has to be over-inflated, has to be full of hot air, and if deflated takes up alot less space in existence than what we have allocated for it. The more over inflated the balloon is, and the hotter the air, the higher places it goes.
What is any man's most basic threat? Death...a certainty we all fear and dread. probably the only Bad thing you can ascertain for sure is going to befall you. this thought controls you, moves you, motivates you...its your driving force...its one of the givens that compose what you would call your "basic understandings of life"
We seek pleasures just in case we die tomorrow, our lives wouldnt be in vain, we'd find something to say, i didnt die in vain, there was meaning to my life, Im not just an organism God created and killed off. Which, really is nothing but the truth, but our Egos, sorry hot air balloons prevent us from accepting that.
But what if you really can put things into prespective? that you are just an organism God created, smiteable, like a cockroach in a dirty bathroom.
What if you get over yourself, and have managed to liberate yourself from that consuming thought, and managed to focus on tapping into your potential, you are a cockroach with a Mind, not a brain, a mind...a cortex? folds of grey matter under your skull...a character, a personality, taste, opinions, abilities...not only to survive..but to prosper during your survival.
what if you have your death early on in life...get over it and move on, live your life with a sigh of relief now that the worst is over? relief comes from "re-live"
What would you do?
Have a Jag? an Aston Martin?
Buy a Jet, fly everywhere on Earth?
Buy an Island? in Switzerland?
Roam the streets of Paris after midnight, walking above a cemetary?
Surround yourself by pretty people and Gorgeous women?
Work in a risky business? for the kicks?
start a Gang? do drive bys?
become a movie star?
a teacher?
a writer?
a mad scientist?
a bald Evil Genius in a grey outfit?
have a secret Lair?
a Secret Agent?
a Cop?
an Assassin?
What would you do?
lets take it to the end....for a bigger take on things and getting the big picture...
What if you do all that? whats next?
where is the end? the peak? the punchline? the climax?
See? Death makes alot of sense, doesnt it?
accept it...
Just Die...
*Smiles Confidently*
See you on the Other Side...
Sunday, October 18, 2009
His Whole Life Flashed Before Your Eyes
April 22nd 1979
16:00 Local Time Markaz Nasser , Bani Swaif , Egypt
A Black Western Sahara Scarab that’s managed to migrate eastwards to the Nile Valley was minding its own business in the middle of town. Seeking solace in the town's dirt paved roads. Its bold and slightly bluish black color provided contrast to the town’s regular hues of yellow and brown. You wouldn’t mistake it for litter, since the town wasn’t really that big on consumer consumption to actually litter. Everything in this town was either sold in brown paper bags or plastic ones. Some products came in no packaging at all. Its only been nine years since Nasser ( the namesake of this town and neighboring area) has passed away, and his successor’s historically infamous “open door policy” still remained in big mega cities spawning inhabitants surpassing 5 million such as Cairo and Alexandria.
Towns like Markaz Nasser still felt a lot like Nasser’s Egypt. They all thanked Nasser and his fellow comrades for the revolution not so long ago. For it gave the chance for people like Hag Abdel Dayem, the chance to dream, that their sons may have a life far better than they did.
That is why, Hag Abdel Dayem kept all his sons in school. Abdel Nasser’s dreams and efforts for education to all, will not go in vain.
That is why, Hag Abdel Dayem, took up a Miiry job at the Waste Water Authority in addition to his Iron workshop. He’d rather make the extra money his children normally would have made, than deprive them from what he longed for…
An Education.
Of all his sons, he favored Sayed. He was pretty stand up and took to responsibility well. Instead of playing football with his friends after school, he would help his father at the workshop. Any extra hours were spent over books under a lamppost, some of the books were in the curriculum, other were for his own mental expansion. The Hag, had no worries over Sayed, he didn’t even fear the influence of the Brotherhood, he knew that his son knew God well enough than to fall victim to the brand of God the Brotherhood were selling.
AbdelRahman his youngest, nicknamed Abood ( not a very original nickname) was the most he fretted over. Abood barely passed every school year and was always getting into trouble with other kids at school. Wasn’t very keen on studying the Koran. His excuse was that his tutor from the mosque always smelt like sweat.
Although Abood was quite young and the Hag knew, this is just childhood delinquency he was very keen on disciplining Abood, he always believed that a bad apple in the barrel makes the whole barrel go bad.
Abood was always passionate about one thing though. He’d never leave a car enter the markaz without running after it like a rabid dog. That past time of course, given his age has long since withered away.
Abood skipped school today, and went with a couple of friends behind the gas station, where they were sniffing thinner, in the midst of their hydrocarbon induced stupor, while one of his friends was puking his not so full guts out, Abood noticed a girl, probably his age in her stain dabbed garb that was once a rosy red, and your not so standard –yet commonly found- issued Zanooba flipflop , slapping against her heels with every stride. Fawzeyya, was balancing a huge aluminum pot over her head with a rag covering the lid. He could smell Molokheyya.
ممكن ملخية؟
إختشي ياض عيب
You know where this conversation went, I’ll give you a hint, one of them was not happy about it.
Abood was too high to notice the blood on his pants. His mother wasn’t.
To avoid scandal, Abood was shipped off to Port Said to work with his Maternal Uncle in trucking.
December 6th 1990
22:45 Local Time – Portsaid Free Zone
Abood, now known as “Abdo el Dayem” sat with fellow truckers on a local ahwa overlooking the canal. They were playing backgammon and smoking shisha. One of them had Hashish in his, the rest refrained from joining today, since some of them were due on night drives, and as for the others…well let’s just say, they didn’t want to make a daily habit out of it, for financial reasons.
Abdo el Dayem thought about home sometimes, but selectively drowned out those thoughts. He felt guilt but wouldn’t identify with it. He wasn’t there when Fawzeyya’s family barged into their house, and demanded retribution.
Hag Abdel Dayem, always an honorable man, who always displayed accountability for once had to be a coward, He loved Abood too much to hand him over to the wrath of the Men in Fawzeyya’s family. He then claimed that Abood ran away, and knows nothing of his whereabouts. The Hag had to calm them down.
Seeing that his older son Sayed was the example of the good son, Fawzeyya’s family were willing to let it all go , if Fawzeyya and Sayed be wed.
Although it was very unorthodox to reach such an agreement, in some circles considered incestuous, both parties were blinded by interest. Abdel Dayem blinded by fear from scandal, and Fawzeyya’s family seeking an opportunity out of mishap.
It seemed like the right thing to do.
Abdo el Dayem didn’t know of this until years later, when things cooled down, and was visited impromptu by Sayed himself. Abdo’s Subconscious, clouded his supposed guilt and cloaked it as rage. Rage for defying God, and how dare his brother not only approve of, but participate in such vile practice, it offended him to the extent he ended the visit quite abruptly with an outburst of all the damnations and cuss words he knew. That was five years ago. And he never saw or heard of his family since. Now almost a veteran in trucking out of Port Said, he’s started a hidden career of smuggling, out of the free zone with some colleagues. It was mostly legitimate merchandise, that evaded customs thanks to Abdo. Some smugglers would actually wear the merchandise out of the free zone. But that would take them days or weeks. Abdo merely had a hidden compartment that held close to 600 Articles of clothing if folded properly. He would have them out in two hours.
As he was planning his big break, and his debut in the Port Said smuggling underworld, little did he know that plans he wouldn’t be happy about were brewing elsewhere.
In a world of dog eat dog, where people know no loyalties but to their own well being, earlier that morning a colleague was being held captive at the Free Zone Police Station. Who in order to save his own skin, told them of Abdo’s intentions.
The fellow trucker nestling a “goozah” loaded with Hashish from el Aarish knew of it, but wanted Abdo to fall into the trap, one less competitor out of the way was always a good chance. Although the sense of camaraderie was quite apparent in this bunch as in similar bunches, one always saved his skin, and went by the saying: “ I love you but never more than I love myself”
As Abdo started the road to make his delivery, he looked to blister pack of pills laying on the dashboard. He contemplated wether he would want to entertain his drive by drug induced euphoria, at the expense of “Baraka” on what might be a perilous yet routine journey. After not that much contemplation he decided what the heck, it’s a long drive, he could use the fun.
He popped his usual dose of half the strip, and slipped a tape of Mahmoud el Husseiny into the almost defunct cassette player nestled to the right of the steering wheel.
كوكا كوكا كوكا.....كوكا كوكا كوكا....جوجوجوجوجوجوجوووووو!
The incomprehensible scat of sha3bi music would actually make Louie Armstrong and Louie Reed and all the other Louies and cool cats of the blues –dead or alive – toss and turn in their beds or graves alike.
Tasteless, so tasteless…its enjoyable. Some fans of El Hussieny actually argue that hes actually saying “Kokkak Kokkak Kokkak”, rather than “Kooka Kooka Kooka” which colloquially would mean “Your Cocaine” repeatedly.
Opponents to the claim merely say, this guy caters to an audience that can’t afford to even see a gram of Cocaine, so its impossible that he would actually be referring to “Keif el Melook” as Cocaine is known in these circles. But when you come to think of it, most hip hop stars sing of a lifestyle strictly privy to the ambitions of their audience and never truly realized in real life.
Speaking of Cocaine would fast forward us nineteen years into the story, where Abdo has relocated to Cairo, went into the cocaine business with the hefty profits he made off clothes smuggling out of the free zone, fell into deep beef with the “Batneyya” Dealers who retail the drug in Cairo and had to lay low in order to stay alive, and has been working as a “Mallaki” Driver for six months on a model 2001 BMW 520i for some Consulting Engineer.
He can’t really say the job is a step back, its good legitimate pay, and he practically does nothing but lounge in the driver’s seat all day. When it gets too boring he smokes up a pre rolled joint of Hashish. Of course it is nothing like the glory days of the past, when he was el Me3alem 3abdo, and had an army of minions ready to kill for El Me3alem, but still, at least he gets to stay alive.
October 18th 2009
08:45 am
6th October Bridge – Heliopolis Direction – after suspended extension
Driving to “ana shareb segara bonni” Abdo takes a steep turn with the BMW at a viciously dangerous speed. Very simply put, he is of a school of driving that believes high speed maneuvering is the only indicator of a driver’s skill. Nothing else. Up ahead a 2006 Honda City is trying to slowly overtake a microbus hogging the right lane. Although like any place in most of the world, Cairo reserves the right lane for slow speed drivers, where overtaking should be done from a driver’s left. However in Abdo’s school of driving ( which, mind you is adopted by a lot of frustrated drivers) the Right lane is always seen as an opportunity for speeding. This opinion has been formulated out of consistent traffic occupying the left lane where slow drivers occupy the left lane out of choice and congest traffic coming from behind.
Abdo made a premature judgment call and assumed the Honda City wont overtake, and just cruise in parallel to the microbus, causing a mandatory cruise control if you may call it such for the rest of rear-coming traffic. Abdo, being the impatient “Faloosa” he is, saw a literally very narrow opportunity to pass from the microbus’s right, which in order to take, would compel the microbus to violently veer to the left, where the Honda City would follow suit.
At the same time, the Honda driver was planning to occupy the same space on the bridge that Abdo was planning on occupying after his near deadly maneuver, and I am sure you know that the laws of physics on planet earth cannot allow to different bodies to occupy the same space, in layman’s terms..a car crash was inevitable.
Once both Abdo and the Honda Driver simultaneously discovered the others intentions… 2 seconds of Absolute Chaos erupted on the eternally congested bridge.
It was the type of chaos that makes one’s life flash before one’s eyes, as if it were a final review of one’s life. It’s a moment of evaluation that transcends what we understand as time. Although it is not a comprehensive flash, meaning that one’s entire life does not flash before one’s eyes, rather than the most significant events that led the life to take the route it eventually took. Of course the editing of these images is very subjective and done by one’s current state of mind and what that current state of mind sees as relevant or important. That current state of mind, being in the director’s chair directing your perception of things, ultimately has full control of the entire display with what it may entail of image quality and speed, color shades, tints and of course accompanying soundtrack and/or musical score. What also makes it all the more interesting is how the director might indulge in continuity errors such as playing a piece of music as soundtrack to a specific memory that was actually composed after that event took place *think Techno Music playing to a battle in WWI*
In elaboration to that, it is likely that a content man going through this ordeal ( the ordeal being the realization that he is about die) see the positive significant events of his life *snapshot of content man getting married, followed by one of buying new house, and a series of other pleasant events of significant sentimental value including but not necessarily limited to daughter graduating, a day at the beach with the family, a memorable childhood moment with a now dead parent all displayed slowly with fluid and fluff sequence motion with Louie Armstrong’s “ what a wonderful world” in the background, …you get the drift, don’t you?*
I am also confident that you can already assume that Abdo is not exactly a man content with what he has done with his life, and hence the timeless film reel of events his state of mind showed him was more foreboding and tormenting than that of your content man displayed above.
Something more like the story of his life portrayed above, with all the regrets and fuck ups he had to endure as a result of following his whims and indulgence in Hedonism.
So let’s just pause the image of the crash for a minute…just one Femto Second before impact…and then allow it to reverse at 48 frames per second, *enter divine miracle, that downplays event from Demise to Near Death Experience Status*
Was the torment caused by watching a “bad” life flash before your eyes intense enough to have you repent your ways if you were given a second chance on life? Or would such repenting be short lived, for like a day or two… will you even remember this near death experience tomorrow? At five O clock today when boss sends you for some other random errand?
I mean, there’s always the option of downgrading the event to “ Not Deadly But Permanently Incapacitating” Where you lose a limb or two, maybe even permanent disfigurement…maybe that would remind Abdo from this day forward that any minute after the crash is a blessing that he should invest appropriately. That seems fair. But who am I to decide..that’s Fate’s Job.. In other words…God’s Will.
It was God’s Will that the crash was never to occur, *insert moans of objection by carnage lovers* and that both Abdo and the Honda driver escape this event unscathed…both of them living to die another day…barely remembering it days later…
This is up here for one of the event participants to remember,
Always remember…
16:00 Local Time Markaz Nasser , Bani Swaif , Egypt
A Black Western Sahara Scarab that’s managed to migrate eastwards to the Nile Valley was minding its own business in the middle of town. Seeking solace in the town's dirt paved roads. Its bold and slightly bluish black color provided contrast to the town’s regular hues of yellow and brown. You wouldn’t mistake it for litter, since the town wasn’t really that big on consumer consumption to actually litter. Everything in this town was either sold in brown paper bags or plastic ones. Some products came in no packaging at all. Its only been nine years since Nasser ( the namesake of this town and neighboring area) has passed away, and his successor’s historically infamous “open door policy” still remained in big mega cities spawning inhabitants surpassing 5 million such as Cairo and Alexandria.
Towns like Markaz Nasser still felt a lot like Nasser’s Egypt. They all thanked Nasser and his fellow comrades for the revolution not so long ago. For it gave the chance for people like Hag Abdel Dayem, the chance to dream, that their sons may have a life far better than they did.
That is why, Hag Abdel Dayem kept all his sons in school. Abdel Nasser’s dreams and efforts for education to all, will not go in vain.
That is why, Hag Abdel Dayem, took up a Miiry job at the Waste Water Authority in addition to his Iron workshop. He’d rather make the extra money his children normally would have made, than deprive them from what he longed for…
An Education.
Of all his sons, he favored Sayed. He was pretty stand up and took to responsibility well. Instead of playing football with his friends after school, he would help his father at the workshop. Any extra hours were spent over books under a lamppost, some of the books were in the curriculum, other were for his own mental expansion. The Hag, had no worries over Sayed, he didn’t even fear the influence of the Brotherhood, he knew that his son knew God well enough than to fall victim to the brand of God the Brotherhood were selling.
AbdelRahman his youngest, nicknamed Abood ( not a very original nickname) was the most he fretted over. Abood barely passed every school year and was always getting into trouble with other kids at school. Wasn’t very keen on studying the Koran. His excuse was that his tutor from the mosque always smelt like sweat.
Although Abood was quite young and the Hag knew, this is just childhood delinquency he was very keen on disciplining Abood, he always believed that a bad apple in the barrel makes the whole barrel go bad.
Abood was always passionate about one thing though. He’d never leave a car enter the markaz without running after it like a rabid dog. That past time of course, given his age has long since withered away.
Abood skipped school today, and went with a couple of friends behind the gas station, where they were sniffing thinner, in the midst of their hydrocarbon induced stupor, while one of his friends was puking his not so full guts out, Abood noticed a girl, probably his age in her stain dabbed garb that was once a rosy red, and your not so standard –yet commonly found- issued Zanooba flipflop , slapping against her heels with every stride. Fawzeyya, was balancing a huge aluminum pot over her head with a rag covering the lid. He could smell Molokheyya.
ممكن ملخية؟
إختشي ياض عيب
You know where this conversation went, I’ll give you a hint, one of them was not happy about it.
Abood was too high to notice the blood on his pants. His mother wasn’t.
To avoid scandal, Abood was shipped off to Port Said to work with his Maternal Uncle in trucking.
December 6th 1990
22:45 Local Time – Portsaid Free Zone
Abood, now known as “Abdo el Dayem” sat with fellow truckers on a local ahwa overlooking the canal. They were playing backgammon and smoking shisha. One of them had Hashish in his, the rest refrained from joining today, since some of them were due on night drives, and as for the others…well let’s just say, they didn’t want to make a daily habit out of it, for financial reasons.
Abdo el Dayem thought about home sometimes, but selectively drowned out those thoughts. He felt guilt but wouldn’t identify with it. He wasn’t there when Fawzeyya’s family barged into their house, and demanded retribution.
Hag Abdel Dayem, always an honorable man, who always displayed accountability for once had to be a coward, He loved Abood too much to hand him over to the wrath of the Men in Fawzeyya’s family. He then claimed that Abood ran away, and knows nothing of his whereabouts. The Hag had to calm them down.
Seeing that his older son Sayed was the example of the good son, Fawzeyya’s family were willing to let it all go , if Fawzeyya and Sayed be wed.
Although it was very unorthodox to reach such an agreement, in some circles considered incestuous, both parties were blinded by interest. Abdel Dayem blinded by fear from scandal, and Fawzeyya’s family seeking an opportunity out of mishap.
It seemed like the right thing to do.
Abdo el Dayem didn’t know of this until years later, when things cooled down, and was visited impromptu by Sayed himself. Abdo’s Subconscious, clouded his supposed guilt and cloaked it as rage. Rage for defying God, and how dare his brother not only approve of, but participate in such vile practice, it offended him to the extent he ended the visit quite abruptly with an outburst of all the damnations and cuss words he knew. That was five years ago. And he never saw or heard of his family since. Now almost a veteran in trucking out of Port Said, he’s started a hidden career of smuggling, out of the free zone with some colleagues. It was mostly legitimate merchandise, that evaded customs thanks to Abdo. Some smugglers would actually wear the merchandise out of the free zone. But that would take them days or weeks. Abdo merely had a hidden compartment that held close to 600 Articles of clothing if folded properly. He would have them out in two hours.
As he was planning his big break, and his debut in the Port Said smuggling underworld, little did he know that plans he wouldn’t be happy about were brewing elsewhere.
In a world of dog eat dog, where people know no loyalties but to their own well being, earlier that morning a colleague was being held captive at the Free Zone Police Station. Who in order to save his own skin, told them of Abdo’s intentions.
The fellow trucker nestling a “goozah” loaded with Hashish from el Aarish knew of it, but wanted Abdo to fall into the trap, one less competitor out of the way was always a good chance. Although the sense of camaraderie was quite apparent in this bunch as in similar bunches, one always saved his skin, and went by the saying: “ I love you but never more than I love myself”
As Abdo started the road to make his delivery, he looked to blister pack of pills laying on the dashboard. He contemplated wether he would want to entertain his drive by drug induced euphoria, at the expense of “Baraka” on what might be a perilous yet routine journey. After not that much contemplation he decided what the heck, it’s a long drive, he could use the fun.
He popped his usual dose of half the strip, and slipped a tape of Mahmoud el Husseiny into the almost defunct cassette player nestled to the right of the steering wheel.
كوكا كوكا كوكا.....كوكا كوكا كوكا....جوجوجوجوجوجوجوووووو!
The incomprehensible scat of sha3bi music would actually make Louie Armstrong and Louie Reed and all the other Louies and cool cats of the blues –dead or alive – toss and turn in their beds or graves alike.
Tasteless, so tasteless…its enjoyable. Some fans of El Hussieny actually argue that hes actually saying “Kokkak Kokkak Kokkak”, rather than “Kooka Kooka Kooka” which colloquially would mean “Your Cocaine” repeatedly.
Opponents to the claim merely say, this guy caters to an audience that can’t afford to even see a gram of Cocaine, so its impossible that he would actually be referring to “Keif el Melook” as Cocaine is known in these circles. But when you come to think of it, most hip hop stars sing of a lifestyle strictly privy to the ambitions of their audience and never truly realized in real life.
Speaking of Cocaine would fast forward us nineteen years into the story, where Abdo has relocated to Cairo, went into the cocaine business with the hefty profits he made off clothes smuggling out of the free zone, fell into deep beef with the “Batneyya” Dealers who retail the drug in Cairo and had to lay low in order to stay alive, and has been working as a “Mallaki” Driver for six months on a model 2001 BMW 520i for some Consulting Engineer.
He can’t really say the job is a step back, its good legitimate pay, and he practically does nothing but lounge in the driver’s seat all day. When it gets too boring he smokes up a pre rolled joint of Hashish. Of course it is nothing like the glory days of the past, when he was el Me3alem 3abdo, and had an army of minions ready to kill for El Me3alem, but still, at least he gets to stay alive.
October 18th 2009
08:45 am
6th October Bridge – Heliopolis Direction – after suspended extension
Driving to “ana shareb segara bonni” Abdo takes a steep turn with the BMW at a viciously dangerous speed. Very simply put, he is of a school of driving that believes high speed maneuvering is the only indicator of a driver’s skill. Nothing else. Up ahead a 2006 Honda City is trying to slowly overtake a microbus hogging the right lane. Although like any place in most of the world, Cairo reserves the right lane for slow speed drivers, where overtaking should be done from a driver’s left. However in Abdo’s school of driving ( which, mind you is adopted by a lot of frustrated drivers) the Right lane is always seen as an opportunity for speeding. This opinion has been formulated out of consistent traffic occupying the left lane where slow drivers occupy the left lane out of choice and congest traffic coming from behind.
Abdo made a premature judgment call and assumed the Honda City wont overtake, and just cruise in parallel to the microbus, causing a mandatory cruise control if you may call it such for the rest of rear-coming traffic. Abdo, being the impatient “Faloosa” he is, saw a literally very narrow opportunity to pass from the microbus’s right, which in order to take, would compel the microbus to violently veer to the left, where the Honda City would follow suit.
At the same time, the Honda driver was planning to occupy the same space on the bridge that Abdo was planning on occupying after his near deadly maneuver, and I am sure you know that the laws of physics on planet earth cannot allow to different bodies to occupy the same space, in layman’s terms..a car crash was inevitable.
Once both Abdo and the Honda Driver simultaneously discovered the others intentions… 2 seconds of Absolute Chaos erupted on the eternally congested bridge.
It was the type of chaos that makes one’s life flash before one’s eyes, as if it were a final review of one’s life. It’s a moment of evaluation that transcends what we understand as time. Although it is not a comprehensive flash, meaning that one’s entire life does not flash before one’s eyes, rather than the most significant events that led the life to take the route it eventually took. Of course the editing of these images is very subjective and done by one’s current state of mind and what that current state of mind sees as relevant or important. That current state of mind, being in the director’s chair directing your perception of things, ultimately has full control of the entire display with what it may entail of image quality and speed, color shades, tints and of course accompanying soundtrack and/or musical score. What also makes it all the more interesting is how the director might indulge in continuity errors such as playing a piece of music as soundtrack to a specific memory that was actually composed after that event took place *think Techno Music playing to a battle in WWI*
In elaboration to that, it is likely that a content man going through this ordeal ( the ordeal being the realization that he is about die) see the positive significant events of his life *snapshot of content man getting married, followed by one of buying new house, and a series of other pleasant events of significant sentimental value including but not necessarily limited to daughter graduating, a day at the beach with the family, a memorable childhood moment with a now dead parent all displayed slowly with fluid and fluff sequence motion with Louie Armstrong’s “ what a wonderful world” in the background, …you get the drift, don’t you?*
I am also confident that you can already assume that Abdo is not exactly a man content with what he has done with his life, and hence the timeless film reel of events his state of mind showed him was more foreboding and tormenting than that of your content man displayed above.
Something more like the story of his life portrayed above, with all the regrets and fuck ups he had to endure as a result of following his whims and indulgence in Hedonism.
So let’s just pause the image of the crash for a minute…just one Femto Second before impact…and then allow it to reverse at 48 frames per second, *enter divine miracle, that downplays event from Demise to Near Death Experience Status*
Was the torment caused by watching a “bad” life flash before your eyes intense enough to have you repent your ways if you were given a second chance on life? Or would such repenting be short lived, for like a day or two… will you even remember this near death experience tomorrow? At five O clock today when boss sends you for some other random errand?
I mean, there’s always the option of downgrading the event to “ Not Deadly But Permanently Incapacitating” Where you lose a limb or two, maybe even permanent disfigurement…maybe that would remind Abdo from this day forward that any minute after the crash is a blessing that he should invest appropriately. That seems fair. But who am I to decide..that’s Fate’s Job.. In other words…God’s Will.
It was God’s Will that the crash was never to occur, *insert moans of objection by carnage lovers* and that both Abdo and the Honda driver escape this event unscathed…both of them living to die another day…barely remembering it days later…
This is up here for one of the event participants to remember,
Always remember…
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Five Women
Painting, Courtesy of Viktor Ostrovsky“He’s such a Kid” She said in adoration. “ He even smells like cookies”
Nobody on the table disagreed with her statement, as if none of the four other ladies could care any less. The overflowing conversation that took place before we joined them was cut abruptly when a waiter looking like a French version of Estefan Rosti wiped the table clear of cigarette ash, changed the ashtray and picked up three empty glasses on the table.
It was quite interesting how you would have all five of them on one table. Five ladies, all different from one another. Three were blonde, three were chubby. Two of them had postgraduate degrees, the other three wanted to follow suit, funny how Women are all about post graduates, trying to prove something?
First there was Leslie Cavanaugh, Journalist. Tall, Big Boned with legs that go on for ever, always dressed in suit pants and silk shirts of every style and color. Her generally big figure hid the fact that she’s quite chubby. She had two curtains of jet black hair covering the sides of her face to further intrigue her profile. The sheer weight she had to carry around made her always the first one to sweat, however shes quite skilled in concealing shortcomings that any girl would fail to distract attention from. Just like her job, she would spin things around into her favor. For instance, any girl her size would perceive the size to be a problem, Leslie looks at it as an advantage, her mere presence takes up space, hence she’s already beaten anyone when it comes to attracting attention.
Her face reminds you of Demi Moore, eyes and smirk of Shannon Doherty, all mixed up with some Rosie O Donnell.
Leslie worked at a small tabloid called “Eye in the Sky” magazine, it was one of those publications that attend happenings everywhere, and followed The people who cant afford to be followed. She even admitted to herself that there is not journalistic value to what she does. She would wish she can offer more, and she will once the chance presents itself.
It did when a power struggle between the shareholders of eye in the sky ended up with the overpowered partner landing the Editor’s Desk. He pushed Cavanaugh up until she was right next to him. He wanted to sleep with her although he was intimidated by big women. She’d refuse his advances very matter-of-factly, treating him like a child who got too attached to an expensive toy at the supermarket.
She Loved Men, loved dominating them, conquering their empires so easily. She saw them as the weakest beings possible, how they cave in so easily for her, she just bats a few eyelashes and they start dropping like flies. What she would refuse to admit to, is that this was just a twisted reflection of her own insecurity towards them. An Absentee father can do that, especially one who is only there to give you shit about being imperfect and disappointing. Bigger room for that growing is the excessive freedom leading a career driven lifestyle, which was very apparent in this big little girl.
Then there was Denise Bowen, a lawyer, divorced after 3 months of marriage. Her ex-Husband was an IT Sales Guru, or so he claimed. She followed him once only to find out he’s some sort of an undercover spy working for a government agency. Instead of looking at it as cool and sexy she just left him. It was the fact that he lied to her that hurt, even if it were about his job, even if it jeopardized her safety, his job or national security. She believed it was her right to know what she was signing up for. Yes she admitted having a handsome international spy for a husband is a woman’s dream come true, however secrets are secrets, and she didn’t want to live in a house full of them. She told him she was leaving, and would rather solve it amicably. He agreed as taking a lawyer to court didn’t sound like the wisest thing ever.
Lying is indeed a terrible thing, the Truth is something we constantly fight for, some people die with it, some people live with it hurtfully, some people just can’t handle it.
That’s why we have True Lies. As a combination of both, are they good? Or are they bad?
Makes one yearn for the days where everything was just black and white, when He-man was undoubtedly good, and Skeletor was sheer evil. Which makes you wonder about other values instilled into our feeble minds, why were the good guys always pretty, handsome and good-looking? And your evil people were ugly and scary…I know it is for emphasis, but apply that to true life, nobody ugly has ever hurt me, however a lot of good looking pretty people did cause me some sort of harm. It’s the ultimate deception really, you let their guard down under the premise of good looking, means good.
Another value I find quite confusing that’s instilled in my head from the good old days is Tom and Jerry. Who’s really the bad guy? Is it Tom ( cause of the food chain..? following the stereotype that cat is out to eat mouse?) when in reality never have I seen a mouse-eating cat, nor heard of one. Or is it Jerry, who is constantly conniving in his mouse hole to rid his dwelling of a domesticated feline pet, and coming up with ingenious, and downright violent methods to make Tom’s life horrible?
Anyways, you wanna know more of my thoughts, set up an interview, I am here to tell a story, and I think you are here to read one, so on with it.
Denise had ideal form and figure for someone in her age and with her lifestyle. The long draining hours at the firm never took a toll on her buff figure. When she didn’t have time to exercise, she made the time. She fears death obsessively and does anything to prolong her life. A new vitamin or health supplement is out on the market, 5 minutes later its in her medicine cabinet. Her diet…a nutritionist’s paradise. Her skin is soft and toned, her hair…something out of a Pantene ad. Her attire always exhumed power and commanded respect. Her attitude just scares you, intimidating however in no way prejudicial, all bite and no bark.
Shes been asked out by many, accepted a few, got into even fewer relationships that culminated in her marriage to Secret Agent Man, after-which she lost her faith in love and relationships to hide her wounds. Ego was too big to fathom that a man’s job can come before his woman. Or in this case, his country.
Nobody on the table disagreed with her statement, as if none of the four other ladies could care any less. The overflowing conversation that took place before we joined them was cut abruptly when a waiter looking like a French version of Estefan Rosti wiped the table clear of cigarette ash, changed the ashtray and picked up three empty glasses on the table.
It was quite interesting how you would have all five of them on one table. Five ladies, all different from one another. Three were blonde, three were chubby. Two of them had postgraduate degrees, the other three wanted to follow suit, funny how Women are all about post graduates, trying to prove something?
First there was Leslie Cavanaugh, Journalist. Tall, Big Boned with legs that go on for ever, always dressed in suit pants and silk shirts of every style and color. Her generally big figure hid the fact that she’s quite chubby. She had two curtains of jet black hair covering the sides of her face to further intrigue her profile. The sheer weight she had to carry around made her always the first one to sweat, however shes quite skilled in concealing shortcomings that any girl would fail to distract attention from. Just like her job, she would spin things around into her favor. For instance, any girl her size would perceive the size to be a problem, Leslie looks at it as an advantage, her mere presence takes up space, hence she’s already beaten anyone when it comes to attracting attention.
Her face reminds you of Demi Moore, eyes and smirk of Shannon Doherty, all mixed up with some Rosie O Donnell.
Leslie worked at a small tabloid called “Eye in the Sky” magazine, it was one of those publications that attend happenings everywhere, and followed The people who cant afford to be followed. She even admitted to herself that there is not journalistic value to what she does. She would wish she can offer more, and she will once the chance presents itself.
It did when a power struggle between the shareholders of eye in the sky ended up with the overpowered partner landing the Editor’s Desk. He pushed Cavanaugh up until she was right next to him. He wanted to sleep with her although he was intimidated by big women. She’d refuse his advances very matter-of-factly, treating him like a child who got too attached to an expensive toy at the supermarket.
She Loved Men, loved dominating them, conquering their empires so easily. She saw them as the weakest beings possible, how they cave in so easily for her, she just bats a few eyelashes and they start dropping like flies. What she would refuse to admit to, is that this was just a twisted reflection of her own insecurity towards them. An Absentee father can do that, especially one who is only there to give you shit about being imperfect and disappointing. Bigger room for that growing is the excessive freedom leading a career driven lifestyle, which was very apparent in this big little girl.
Then there was Denise Bowen, a lawyer, divorced after 3 months of marriage. Her ex-Husband was an IT Sales Guru, or so he claimed. She followed him once only to find out he’s some sort of an undercover spy working for a government agency. Instead of looking at it as cool and sexy she just left him. It was the fact that he lied to her that hurt, even if it were about his job, even if it jeopardized her safety, his job or national security. She believed it was her right to know what she was signing up for. Yes she admitted having a handsome international spy for a husband is a woman’s dream come true, however secrets are secrets, and she didn’t want to live in a house full of them. She told him she was leaving, and would rather solve it amicably. He agreed as taking a lawyer to court didn’t sound like the wisest thing ever.
Lying is indeed a terrible thing, the Truth is something we constantly fight for, some people die with it, some people live with it hurtfully, some people just can’t handle it.
That’s why we have True Lies. As a combination of both, are they good? Or are they bad?
Makes one yearn for the days where everything was just black and white, when He-man was undoubtedly good, and Skeletor was sheer evil. Which makes you wonder about other values instilled into our feeble minds, why were the good guys always pretty, handsome and good-looking? And your evil people were ugly and scary…I know it is for emphasis, but apply that to true life, nobody ugly has ever hurt me, however a lot of good looking pretty people did cause me some sort of harm. It’s the ultimate deception really, you let their guard down under the premise of good looking, means good.
Another value I find quite confusing that’s instilled in my head from the good old days is Tom and Jerry. Who’s really the bad guy? Is it Tom ( cause of the food chain..? following the stereotype that cat is out to eat mouse?) when in reality never have I seen a mouse-eating cat, nor heard of one. Or is it Jerry, who is constantly conniving in his mouse hole to rid his dwelling of a domesticated feline pet, and coming up with ingenious, and downright violent methods to make Tom’s life horrible?
Anyways, you wanna know more of my thoughts, set up an interview, I am here to tell a story, and I think you are here to read one, so on with it.
Denise had ideal form and figure for someone in her age and with her lifestyle. The long draining hours at the firm never took a toll on her buff figure. When she didn’t have time to exercise, she made the time. She fears death obsessively and does anything to prolong her life. A new vitamin or health supplement is out on the market, 5 minutes later its in her medicine cabinet. Her diet…a nutritionist’s paradise. Her skin is soft and toned, her hair…something out of a Pantene ad. Her attire always exhumed power and commanded respect. Her attitude just scares you, intimidating however in no way prejudicial, all bite and no bark.
Shes been asked out by many, accepted a few, got into even fewer relationships that culminated in her marriage to Secret Agent Man, after-which she lost her faith in love and relationships to hide her wounds. Ego was too big to fathom that a man’s job can come before his woman. Or in this case, his country.
Dr. Porter was the reserved and the observant of the bunch. A woman who saved herself from the many disappointments life had to offer. Her refuge was learning, academia, degree followed degree, class and course were still in the dictionary as she approached her thirties. Life experience, zilch… She considered herself an experienced woman who has passed many hardships through the patients at her clinic. She’s treated schizos and depressives, helped them face their fears and overcome them.
Some say people who take problem solving as a career ( and no, by that I am not referring to Mathematicians and IT troubleshooters) are escaping their own problems. They focus their efforts on solving other people’s problems to gain the reassurance they need to think that they are capable beings. It’s quite a viable theory, however if true would be very disappointing, going to a shrink that needs head shrinking themselves isn’t very reassuring, it’s like going to a fat nutritionist, or a démodé stylist.
She spent around a year in Phnom Penh with Medicins sans frontiers. I think it was 2003. She was there helping with healthcare, out there in the hospitals and the out clinics, just helping with any medical expertise she can. One patient wouldyou’re your regular Cambodian suffering from gangrene requiring amputation of his right foot, the next patient would be someone coming in for their regular bout of dialysis with the make-shift kidney machine in the corner. It was exciting at first, she really felt like she was making a difference. But then it got too much. It was always very frustrating how limited resources she and her other peers had to work with. They’d share a scalpel between the four of them, and at times when there were too many people to work on, they would hand it mid procedure in a beaker of Alcohol to avoid any infections and keeping it sterile. This of course would be hell for whoever is undergoing the procedure. Many more of similar stories were always the highlight of any gathering she would be in and the issue of the meaning of life would come up, especially after a few glasses of wine.
She drank, and drank and drank and drank. Only Wine but she was like a sponge. She would have a bottle to herself with every meal except breakfast. Sometimes more if there’s company and the conversation is engaging. She’d always say “There’s more philosophy in a bottle of wine, than in all the books of the world.” Quite a conundrum for someone who is big on academia.
Lydia Simms was the strongest of the bunch. She’s been through a lot. Her hard and unscratchable exterior was merely a shell to cover a wounded interior. Only few can tell, the people she kept close reciprocated keeping by keeping her wounds as well guarded secrets. Maybe they were too horrible to tell, maybe it was just out of being loyal, either way…It wasn’t something to talk about openly.
She sought security, but acted like it was the last of priorities on her list. She craved it on all levels. She wanted a man to take care of her, in the most traditional sense possible. But it was a mark of shame she wasn’t proud of admitting. To the extent that possibly, she might not even know that this is what she really seeks. Her past experiences with the men in her life, mainly her father, brother and a few insignificant suitors left her unsatisfied and ashamed.
Women can be very complex, I don’t need to tell you that.
She had quite a conspicuous appearance. Her fair complexion roasted harshly under the sun, which prevented her from ever getting a proper tan during summers up on the coast. She wasn’t really keen on the coast life during the summer, Shed go to a secluded compound on the eastern side of the coast at a friend’s, One of those compounds that boomed in the first Sahel boom of the late 80’s. Secluded, nothing fancy but at least it’s a proper beach.
Her bright hazel eyes were the first feature of her face that captivated your attention, and would invite you to admire the rest of her more “subtle” features. She had a long bridge for a nose, disproportionate to the size of her actual organ. The nostrils however so minute and miniscule they appear to be two identically sized small dots placed by a thin chaffed marker. Overall as you can tell, it was a nice nose however atypical to a round face with a golden mane.
She had one of those smiles that push up her cheeks to cover her eyes, making them temporarily disappear, and leave a sparky twinkle in their temporary absence.
She was short, even for a girl…it kind of matches the attitude, something I always noted how small creatures appear a lot more fierce than their larger counterparts, to give a false appearance of security. You know how the little dogs bark more and are more prone to initiate attack than the larger, generally much calmer ( and actually more ferocious) Canines.
Think Great Dane lounging under a park bench minding his own business when a little Chihuahua ( or in more visible accounts this side of the world) Kalb Loulou.. just barks and barks and barks and growls to an annoying extent you would just love to unleash the Great Dane to show this little noisy whipper snapper whos boss?
Its kind of different with men, I don’t know why…but all the small men I have met, ( the ones who stay small and do not pop pills and chug shakes and spend their livelihood on hours at the gym to compensate their insecurities) are actually more confident, funnier , and a lot more appealing than the large bulky gorillas that supposedly can cream’ em at a barfight.
However with men, loudness has no connection whatsoever with Body size.
Just makes you wonder how as human beings, and at the rate of how sophisticated we have become, we would be over such basic insecurities such as size, and still allow them to alter our characters and personalities. I mean this isn’t fat/ muscle I am talking tall/ short…wide narrow. With the technology and money and research capabilities around, there are industries that cater to our insecurities towards beauty in the sense of make up, hair dyes, creams etc… that make us prettier, Weight loss, cosmetic surgery that makes us thinner…but not a single dime, study or product that makes us Taller. And it is bone size that scares us the most out of all of these.
Despite her aggressive attitude Lydia has managed to make more friends than enenmies. People who didn’t like her attitude merely stayed away rather than put her on their hate lists. Shed speak out openly if she would disagree with you, but place her criticisms so objectively, and argue so convincingly, without getting you into the equation. Hence attacking your behaviour, or your belief without even scratching you in the process. The mannerisms of a true critic. She’s attacked me verbally many times, never in a manner that insulted me, but surprisingly, the conclusion of her trashing monologues was how Shit I am.
You would imagine that a person like her, who was physically, emotionally and sexually abused by a father, stricken with a sudden financial situation close to poverty and slowed down by Type I Diabetes would pack less punch or at least take it easy with her life. She married a poet turned screenwriter, who amassed tremendous success in his latter career.
With great success, comes greater Women…
Sorry, I meant Bimbos…
Can’t blame the guy, Living with Lydia under one roof just kills you…especially when she’s ten times more ambitious, ten times more successful, and does not refrain from reminding you where you go wrong, every time you go wrong. Try six years of that then find a Bimbo aspiring to become the next screen idol asking you to autograph her right boob.
In contrast, what do you think that did to Lydia’s already faltering faith in men.
Alice Simms, was not that different from her sister ( el ab bayen 3aleeh kan haygan awi we me2adeeha fel beit), she was taller, fatter, and took to their mother in terms of humility and wisdom.
She graduated top of her class. Constantly haunted by her past, this woman had a cause. She believed in the concept of the Devine Feminine, after reading a book by Dan Brown, It wasn’t the start..it just molded the way for her. She dedicated her life to gender studies, started rallies and 5 ( yes five) failed women’s lib movements. They’d start campaigns creating awareness against Female Genital Mutilation, but would be always stopped short by some government middleman who thinks shes giving sex-ed classes to peasant girls.
Shes written many books about female empowerment in male dominated societies, furthermore she actually – in one of her equally controversially titled and filled books- promoted faking orgasms as a means of attaining leverage versus domineering males. The book was called “Fake it, to Make it”.
She had a scar on her left cheek from a protest, she swears shes going to castrate the undercover police bully that did that when she finds him.
Of course with an attitude like that, the closest thing she would get to a mustache in her life is to refrain from plucking her facial hairs for a year or two.. which is already a no brainer since she is against “dolling up”.
Despite that, she is literally very tight with: Queen Rania, Uma Thurman, Nicole Kidman, Natalie Portman, Mama Suzanne, Mama Nawal, Oprah, Julia Roberts, Madonna and Mona el Shazly.
Shes a very powerful figure on the political arena, which landed her a lot of contacts and hence, contracts…you should see the digits on her bank account.
All this makes her quite the challenge when it comes to gigolos and playboys, who despite her looks and mannerisms find her as a jackpot.
She’d fall for them everytime.
Enter The Cookie Smelling Man…(CSM)
He’s the only thing they all have in common..
CSM was short, very well toned he’d rip what he’s wearing. Light skinned and a mix between Mickey Rourke ( think 9 ½ weeks not Man on Fire) and Mark Wahlberg ( think planet of the apes not Marky Mark).
CSM wanted to play in the NBA, he was a good three point shooter.
That was before he wanted to be a Rap star, and after he wanted to be an actor.
CSM is a stockbroker, working for Goldman Sachs…blending in lovely with Wall street.
In a few weeks, hes going to propose to Denise, and move to Cairo with her, his first time ever out of the US.
Save Alice and Lydia, They all, will never meet again.
However, they all will agree…That the morning after, CSM always smells like cookies.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Night Rage: Can it get any better?
The dark twisting road provided a lot of intrigue and excitement. Stippy had some party music booming out of the car stereo. It was one beast of a car, a Maroon colored 2007 BMW M6 capable of hammering the road at almost 500 horsepower. While zipping effortlessly on the empty stretch of road like a snake…the ambient lighting of the dashboard was the only sort of illumination inside the car , mixed with the music gave a surreal feel to the events taking place inside.
What was happening was already surreal, it didn’t need the additional effect. They were all in a surreal state of existence. Stippy had too much to drink, and snorted too much coke. As for the girl…well he met up with her she was already on something, maybe just booze maybe more.. he was too distracted by her rack to care to know. She was also quite responsive, flirting with him all night, all she was looking for was a good time, maybe even she’ll give him what he wants in the end if she feels he’s earned it. She thought she can get herself out of any sticky situation because she’s done it many times before, with more adept men. Despite that, she might have not been that attracted to him as much as she was attracted to the burgundy leather seats of the car, the car itself, and the good times this Stippy can provide. She’d probably cross a few lines if she'd have to, all for the sake of pleasure, all for the sake of keeping this going. He’s fun.
Stippy was the needy type, however in return he’d give a lot, not because he cared, but because he had a lot. And what he was giving didn’t mean that much to him anyway. What’s a few thousand pounds of daddy’s easy money in exchange for a great night?
His neediness got him impatient. He wants that girl, he’s overloaded with desire. She’s not really that special, he just had a thing for female flesh, especially when it was trashy, it gave him instant feelings of superiority, the cornerstone of male sexual dominance.
He parked the car on the side of the road, under a pair of looming trees. He didn’t even pause at the girl to look how willing she was. He just turned the volume knob on the Harmon Kardon system that came with the car to drown the car into the mood, and just lunged at her chest. After he instantenously gratified his urge, he gave more attention to her needs, and started kissing her aggressively while not getting his hands off her 36Ds. With the both of them drowning in music and pleasure, the moaning and the involuntary vocalization attracted the attention of a nearby watchman.
The watchman yearned for a day like this. He heard of similar encounters happening to his peers, where the “boy” as they’d always refer to them would pay his way out of the debacle of getting caught with his pants down, sometimes the payment was quite rewarding. He remembered how Shabaan a few plots down boasted how he got 200LE off a kid in a Sephia. That’s half a months pay in 5 minutes.
The unnamed watchman got his trusted Naboot, and relentlessly went for the side mirror to scare both the living and dead daylights out of the so called “lovers”. After hearing the exhilarating effect of expensive glass and plastic shattering, he slammed his palm onto the windshield and yelled,
The muffled sound from inside the car emitted a sudden shriek from the girl.
Stippy could barely make out what the watchman said
“يا ولاد النجسةََ إيه الفجر ده فاكريني قرطاس هنا ولا إيه”
Stippy panicked, and hit the gas pedal, he didn’t realize the tree that was dead on a collision course with the right headlight. He realized it after he hit the tree and felt the sudden inertia of 200 bhp stopped by an inanimate solid immovable. He shifted into reverse and the engine roared. His escape didn’t go as smoothly as he expected, he felt a sudden bump from the rear, and then he felt like he ran over something. He had an instant to review and assess the situation, too brief to realize the gravity of the situation, yet long enough to make a good decision about it. His thoughts resulted in one conclusion. Escape at all costs. He resumed his reverse and felt something brittle crunch under the tires. He didn’t stop until what he ran over was in a pool of Xenon light in front of him.
It was the watchman.
He stared at him for what seemed like forever. Until he saw him move. The girl beside him was in hysteria and tears. He opened the door and went into the pool of light to examine his doing. The remains of the watchman were still writhing in its final minutes. His chest was caved in as if it were inverted, and something was awfully wrong with the resting position of his right leg on the asphalt. You need to have no knees to rest it in that position. Blood was being coughed out of his eyes and nose, and seeping from behind his eyeballs onto his cheeks. The blood on his face and chest was mixed with dirt.. the left half of his face was drenched in the mix you can barely see his skin.
His eyes reflected the Xenon light straight intoStippy’s soul, he shivered. And realized what he had to do to help the man.
Stippy reached for the mans trusted Naboot, and went down on his face.
With every beat, he felt the man screeching on the inside, he knew he had no breath to let out the screech. The man gasped for a final gasp of air. Stippy directed the next seven blows to his chest, which let out any air in the mans now-failed lungs exit his mouth under spits of blood and drool.
The last three blows were directed to the mans skull, which now terminally caved in.
When he was done, the girl was seated on the ground next to him, with her knees by her chest all folded between her arms, with her own hair glued to her cheeks by an abundance of tears.
She gasped for air drastically. He gestured to comfort her. He approached her only for her to push him back yelling “leave me alone you murderer!”
The word got to him, however he wasn’t really realizing what was going on…the cocaine and the Jack Daniels made him Euphoric, he felt like a Monster, and nothing can stop him from his work. Not even a crying girl pleading for her life.
He left the scene with screeching tires, ruffling the dirt and broken glass, Naboot nestled beside him on the passenger seat. As for the girl…
Well she laid next to the Watchman, face down with one shoe on her foot, the other less than a metre away, choking on her own blood, her last moments of consciousness uttered the following:
“ أشهد أن لا إله إلا ألله و أشهد أن محمد رسول ألله”
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
In Servitude of Kings
First of all, I would like to offer my condolences to His Excellency the Prime Minister of the Arab Republic of Egypt, we are truly at a loss. His dearly Departed was what we would call a "morabeyya" meaning someone who raises children into men, it is a very general term that is given to anyone working in childcare, or actually believe it or not education. The Departed was in charge of several schools and was generally a philanthropist overseeing several development projects in education. Her Death comes a shock to us all, the truth of her illness was probably a well guarded secret.
Her dedication to Her beliefs and Her excellence as a Morabeyya can be clearly seen in the Two Sons that survive her. I cant say i am friends with either, but have dealt with one enough to tell, he is living proof of such excellence.
Streets were packed yesterday for the Funeral procession that took off from Al- Rashdan Mosque, With attendance for all Statesmen was socially obligatory, I need not tell you what security probably was like.
But it was a generally sombre mood.
The Night though...was surprisingly Jovial...Cause its the Big Guy's Birthday...apparently someone thought it would be a great idea to have a fireworks display on the banks of the Nile, to commemorate the Big Guy on his special day.
Is this what one would call a nation having sex after a funeral? Or is this just being in blind Servitude of Kings...
Sigh why am i complaining, I also did my part...right there...at the top..
PS. I hate Cops...
Monday, April 06, 2009
Of Money and other Banknotes and Currencies
The Seventies were surely a good decade to make it big, The Eighties a good time to be notorious and the nineties a sure darn good time to spend in prison, or six feet under.
Woulda been cool rubbin shoulders in a club with John Delorean, Christina Onassis only to in less than a flash spot Robert Maxwell who thought he was too cool for school. All that while John Gotti was sippin fine wine in a little Italian restaurant in Brooklyn plotting how to hit old man Castellano.
Forgive me for being so fucking nostalgic, but I hate eastern European chiquittas making it big somewhere else in the world, I hate good looking guys who make it in one movie that actually flopped and now they give themselves an excuse to go all superstarry on everyone, and in this day and age, that is the closest you will ever get
“Ta beein a Heeroe!”
*God bless Bobby DeNiro*
I’ve been engaged recently with a guy, lets call him Bigbird.. he has immense amounts of product that needs to be distributed, he cant find the right channels and is looking for a facilitator. This guy’s way of doing business is sitting on your local ahwa, and pickin a favor from his next door neighbour, who regardless of how small time he can be, Big Bird thinks he’s the best at his game.
He wants to expand now, realized he’s smalltime, and wants to hit the big scene. So he wants to do it “the right way” or so he thinks it is the right way.
He wants to roll in a jag, (benzes are so last century)…and he thinks Jags are American. He wants a business looking type front man… and to him anyone who correctly pronounces the word “port” is the business lookin type.
He claims he has 35 Billion LE, and everyone around him confirms that, yet he still meets in very weird places, I mean what kind of Billionaire exactly has a team meeting in mo’men el manial?
What makes me want to shoot myself in the head is, that this guy will make it big, with or without me, my way or his way, legal or illegal, he will make it big, and his kids will get into good schools, probably be classmates with my cousins kids..and pathetically enough, his kids will be the cool kids, and my cousins kids will feel like lesser beings in comparison to the little birds cause they have the cooler expensive toys, always invite everyone to their place to play in one of their 5 pools ( it’s the smaller one where the kids can pee in). All of this why?
Because today, in this day and age, its all about making money, not how you make it.
We’ve reached a point of obsession with money, that it doesn’t matter how its made anymore, we just want it, want people to have it so that we can deify them, they give us hope, that its possible for us to attain, that if the guy who used to sleep 8 in a room and overhear his parents fucking can now have a mansion to each of them , if that pip can have it, it gives us comfort that Goddamnit so can we.
We’d do anything, even step on our own values, sole name traders and multinational corporations alike. Whats ridiculous is, this newfound pursuit or system entrenched us into doing the ridiculous. Law school graduates driving cabs for a living cause its more lucrative, Harvard school dropouts becoming the worlds richest men, and Harvard graduates driving Japanese cars…or even working in a casino, where one day the biggest gambling whale walks in and they still ask em for their social security number. 2allak that’s the system, and the system never bothers anyone…hehehe…
*God bless Bobby DeNiro once more*
Do people really think its an achievement to swim in money? People…allow me to remind you in case you have forgotten, what the hell is money…
Its nothing but a promise…
A promise that one day, if you cash in this filthy piece of paper, that traded itself a hundred times over in its lifetime, changed hands from dirty to clean, some dude with remnants of shit from wiping his ass, stuck in the cleavage of some sweaty old hag cause she doesn’t have enough of it to buy a purse , or even up the nose of a rockstar to snort some Charlie with it, that well traveled highly contaminated piece of paper is nothing but a promise like I said, that one day, if u turn it in, to The Queen, or Alan Greenspan or that big building downtown, they will give you its worth in gold.
And just in case you didn’t know, it is surely an empty promise.
So we poison one another for a promise
Kill one another for a promise
Sell our souls and bodies ( prostitutes and hard workers) to be worthy of being promised.
You get the idea…
And beleive me, I aint one of those people who dont make money, so the whole "the people who say money is the root of all evil are the ones who dont have enough of it..." doesnt really apply here
Moving on, I hope you also know that money doesn’t get you anything, it is merely a means, it should be used to refine your life, not define it. Life’s problems aren’t solved with money alone…
I mean with all the money in the world, you still have to take care of your health, Billionaires do not buy an immunity from Cancer, HIV, or Heart Disease, you still have to be charming and have a character to win some lady’s heart, money does not get you women ( if you disagree, look at all the arabs on gameat el dowel street in summer, they aren’t charming khales) you still need a job, fuck it you will open up your own thing? And do what run it? Don’t you need erm skills for that? If you have them doesn’t it require effort habibi? Running a business aint easy, 90% of the people I know running their own thing are suffering, if not failed and no, not all my friends are losers.
You still have to be a good parent, yes with money you can get them what they want, but is that all it takes to being a parent?
Last but not least, the million dollar question, happiness…does it really buy happiness? Then why are all the movie stars so lonely and depressed? Why do those living a life of extravagance and abundance always have these sad looks on their faces and never content with what they have?
Real wealth is intangible, it doesn’t come with an account number and pin number, and guess what, despite that it can never be stolen, it has your name on it…however, Money has the name of your Treasury on it,
Real Wealth brings fame, it is what is really coveted, and believe it or not, it doesn’t need a grammy or an oscar to keep it…its there and it stays, even if the highlight of your day is sitting on an ahwa off Lebanon street.
Real Wealth brings love, even if you are the worlds biggest bum…
Real Wealth brings happiness, cause you can never tell what is going to happen between the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep, but you know…whatever happens in between, its going to be okay.
Admit it…
I have a point
Woulda been cool rubbin shoulders in a club with John Delorean, Christina Onassis only to in less than a flash spot Robert Maxwell who thought he was too cool for school. All that while John Gotti was sippin fine wine in a little Italian restaurant in Brooklyn plotting how to hit old man Castellano.
Forgive me for being so fucking nostalgic, but I hate eastern European chiquittas making it big somewhere else in the world, I hate good looking guys who make it in one movie that actually flopped and now they give themselves an excuse to go all superstarry on everyone, and in this day and age, that is the closest you will ever get
“Ta beein a Heeroe!”
*God bless Bobby DeNiro*
I’ve been engaged recently with a guy, lets call him Bigbird.. he has immense amounts of product that needs to be distributed, he cant find the right channels and is looking for a facilitator. This guy’s way of doing business is sitting on your local ahwa, and pickin a favor from his next door neighbour, who regardless of how small time he can be, Big Bird thinks he’s the best at his game.
He wants to expand now, realized he’s smalltime, and wants to hit the big scene. So he wants to do it “the right way” or so he thinks it is the right way.
He wants to roll in a jag, (benzes are so last century)…and he thinks Jags are American. He wants a business looking type front man… and to him anyone who correctly pronounces the word “port” is the business lookin type.
He claims he has 35 Billion LE, and everyone around him confirms that, yet he still meets in very weird places, I mean what kind of Billionaire exactly has a team meeting in mo’men el manial?
What makes me want to shoot myself in the head is, that this guy will make it big, with or without me, my way or his way, legal or illegal, he will make it big, and his kids will get into good schools, probably be classmates with my cousins kids..and pathetically enough, his kids will be the cool kids, and my cousins kids will feel like lesser beings in comparison to the little birds cause they have the cooler expensive toys, always invite everyone to their place to play in one of their 5 pools ( it’s the smaller one where the kids can pee in). All of this why?
Because today, in this day and age, its all about making money, not how you make it.
We’ve reached a point of obsession with money, that it doesn’t matter how its made anymore, we just want it, want people to have it so that we can deify them, they give us hope, that its possible for us to attain, that if the guy who used to sleep 8 in a room and overhear his parents fucking can now have a mansion to each of them , if that pip can have it, it gives us comfort that Goddamnit so can we.
We’d do anything, even step on our own values, sole name traders and multinational corporations alike. Whats ridiculous is, this newfound pursuit or system entrenched us into doing the ridiculous. Law school graduates driving cabs for a living cause its more lucrative, Harvard school dropouts becoming the worlds richest men, and Harvard graduates driving Japanese cars…or even working in a casino, where one day the biggest gambling whale walks in and they still ask em for their social security number. 2allak that’s the system, and the system never bothers anyone…hehehe…
*God bless Bobby DeNiro once more*
Do people really think its an achievement to swim in money? People…allow me to remind you in case you have forgotten, what the hell is money…
Its nothing but a promise…
A promise that one day, if you cash in this filthy piece of paper, that traded itself a hundred times over in its lifetime, changed hands from dirty to clean, some dude with remnants of shit from wiping his ass, stuck in the cleavage of some sweaty old hag cause she doesn’t have enough of it to buy a purse , or even up the nose of a rockstar to snort some Charlie with it, that well traveled highly contaminated piece of paper is nothing but a promise like I said, that one day, if u turn it in, to The Queen, or Alan Greenspan or that big building downtown, they will give you its worth in gold.
And just in case you didn’t know, it is surely an empty promise.
So we poison one another for a promise
Kill one another for a promise
Sell our souls and bodies ( prostitutes and hard workers) to be worthy of being promised.
You get the idea…
And beleive me, I aint one of those people who dont make money, so the whole "the people who say money is the root of all evil are the ones who dont have enough of it..." doesnt really apply here
Moving on, I hope you also know that money doesn’t get you anything, it is merely a means, it should be used to refine your life, not define it. Life’s problems aren’t solved with money alone…
I mean with all the money in the world, you still have to take care of your health, Billionaires do not buy an immunity from Cancer, HIV, or Heart Disease, you still have to be charming and have a character to win some lady’s heart, money does not get you women ( if you disagree, look at all the arabs on gameat el dowel street in summer, they aren’t charming khales) you still need a job, fuck it you will open up your own thing? And do what run it? Don’t you need erm skills for that? If you have them doesn’t it require effort habibi? Running a business aint easy, 90% of the people I know running their own thing are suffering, if not failed and no, not all my friends are losers.
You still have to be a good parent, yes with money you can get them what they want, but is that all it takes to being a parent?
Last but not least, the million dollar question, happiness…does it really buy happiness? Then why are all the movie stars so lonely and depressed? Why do those living a life of extravagance and abundance always have these sad looks on their faces and never content with what they have?
Real wealth is intangible, it doesn’t come with an account number and pin number, and guess what, despite that it can never be stolen, it has your name on it…however, Money has the name of your Treasury on it,
Real Wealth brings fame, it is what is really coveted, and believe it or not, it doesn’t need a grammy or an oscar to keep it…its there and it stays, even if the highlight of your day is sitting on an ahwa off Lebanon street.
Real Wealth brings love, even if you are the worlds biggest bum…
Real Wealth brings happiness, cause you can never tell what is going to happen between the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep, but you know…whatever happens in between, its going to be okay.
Admit it…
I have a point
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Comin Up in the World dont trust nobody gotta look over your shoulder constantly!
The long awaited part three of the trilogy...[ See wanna be a superstar and live large five cars...]
Okay its not exactly the long awaited climax of a cool story, they are all just similarly themed:
Damien King awoke sweating profusely at around 3am...normally he would be wide awake, but he is trying to live healthy as instructed by his forboding doctor who told him Heart Disease might be coming around the corner. King being the Egomaniac he is, wouldnt allow such a feeble and unseen enemy bring him down.
It was a dream about to turn into a nightmare, but you had the privilege of being within the dream and knowing its just a dream, hence the convenience of getting up when it gets too much.
He just didnt realize how anxious it made him when he saw the pool of sweat he awoke in.
He picked up his phone, dialled a precalled number and uttered the following words...
"Simon, go ahead...get it done..." and hung up...he lit a cigarette and went to the balcony in his Pj bottoms with nothing on top...
On the other side of the phone was Simon, sitting at the back room of a cabaret downtown, one with very sleazy and shady patrons, mostly helpless people with a few pounds in their name, with nothing to escape but some local beer sold at 10 pounds a bottle and some hashish, 7 to a coin. Simon was in the back, with cheap whiskey and a game of cards with 4 guys who werent the best, but were just downright fun to play with. The room was full of smoke and an upbeat Muddy Waters was playing in the background in a failed attempt to contrast the sha3bi rifraff playing in the main hall. He motioned to his goon standing in the corner to get the car ready...
"Yalla ya Spiko!!!" he shouted "Hizz om teeezak el te2eela dih we khaleek mofeed"
King was halfway through his cigarette, overlooking the front garden to his vast villa, when he noticed the two guards on the gate werent at their station...
"the fucks are probably playing cards again" he thought...
He thought of cutting them some slack at the end, he is a nice guy contrary to what everyone would like to beleive. He looked to the left of the garden, but something caught his eye...a shadow, rolling quite quickly accross the garden.
In less than an instant, the cigarette fell from his mouth and he ran back into the room, to under the bed where he kept an M70 courtesy of the Mujahedeen in Afghanistan. He picked up the cellphone on his short journey to the bed and commanded in a very matter of fact to the head of security...
" We have a Security Breach ya shater...You'd better die protecting this house, because if you survive, I will kill you myself.." and hung up.
After kneeling under the bed to pull out the killing machine, he heard a hammer cocking into firing position. It was close enough to actually feel it between his ears...
There was a gun to his head...
He put his hands up...
"Inta faker nafsak meen ya batal" he said challengingly without even seeing a face to the threat that could take his life in a second...
" أنت عملت فيا كده ليه؟ أنا جيت جنبك؟ هو خلاص البلد بإللي فيها بقي بتاعك؟"
"أيوه حاجة كده، أنا سايبلوكو كل إللي نفسكم فيه تبرطعوا براحتكم، بس نيجي عند حاجتي أنا...ولا..... البلد ديه ليها ريس يابا و انت حاطت طبنجه في قفاه!"
It only took the assailant that tiny little statement to realize he is committing 7amaqa howwa mesh 2adaha... he'd love to say sorry and make it go away, but he knows its too late for that, he is going to have to go through it till the end...
and become the Superstar....
he remembered his knees, how it felt, how he spent more than enough as a helpless handicap...all because this fuck felt like it. It gave him enough fury and rage to go through with it.
He felt like pulling the trigger, but no...he wanted the guy to plead for his life. He wanted to make the King beg...
He was too drowned in his own thoughts to notice Ashraf the head of security barge into the bedroom with a Desert Eagle pointing at him..
Shot Fired...
right in Wannabe CEO's right forearm...his gun landing on the floor, he followed suit yelping like a dog just hit by a Range Rover.
King stood up, faced the wounded dog, thanked the Range Rover that was now idling and waiting for any sudden moves..
King then looked Wannabe in the eye...and asked the dog to say its name...
Robert...Robert Zombetti...
" How are your knees Rob?...I see you are feeling alot better..."
[ Cut Scene...EXT - Night- Korean Car- The Prodigy - Their Law booming out of stereo- Car speeding downtown, screeching tires at every turn , conversation starts as they pass gomhoreyya theatre]
Spikko: So who do we do first?
Simon: shut up and drive, we pick X up first and then go to Sohba Cafe in Helio, thats where El Bob is...
Spikko: is it really going to happen?
Simon: Just do as you are told...and light me up a cigarette
They arrived at Sohba, X went in, to find El Bob, sitting in a corner smoking a shisha...he gesutred for Bob to leave, Bob asked why...X didnt know what to do, he cant tell him they are taking care of him..he's been a stand up man, but even stand up men have to go when the boss says...
X: we're downsizing...
El Bob had a shocked look on his face...just when he was about to enquire...X could read his face...and nodded..
El Bob: make it quick...
X just pulled out a gun and shot him in the face...in the middle of onlookers..
Seed was seated in a nice armchair, the best chair in Little Willy's house..Little Willy was fidgeting with his i-pod trying to select an appropriate track as background music to the conversation he was about to open up with Seed..
" So you happy now that you are made?" asked Willy...you can tell he was suggestive of something, maybe even something big, hes long been forgotten since that thing last year, and he missed the spotlight,
the precursor of doing something very very silly...
" Its okay, Willy...3o2balak" Seed replied, trying to close the subject...
" Kollak nazar yabolsid..."
Seed then took a minute to gather his thoughts, and carefully selected his next words...he decided casual would be the best way to handle it.
" You think i have a hand in it? you actually think i would throw in a good word for you if i actually did?"
That statement shocked willy, and he dropped his i-pod and looked at Seed..who was now holding a revolver and pointing it at Willy..
"YOU FUCK...YOU TRAITOR!!!" Willy yelled
" Im not the traitor Willy, you are.."
A few minutes later, after heartwarming and bone tingling pleads for sparing...Seed picked up his phone and tried to drown out the sound of willy gurgling and trying to breathe through the blood flowing in his windpipe..and said.."Simon..It's done...send someone to clean"
[ CUT SCENE - MORNING - INT- SUNSHINE POURING IN FROM LARGE WINDOW ON RIGHT- TV PLAYING THE SIMPSONS]
Jessica was laying on the couch with a cup of coffee infront of her, satisfying her childhood addiction of the yellow family with bulging eyes. She totally couldnt get the SMS she recieved last night...
all it said was " Vanilla Sky"
He's just trying to mess with my head she thought...
Halfway through the episode, she got a call from the bank, telling her the transfer she was waiting for from the caymans finally came through. She smiled subtly, as if someone was watching. She decided to get dressed early today.
King's Living Room was full of people, what happened last night was a situation that called for all cars to come in.
It was big, alot of changes would result.
Seed, Simon and Spykko (yes his spelling changes everytime...thats the point) were happy with the efforts they put in last night...King was still in the PJ bottoms, with blood spatter on them and refused to change until this is over. Sonja was working four different cell phones to get everything done, and Giselle Zero, the new girl in town was seated on a couch, cross legged left above right, and her left would occasionally bounce off her right out of boredom.
King: once again Giselle, Ill ask you...
GZ; Damien...I had nothing to do with it...
Simon: We all know your plans woman, dont insult our intelligence..
King motioned to Simon to stop the bullshit...and then said... "okay, thank you Giselle, if we need anything we will call Copper..."
With that said, Giselle courteously nodded to the presence in the room and was escorted outside to her special edition Dodge Ram driven by her female bodyguard Marla...
Simon: you know boss that she is lying through her teeth...
King: Simon, I know...we just cant do it this way...we will sort her out later, any news from the others ?
Seed: well they arent very happy you didnt discuss it first...
X: what about Rob?
King: later too... I want to make sure nothing has happened with our operations first...i want to hear from all the soldiers we have...
X: Giselles Driver, she looks familiar...where did we see her before...?
Simon: momken terakezz wennabi? kefayak basbasa 3ala mozaz...
When the time for Rob came...they were all gathered around a beaten down version of Rob hanging by chains, in the middle of a warehouse in el Darassa...King as usual arrived the latest in a silver Jaguar, driven by Simon...
They all walked in...
They all walked out...
3al Box 3edel....
* Think Three Chicks in Panties..jumping up and down on a bed..hi 5ing one another mid air *
Jessica, Giselle, and Marla back from the dead...all in the clear...
Trust no one...
The Things we step on in our pursuit to happiness
I encountered a freak this weekend, lets call him Rob Apparently I messed him up and never even noticed. It was a very long time ago, something close to 6 years ago. We had very minimal interaction ( or so i perceived it as such, he begs to differ).
He says hes been haunted by me for the past 6 years, he said i created a monster. this is what he had to say:
"You Must Suffer...You're a Mutherfucker...Resurrect me..."
I'm sick and tired of people blaming me for complexes bought about by a not so healthy childhood...I wasnt there and beleive me habibi, It wasnt my fault you walked in on your mother wearing a dildo ribbing your dad and hes calling her Fathy... I dont fix locks nor am i a paternal pimp...so to Rob, and all the others like you out there...
Really...
Fuck off!!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Pokerface
The Following is an excerpt of abstraction, it makes more sense out of context than within, it is for that reason in particular that it might not necessarily make sense as a piece of writing, it is merely reflective of what really goes on…it is not supposed to make sense, but make perfect sense in the same time for those who would relate..
Dedicated to all who have experienced something similar..
Bud sitting down with Tony Stark?....You must be Shittin me!!!
No, really I kid you not..it went down quite nicely..you see we were playin poker, at this club called the purple room…Tony as usual flashy as ever came out of an Aston Martin, one of those new One-77s with a low baller double whiskey in his hand turns out they’re only making 77 of them, no more…he had the chief of marketing calling him up to buy one.. this is what he had to say…
“The English are boring, they don’t know how to have fun… how do you expect to be a fun people when they eat fish and chips and religiously have tea at 5 …”
All of a sudden, a guy seated with them on the table speaks up…
“Sorry to burst your bubble tony, but the guys that gave the world Porsches and M series Beamers have sauerkraut as a national dish..”
The guy that spoke was called Maverick, some thinks he looks like Elvis..some think he looks like Lurch from the Addams Family…there was this guy once who so a portrait of Maverick’s young brother, and actually commented how he looks like Napoleon, whats funny is that Maverick’s younger brother actually looks like a retarded version of Eminem…
Maverick is quite a disgruntled man..he hates the fuck of everything…he doesn’t complain…he just ridicules, and always has a negative opinion about anything. Of course he enjoys just kicking it back with the guys, and anything that involves sport. He has a raspy voice, and always sounds like he’s lost his voice which gives him some sort of a badass demeanor, but he gives it all away with his guffaws and cheeky smile.
Tony, had to comment defensively,
“Excuse me? Who is this bigshot right here?”
Bud tried to cool things down, the last thing he wanted was to witness a member measuring contest, with two big overgrown egos playing honky tonk with one another.
He failed profusely…
They ended up challenging one another to a game of poker…
Texas Hold’em?
Nope…Ace’s and Eights…”Dead Man’s Hand” so it was Bud, Maverick, Tony Stark and a guy that looked like a guy who looks like Chewbacca meets Khaled Selim.. lets just call him player four.
You see the trick with Dead Man’s Hand, that initially the game is purely luck, depending on your hand and after the first two turns, you know if you are going to win or lose…then the fun begins, cause if you are losing, you can always bring someone down with you, playing dirty I know, but hey all is fair in love and war mais non?
Tony is selfish…he just plays to win…he’s gifted in making a good play with his hand, but not only is he a sore loser, he doesn’t tolerate people playing dirty..
Maverick is in it to make people lose, eat his dirt and then he wins…he’s been playing ever since God knows when, he learnt the game off his dad who was one of the first people to settle into Vegas…his dad after being banned off every casino table, used to run games at celebs suites, teaching them the game and earning a not so bad buck out of it, which kind of makes Maverick a second generation hustler.
Bud was never really into cards, mostly in it for the fun, winning and losing to him are one and the same, wouldn’t mind the extra money for sure, but will not bet any more than what would be safe, he enjoys getting people mad so practically will have fun busting Tony Stark , the legendary Arms producer. Normally, people who play the way he does are shunned off any serious table, but hey..he knows people, they like him around.
Then there was player four, well…he’s just player four.
The first few rounds you practically had Maverick owning the game with Tony not falling far behind. It was a battle for reputation between them, then there was player four, and finally Bud. Tony was practically delaying the game every time he had to throw because he was busy answering his phone, It frustrated anyone, but Tony was one of the people who didn’t expect the world to take offense at that, well for all its worth he didn’t expect the world to take offense at most of what he does, which if probably came from a lesser hotshot, would be downright offensive. Which makes me wonder why do we cut people a lot of serious slack for a lot of unserious people, because they’re famous, obnoxious, good looking or downright charming?
We Humans are fucking funny sometimes..
Player Four had the look of someone solving algebra on his face. It seems that catching up with the pace of the game seemed quite hard for him. He’s played plenty of times before, but next to them he seemed like the novice, the dunce of the group.
*Enter the intro of Diamond by Klint*
Player Four looking all suspicious and weary of people’s reactions before throwing the card in his hand, attempting to predict their next moves..
Both directed their speech to player four who has now been upgraded into their minds to mere amusement.
“So are you going to play today?” commented Tony Stark
“Dude, this aint the movies, just throw the card..its not gonna make any difference”
He throws an Eight of Clubs…
Bud lands the Ace of Clubs…with a look of victory on his face…and a deep raspy chuckle as he collects the cards and chips on the table like an ogre devouring a billy goat.
Player Four is fuming from the ears…”now how didn’t I see that one coming”
Maverick: Habibi, you gotta figure out all the angles in your head, you will never find the answer on people’s faces –see post title-
13 cigarettes between the three of them later, Player Four is officially the sucker although he’s scoring better than Bud…but Bud is just in it for the tease…
Tony couldn’t help but smirk…
“you know Bud..” Tony Commented “ You remind me of this guy…what was his name, the guy in that kung fu spaghetti western, what was it called…by that Italian guy…”
“Kill Bill…by Tarantino…” Maverick shot back
Tony continued…”yeah, Kill Bill…you see I never watch these movies, once I was banging some supermodel, and it was playing on the in-hotel cable channel, she actually stopped mid-fuck to repeat, Uma Thurmans one liners…then there was this monologue by a chink babe…and she had it memorized down to the punctuation. I just think its pathetic that people are into this shit, and give it cult status…I mean I’d get it if it were rock, but some guys acting like on screen heroes, that just bullshit…milking the cow if you ask me.”
Maverick: well coming from a guy who dresses up in an iron suit to fight crime, I really don’t see that much of a difference….
Tony: hey, theres no need to get smart on me raspy man…whats wrong with your throat anyway? Too much sucking cock? Someone get this guy a fucking pastille please, or better yet some gingerale and cinnamon…on me…can u just save your wisecracks and play some poker?
Bud: the man’s gotta point Tony…let him talk…but then again, I always thought he’s just in it for the fame…he cant be the real Iron Man..he’s just stealing some government commando’s credit… I mean I’m sure they are an entire platoon of highly trained men taking turns wearing that thing…would be cool if you can fly though..”
Dedicated to all who have experienced something similar..
Bud sitting down with Tony Stark?....You must be Shittin me!!!
No, really I kid you not..it went down quite nicely..you see we were playin poker, at this club called the purple room…Tony as usual flashy as ever came out of an Aston Martin, one of those new One-77s with a low baller double whiskey in his hand turns out they’re only making 77 of them, no more…he had the chief of marketing calling him up to buy one.. this is what he had to say…
“The English are boring, they don’t know how to have fun… how do you expect to be a fun people when they eat fish and chips and religiously have tea at 5 …”
All of a sudden, a guy seated with them on the table speaks up…
“Sorry to burst your bubble tony, but the guys that gave the world Porsches and M series Beamers have sauerkraut as a national dish..”
The guy that spoke was called Maverick, some thinks he looks like Elvis..some think he looks like Lurch from the Addams Family…there was this guy once who so a portrait of Maverick’s young brother, and actually commented how he looks like Napoleon, whats funny is that Maverick’s younger brother actually looks like a retarded version of Eminem…
Maverick is quite a disgruntled man..he hates the fuck of everything…he doesn’t complain…he just ridicules, and always has a negative opinion about anything. Of course he enjoys just kicking it back with the guys, and anything that involves sport. He has a raspy voice, and always sounds like he’s lost his voice which gives him some sort of a badass demeanor, but he gives it all away with his guffaws and cheeky smile.
Tony, had to comment defensively,
“Excuse me? Who is this bigshot right here?”
Bud tried to cool things down, the last thing he wanted was to witness a member measuring contest, with two big overgrown egos playing honky tonk with one another.
He failed profusely…
They ended up challenging one another to a game of poker…
Texas Hold’em?
Nope…Ace’s and Eights…”Dead Man’s Hand” so it was Bud, Maverick, Tony Stark and a guy that looked like a guy who looks like Chewbacca meets Khaled Selim.. lets just call him player four.
You see the trick with Dead Man’s Hand, that initially the game is purely luck, depending on your hand and after the first two turns, you know if you are going to win or lose…then the fun begins, cause if you are losing, you can always bring someone down with you, playing dirty I know, but hey all is fair in love and war mais non?
Tony is selfish…he just plays to win…he’s gifted in making a good play with his hand, but not only is he a sore loser, he doesn’t tolerate people playing dirty..
Maverick is in it to make people lose, eat his dirt and then he wins…he’s been playing ever since God knows when, he learnt the game off his dad who was one of the first people to settle into Vegas…his dad after being banned off every casino table, used to run games at celebs suites, teaching them the game and earning a not so bad buck out of it, which kind of makes Maverick a second generation hustler.
Bud was never really into cards, mostly in it for the fun, winning and losing to him are one and the same, wouldn’t mind the extra money for sure, but will not bet any more than what would be safe, he enjoys getting people mad so practically will have fun busting Tony Stark , the legendary Arms producer. Normally, people who play the way he does are shunned off any serious table, but hey..he knows people, they like him around.
Then there was player four, well…he’s just player four.
The first few rounds you practically had Maverick owning the game with Tony not falling far behind. It was a battle for reputation between them, then there was player four, and finally Bud. Tony was practically delaying the game every time he had to throw because he was busy answering his phone, It frustrated anyone, but Tony was one of the people who didn’t expect the world to take offense at that, well for all its worth he didn’t expect the world to take offense at most of what he does, which if probably came from a lesser hotshot, would be downright offensive. Which makes me wonder why do we cut people a lot of serious slack for a lot of unserious people, because they’re famous, obnoxious, good looking or downright charming?
We Humans are fucking funny sometimes..
Player Four had the look of someone solving algebra on his face. It seems that catching up with the pace of the game seemed quite hard for him. He’s played plenty of times before, but next to them he seemed like the novice, the dunce of the group.
*Enter the intro of Diamond by Klint*
Player Four looking all suspicious and weary of people’s reactions before throwing the card in his hand, attempting to predict their next moves..
Both directed their speech to player four who has now been upgraded into their minds to mere amusement.
“So are you going to play today?” commented Tony Stark
“Dude, this aint the movies, just throw the card..its not gonna make any difference”
He throws an Eight of Clubs…
Bud lands the Ace of Clubs…with a look of victory on his face…and a deep raspy chuckle as he collects the cards and chips on the table like an ogre devouring a billy goat.
Player Four is fuming from the ears…”now how didn’t I see that one coming”
Maverick: Habibi, you gotta figure out all the angles in your head, you will never find the answer on people’s faces –see post title-
13 cigarettes between the three of them later, Player Four is officially the sucker although he’s scoring better than Bud…but Bud is just in it for the tease…
Tony couldn’t help but smirk…
“you know Bud..” Tony Commented “ You remind me of this guy…what was his name, the guy in that kung fu spaghetti western, what was it called…by that Italian guy…”
“Kill Bill…by Tarantino…” Maverick shot back
Tony continued…”yeah, Kill Bill…you see I never watch these movies, once I was banging some supermodel, and it was playing on the in-hotel cable channel, she actually stopped mid-fuck to repeat, Uma Thurmans one liners…then there was this monologue by a chink babe…and she had it memorized down to the punctuation. I just think its pathetic that people are into this shit, and give it cult status…I mean I’d get it if it were rock, but some guys acting like on screen heroes, that just bullshit…milking the cow if you ask me.”
Maverick: well coming from a guy who dresses up in an iron suit to fight crime, I really don’t see that much of a difference….
Tony: hey, theres no need to get smart on me raspy man…whats wrong with your throat anyway? Too much sucking cock? Someone get this guy a fucking pastille please, or better yet some gingerale and cinnamon…on me…can u just save your wisecracks and play some poker?
Bud: the man’s gotta point Tony…let him talk…but then again, I always thought he’s just in it for the fame…he cant be the real Iron Man..he’s just stealing some government commando’s credit… I mean I’m sure they are an entire platoon of highly trained men taking turns wearing that thing…would be cool if you can fly though..”
Tony: I've done alot more than fly with that thing, if you are a good boy i can have you wear it around your fucking trailer one day, just to say you did...
Bud: you know Tony, you are a real funny guy...
Maverick: yeah i bet all those girls just love your attitude dont they?
Tony: Hell yeah...you gotta show em whos boss...like this one time, this chick that worked at a museum i donated to, she was into this whole fetish shit, she wanted to rib me with a dildo..
Maverick: why not? you seem like the type...
Bud: hehe, oooow....nasty one their Tony...
Maverick: and whats you're problem Bud? why you commentating on the convo? he can figure out on his own that i am beating below the belt?
Bud: Well it seems that we are all doing pretty good below the belt here...except for poor little player four here who seems like hes hadnt any since he was teething?
Tony: did your mom ever give you whiskey for the pain when you were teething?
Bud: sure, what about you?
Tony: (chuckles,) how else did you think i got started on it? but lets get back to player four...whens the last time you got laid? did you get any this year aslan?
Player Four: its none of your business...
Maverick: he's just saving himself for marriage...
All: HAHAAHAHAHAHA
Player Four: come on guys can we just play?
All : Shut up!!!
As an instant reaction, player four just throws the cards on the table making a sloppy mess and almost spilling Tony Starks drink, which Tony juggled towards the table to protect like it were the Holy Grail – the signs of a true alcoholic- , afterwhich he ranted as to how unprofessional these legends turned out to be and threw a fit and left..
Tony Stark: What is wrong with that dickwad?
Maverick; forget about him, he takes cards very seriously… So when did you do that..thing..?
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