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!!

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..”

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..?

Black & White Heroes

Face it, you are a failure, you are pathetic. A waste of good polluted Oxygen. A disappointment to your parents, and if they don’t see you as such, then most probably they were a disappointment to your grandparents.
We are probably the gayest generation of men ( women you aint off the hook, I will get to you later) Ever produced. One would imagine with all the technology, benefits and conveniences our generation has, we would be a breed with nothing we can’t do. What do you get in reality, a breed of lazy couch potatoes that cry about their feelings, don’t take charge of their responsibilities and rely on stupid quizzes on facebook to discover themselves. A breed who blame everything around them for their shortcomings rather than looking at where the real problem lies.

Themselves…
Nobody likes admitting they are wrong, Don’t admit it to people, at least admit it to yourself and do something about it, if your boss is picking on you at work or is not seeing your potential, its not because he is blinded or is picking on you, It is cause you aren’t doing a good job in either standing up for yourself , or showing him how in 3 years you will be having his job. ( lets just hope he gets his boss’s job too).

Pushing back a hundred things to do cause you just cant be bothered? Who are we kidding, they’ll all pile up and then fall on your head, and when they do, you probably will be more “cant be bothered” then, than when you decided to push them back, and the bad news is…YOU WILL DO THEM…

Take Charge, Stop complaining, don’t be a wuss, its shameful and you feel it down inside.

We have the pompousness to believe that we are different, that our parents never had assholes for bosses, that they never felt oppressed by higher powers, that they never had to cope with work and a nagging partner ( how the hell do you think you showed up wimp?) , that they weren't underpaid, or never had to prove themselves? That they never wanted to go on a journey of self discovery where life would actually wait for them while they did.

What’s even lamer is, we have all the tools to become better men than our fathers, and we end up worse. First off before anything we have their guidance, when is the last time you went up to your father and asked him on how to tackle an issue? We have better awareness thanks to the internet and better journalism ( and when I say journalism I don’t in any way mean Oprah or the insider) we have bigger Egos, this should be curbed to tell you that you are the shit and that you can do anything, rather than pull it out on your friends and partner, and tell them you are too good for this shit. All these conditions combined dare us to dream bigger. Ask your dad about his ambition he probably just wanted a comfortable living when he was your age. I don’t think anyone of us would settle for just that, we are wired for more, planning on a lot bigger, but then again do we do anything to get it? Or do we just wanted served to us with a smile and comment card?

These are just three of the many reasons why we should be better men. I have yet to meet a man in my circle here locally, that actually pays for his tuition by a job after university hours, a man that lands a job because of his accomplishments rather than his last name, a man who knows where he wants to be in 2 years time, 5 years time, and 20 years time all in line with a goal other than “ I want to be an very important person in a very important place”

Women…
They aren’t any better if you ask me, I wont adhere to what they ought to want, I will just tell you on my meager experience with them and tell you about what they really want.

Women need to prove themselves, because they are struggling to make us believe that they are no less than Us. I will admit that Men have unknowingly contributed to the creation of this need. But two wrongs don’t make a right, for at the end of the day equality doesn’t mean I walk up to the next construction site to find a blonde with muscles in a sweaty flannel vest and grime with a hard hat lifting bricks…not because this isn’t where a woman ought to be, but because Women WANT to feel feminine, just as much as they want to feel no less than a man. They want to feel security, they want to be provided for, they all want to be princesses with their Knights in shining armor running for their rescue. Look at any supersuccessful career woman in her late fourties, not any woman that works, I am talking about the extreme typical stereotype…the single ones are miserable, the ones with lives outside of the office always messed up somewhere and someone who loves them secretly resents them for it.

Just like a woman cant lay brick, a man cant pick drapes, iron the entire family laundry, buy the groceries, clean the house and cook and pick up the kids from school by the time his partner is home without throwing a fit.

Both are as important , give the bread to its baker.
How many great men had housewives for mothers? And how many dysfunctional men had working mothers? Its not a general rule…a lot of great men spurned from the loins of a woman who juggled, and a lot of brats had their mommas at home 24/7 but look at causality before yelling in my face, the brat is a brat for other reasons, and the great man was a great man because he was born for greatness. You can prove yourself as a woman by being a great housewife, it’s a challenge and ask anyone who had to do it for a living.
Just think out of the box, success doesn’t need to be rewarded by a paycheck…

I’ll also throw in a good word for the ladies, the real ladies that manage to pursue their ambitions for a professional career without affecting their homes…these are the women I’d want to see all over the place, but lets be realistic I cant expect you all to be like my Mother and Fiancee… they both manage to always have time for me to the extent that I feel horrible due to the countless times I had to tell them sorry, Im busy…

With that said, I am sure you already have me labeled as old fashioned and I wont apologize for that, cause it shouldn’t offend you…it’s the way I’ve been made…

You got a problem with that…take it up with The Man Upstairs…

Livin Large, Big House, 5 Cars, You in Charge?

The Guy was small and lanky. The type you would automatically underestimate strictly due to his size and appearance. He is the truest living example of “looks can be deceiving”.
Some not so nice people call him “Seed” because you feel like he is about to germinate.
His demeanor calm, very relaxed…
His mind is like a high powered machine that never rests and enjoys the exercise.
A Calm charming smile.

Do not be fooled, if he gives you the chance to talk, it doesn’t in any way mean you are saying anything useful, even if you are talking shit…he will listen, because he expects you to do the same when he talks, even when he says shit…

You can never tell what is going on in his head. Some of his sworn enemies don’t even know that they are, to them they even might think they are his best friends.
A very smart man, and in no way helpless.

He was on his way back from the north coast where a mishap had occurred that required him to bandage his head, he got into a messy situation where wild nomads were running after him , their little boys throwing stones at him because he unknowingly offended them when he was their guest. He has a thing for exploring, and he finds peace in basic tribal like societies, he gets a kick out of walking in to a place like that and sits down with them, talks to them, learns something new maybe even teach them something new.
He is a man fascinated by difference, he seeks the other, and sits down to talk to them, to understand their choices, their reasons behind such choices, and maybe if you even convince him enough, he would adopt one of those choices if he finds it suitable.

A true modern day explorer.

He walks into the room, with a bandaged head under a straw fedora hat, and a T shirt that said “ You and What Army Muthafucka!!!”. Although his choice of attire wasn’t the most suitable, They all cut him some slack, its his big day. He can do anything the fuck he wants and get away with it.

Today, he is being made…

Seed walks into the room, greets the regular fellas he knows, socializes pleasantly, and greets everyone with a warm hug. Of course him being the thinnest man in the room does not give his hug that much punch, but it still does.

He approaches An oblong wooden oak table situated in the center of the room, with a small stainless steel bowl in the middle, an antique gold knife, and two lit candles.

On the other side of the table, seated on three identical armchairs were Sal “Shush” Spatafore, Mr. Adham and Damien King. They all acknowledged him with a slight nod.

As Seed approached the table, An old friend of his, Osiris Kane popped up from the right, in his signature Beret worn backwards, and Ray Bans…
Mr. Adham instructed Kane to proceed with the rituals, where Seed took off his hat to reveal the bandaged head.

Kane, took Seed’s right hand and pricked his forefinger, it bled…a small picture of St.Paul was on the table, Seed as coached smeared his bleeding finger on St. Paul’s picture, as he held it Kane set it alight and warned him…

Repeat after me Seed,
"You will Honor the Code, Omerta, the vow of Silence, You will never present yourself as one of Us, either to anyone, or to one of Us, another one of Us will always be there to do that, Never look at any of Our Wives, We will not allow anyone to look at Yours, Never be seen with cops, they are vile and will bring you ruin, Do not go to Pubs, Clubs, or places of Sin, Always being available to Our Thing is a duty, even if Your Wife is about to give birth, Appointments must be absolutely respected, Wives are to be treated with respect, When asked anything by One of Us, the answer must be Truthful, You may not covet money or objects of Our Thing, or other families, If you have a problem no matter how big, no matter how small, you come to us, and it will be taken care of Should anything God Forbid happen to you, we will take care of anything or anyone you leave behind, until your return, If you don’t we will still take care as if you were never gone…"

“ If you betray Omerta, your flesh will burn like this Saint”

Seed clenched the burning picture in pain…but didn’t show
A true man…

That night, he went out with The Big Three and Kane, it was part of the ritual, where he would be told what it means to be “Made”, the duties, responsibilities, and of course the perks and power he gets to have now that he is “a friend of ours”.

He was a good kid, the Big Three concurred, He’s earned it, Kane would look out for him, and if he had a problem with Kane God forbid, he would go to anyone of The Big Three, and they would have it taken care of.

It was a lucky month for Seed, not only did he get Made, he also made his debut on television. He’s originally a journalist, and wrote a controversial article about Foreign Policy, it caused quite a stir, and he was doing the rounds on many shows to talk about his unique prespective.

His First was the hardest, it was with Hannah Shaunz…

Enter the Slut…

She ran a very highly rated show, prime time, always had hot issues, and bought the people in charge…she’d grill them like kebabs… although in reality her substance is very weak , she manages to put on a good show by playing Devil’s Advocate…Staunchly…Shed give you an opposing opinion, even if she knew nothing about the issue, and carried herself like she actually does.
She’s a slut cause everyone knows she’s slept her way up the network, still sleeps her way to stay on board, and does not talk about the things that the powers that be want kept under the carpet.

Nobody says that she’s a slut, nobody says the truth, cause then they’d be enemies to success, cause shes a real success story, neither would I actually, Im not an enemy to success, nor do I plan to be one,

Seed being one of the greatest speakers I have met, conducted himself superbly, practiced self restraint when provoked, and spoke very objectively, used the right terms at the right times, like he’s done it a hundred times before. He’d actually convince you that he is right, and all you stood to believe in was downright silly of you. But then…

The Slut opened her mouth…
Seeing only his age to be his possible shortcoming..she played on it, like a finely tuned piano..

King, who was watching at home, actually threw a shoe at the TV, Al Zaidi Style…

“ You know seed, the problem is baby, we cannot talk to them, let me tell you something that happened before you were born, I lived it and I would know..you just cannot talk to these people, and if you do and you say they are nice..that is part of their plan to fool you…don’t let them fool you, one day you will grow up and learn..”

Now, really…who is the real enemy of success?

Seed’s girlfriend was behind the camera, waiting to congratulate him on a job well done, despite hating the outcome, its still cause to celebrate…he made her and everyone who knew him proud…
As for the slut, well lets wait and see..she messed with a made man…and justice is blind, and not a lesbo…you gotta be a Man to know how to sleep with Justice.

So You Wannabe A Rockstar! ( Instrumental Version)

Think an Arabic ambient remix….

It was quite an alluring place, dim and large, however all the tables were set in an intertwined manner creating a false but convincing feeling of privacy on each table. The lighting did wonders to the place, subtle yellow spotlights very generously placed all over the place, some of them dangling on threads like the thread you would find on a Christmas tree. All yellow, all same color, boring, but the repetition was what made it beautiful.

The entire place was smoky, a good mix of tobacco, shisha and fake Cuban ( probably Honduran Cigars). You can hear the general chitchat of people having fun. The mood was like a 100- meter sprinter taking his mark. Its laid back, but you know it is only a matter of time before things really go wild. The mood was in the hands of a well dressed Disc Jokey sitting somewhere you cant see. But you can tell he has his eye on every table in the place, for his choice of music was very reactive to the mood the people were in.

To anyone walking in, it would look like you went into the only place in town that would cater to the bigwigs of the underworld, A few Commissiongeyya here and there, your local drug dealers, pimp ring leaders and dirty cops, maybe even a couple of public officials and a Governor’s chief of staff.
All the cities vices, it’s corrupt power out for a night, all in one place…

That’s what it would seem, but as we all love our imaginations to get the best of us, here was his take on the crowd:

Your crowd was a regular combination of fat suits surrounded by cheap beauty, a couple of young execs planning on having mad fun in a place away from their regular choice of venues, a couple of other guys feeling this is the beginning of a great social life to come when they managed to enter a place like that, and some unfortunate babes looking for a false sense of freedom, a freedom they yearn for and wrongly believe its been taken away from them, they’d stop at nothing to exercise it and prove to themselves that they are free…at any expense.

He was sitting with someone his age, probably a technical school dropout who started early in life as to make it big, making a career outta quick fixes and on the side opportunities, He thinks of himself as on the way of being a businessman…something like the ones depicted in movies, you know those big Beks either portrayed by an old middle aged man who looks good in a suit or by Hassan Hosni. The ones who have business conglomerates equally investing in manufacturing, construction, tourism and advertising all in the same time, and as if all that wasn’t enough for you, still has the time and punch to take on either drug dealing or antique smuggling.
Then a little lucky fella (probably a technical school dropout) with a heart of gold and nerves of steel would be courageous enough to bring such a superhumanly capable man down…and take his place..

That was Zika’s plan…and his ambition.
He just looked at Zika in pity…but didn’t show it, cause he wanted something from him.
No it wasn’t the three girls Zika bought in to impress, not the alcohol Zika planned on getting tonight, and not the piece of Hash in Zika’s pocket.

He wanted Muscle…not Zika of course, Zika was a get it all. You know theres always one in each town, a man who serves everyone, helps everyone go places, we howwa ma7alak serr…he thinks he is moving up in life by doing that…
Problem is, to everyone he’s just Zika..

“ So ya Bob… you only need two men” Zika asked
El Bob answered back in the affirmative, saying he likes doing things quietly. Apparently El Bob likes doing things subtly. He learnt that off his Boss…Damien King.

El Bob was supposed to rustle up a guy, who thinks he’s all that.. A nobody from the corporate world who thinks he’s going to be a CEO of a Fortune 500 by the time he’s 35, all because he’s now on a supervisory sub managerial level in the business development department of a company that sells insurance schemes to other fellow multinational company goaled execs. Of course this Wannabe CEO has a lot to brag about, with only 1 year in the company, and fresh outta sales, he just jumps into business development, daddy is an accomplished super-manager in a petroleum company, sadly enough although the company is well known, daddy really isn’t. why? the answer always said is because Daddy has a lot of unseen enemies who just for the heck of it hate good people. Most importantly, Wannabe CEO went to AUC. The only hotbed for the best education in Egypt.

El Bob doesn’t know why Damien King would be interested in rustling up the wannabe CEO, but he just follows orders, its not his job to ask questions, his job is to solve them. Of course that doesn’t deny that there always are rumors, which say it’s for an old friend dear to his heart…

*koff koff* Damien King has no heart.

People like King tend to do that, appear cold and ruthless, but then have these truly genuine acts of kindness to old friends, where pen and paper do not govern his dealings with them. They are below the bottom line, it doesn’t apply to them.
El Bob, never gets it, his only analysis would be these people remind him of a good age long gone, when things were simple, and pleasant…
He’d probably do anything to get them back, and this is his chance to re-live them.

El Bob leaves the unnamed ambiently lighted club full of plastic pleasure, and heads out to do the job. Wannabe CEO lives in a suburban compound outside of town. Has a shiny expensive hatchback not yet parked in the driveway, right in-front of Daddy’s Japanese Saloon.

“He still hasn’t arrived ya Basha” says one of the goons to El- Bob…
El Bob lights another cigarette, while the shaabi music plays in the car. As the goons revel on the artistic beauty the late el berens 2000 has to offer, He tires to daydream about where he’s been and where he’s going…but an sms cuts his mental journey before it even begins..

“I miss you” says an SMS…
He wants to meet her today, probably everyday if he can…why endure the bitter when you can constantly enjoy the sweet…he hopes he can be done early to go see her..

A couple of repeats of “7anan el 2om” on the busted cassette player and 6 cigarettes later, wannabe CEO appears on the horizon in his hatchback..

“ Amrekani ya Basha?” the goon asks?
El Bob nods…

Both Goons, both with lengthy criminal records and fewer arrests stand in the driveway with a two very thick and quite long nababeet, they smile sheepishly until the headlights land on their faces only to reveal an identical menacing expression on either goon’s face.

“ Mat Wasa3 ya Roo7 Omak, dah garage!” yells the CEO wannabe..
No response…
He meets it with two honks..
Nothing, they don’t even budge.
He dismounts from his vehicle, and walks slowly to them in a commandeering way,
“3amel 3abeet inta we howwa wala eh? Yalla ma3 el salama men hena”
Nothing…
The guy walks back to his car, puts it into gear with his leg still on the clutch, he gives it a couple of loud revs, and then lets the clutch go…
The Car pounces to where the couple are standing, they both veer out of the way very gracefully for their size, one of them manages to land his naboot on the left tail light, smashing it to bits…
Wannabe CEO leaves the car infuriated and lunges to one of them, declaring beat to a pulp first, ask questions later. His plans were foiled when the other Naboot landed fiercely on the center of his back right between the shoulder blades…
He collapsed to the floor in pain, and rolled over with his back to the asphalt, the other naboot landed on his left knee.
“aadi el debreyaj ya ibn el weskha… wadi el banzeen ya kos omaha”, then on the other knee..

The problem with broken knees is that there is never blood, but it renders your leg useless for a good nine months, with both broken, that’s a good nine months in a wheelchair.
The Goons then took turns on anything breakable on the hatchbacks exterior…headlights, tail lights, mirrors, windshield, and the hood.

“ Mobaylek feen ya 7elwa?”
The cripple on the floor complied instantly indicating it was in his left breast pocket, they kept beating him on the pocket until they heard it smash…of course every time they did, he would wail in pain..

“ HOSH!! Balash dawsha ya Marra, inti eeh? Betewledi?”
CRACK CRACK
“We 3amelli feeha Dakar?”
CRACK
The Cripple now close to passing out was dragged to rest his back on the left front tire of his car, this is where El Bob stepped in.

He first slapped him on the face, telling him this is for the attitude he gave them. He then proceeded to warn him not to come close to the woman again..
When he asked which woman exactly, he was freshened up again to recall.
He was then given a nice, simple but effective monologue that if his parents and the government both failed to raise him properly, they will gladly do the job in their free time. They hope this reminds him how vulnerable he could be, and hope he has been humbled by the experience.

A few weeks later, Zika was picked up by an unnamed police officer in plainclothes and bought in for questioning. He claimed he was solicited to commit aggravated assault by a man simply known as El Bob.. his description was not so tall, not so short, jet black wavy hair, with small eyes, and a good athletic build, fair complexion for your average Egyptian skin tones, didn’t say much, he actually looked like Tommy Vercetti from GTA vice city.., always in dirty jeans, a leather sweater and navy blue sneakers with white soles. He walked as if he were dancing to a tune in his head and rarely smiled..
That night, Zika didn’t show up at home, his cohorts thought the authorities never released him, so didn’t bother to report him as missing.
A few days later an unidentified male fitting Zika’s description was found in a ditch by the Cairo Alex Desert highway, ba3d el Karta be meteen metr..
After examination at the coroners office, exact cause of death was attributed to blunt force trauma to the cranium causing internal hemorrhage caused by a blunt instrument. Other injuries include a ruptured anal sphincter a broken left forefinger and index finger. Sand was also found in his lungs and larynx which indicated attempted suffocation.

Case Closed, Two Wannabe Rockstars outta the game, one dead, one incapacitated from the knees downwards.
And the lesson learned?
If you are opening act at a concert, make sure that the audience gets the impression you are just opening act, Your main event will come…only not in this gig…

Keep Rockin….like a boat
Keep Rollin…with the punches..
Your time will come…