Another side of Kane

The Master

2010-11-28T21:11:00.004+02:00

He truly should have taught so many people, Saddam, Qhaddafi, Charles Taylor, Milosevic heck even Bush Jr shoulda sat down on The Master's lap and took notes on how to dominate and abuse power.

Admit it, when it comes to what he does, he does it best...

Regan, Bush Sr., Clinton, Bush Jr., Obama, 5 presidents there, 3 Republicans and 2 Democrats, from all sides of the political spectrum...they all loved him.

War Hero, Economic Reformer, Political Reformer, Charming Diplomat, Absent Minded Joker, Ageless Geriatric, Survived countless assassination attempts...He took us when we were on the doors of Economic Liberalization, and arrived with us to the Nuclear ages and surfed the IT Revolution, Built Bridges, highways, hospitals, a subway system, and the Master still Rules...

Yet we still hate his guts to the core, and we refuse to accept him.

Why?

actually...what we should be asking ourselves is Why not?

Just a Thought

Like Toy Soldiers

2010-11-27T21:07:00.008+02:00

As the night whispered its eerie song under the moon, they all had their eyes locked on anything that moved. Its been hours since any movement took place in their field of vision. They almost alerted HQ of activity when an owl fluttered away from a tree nestled in the foliage.

They all had dreams, dreams where they would make their loved ones proud, where they would feel like

they made a difference. Like Toy Soldiers they followed what they thought was their calling.

But now, they are faced with the harsh reality, that there is no glory in war, just misery and regret. It slowly creeps up in your perception like doubt. But then, comes a significant event that allows it to strike so profoundly the creep turns into a p

ounce, that devours your entire mind…

The only way out of here, is in a Body Bag…

They’ve been duped…fooled and played with, like Toy Soldiers…

They march and make formations, strip weapons and train like warriors, eat anything and survive the harshest conditions, all for what…to end up in enemy crosshairs who are as casual as taking your life as a teenager playing Call of Duty..

All for what?

To be killed..killed along with many of their brothers who endured the same pain they did..who had the same lost hopes they did, he was talked into it like they did and fooled into being cannon fodder for beef between two politicians that will keep sending off more fools to their death. Until when, until he looks like a murderer for killing so many of his nation’s sons, only then..will they sit down and sort out their differences on paper and do what politicians are really supposed to do.

But then what? Who is going to bring back those brothers we lost? The body parts forever maimed, the horrific scenes, who is going to undo the damage?

Was it worth it tayeb?

Was there no other way of doing it?

He walked in complete darkness seeing only whatever the moon reflected its light over. He felt no fear, not that it was not scary, nor that because he was the bravest of them all. It was far simpler than that,

He had himself, and he was willingly accepting his fate,

A Himself he had never knew existed before. A Himself that was driven internally, that needed not any form of external drive or passion, that required no acceptance or approval from anything else God has created. A fully self-sufficient self that required nothing external to exist and be. Whatever he required, he could provide for himself, whatever solutions he needed, he could come up with and execute himself.

He achieved that when he realized that he would die in this huge field surrounded by trenches on both sides. His Government is too hot headed to back down, while the enemy is fighting to protect its right to exist. The price of stubbornness comes at a very expensive price…his life,

And there is nothing he can do about it but to accept it,

A lot changes when you know you are about to die. No last minute miracles, no grand exit, no glamorous soundtrack, no slow motion…nothing..just the sound of bullets piercing you like a rotten peach, maybe your own screams of pain..pain you have never felt before, that’s all.

When that certainty hits you, its over..you turn into a brave fighting machine that has sold the world and everything in it. You decide to provoke Doom and Fate into taking you sooner, by doing something what others would call “brave” when in reality it is nothing but Rage, and that is exactly what your commanders want you to do.

If you die, you will bemartyred, if you survive that stunt of sheer idiocy you just pulled, you will be decorated with a medal, maybe even promoted to a higher rank and expected to do it again…

And again…

Why the lunacy? I think I would have just rather been martyred rather than go at it again and again and watch more buddies die and be maimed in the ugliest ways possible.

What if you survive that, after the war is over? Can you go about your life again? Knowing you killed someone/? Not one, probably at least ten…ten widows made, at least ten children orphaned all for what? A slogan your commanders talked you into believing?

There are no Rambos in real life, Just Caskets flying home, flags and a 21 gun salute.

To every Commander in Chief that has commanded a nation to go to war; May you eternally be fuel to the eternal fire of Hell.

GTA 5 : Escape from Reno

2010-10-27T15:35:00.003+02:00

On a dry and hot autumn afternoon in Reno, Clive our gumshoe like , Max-Paynish Anti-hero was minding his own business driving back to his small inconveniently located Office above a sex shop on South Virginia Street. It was the only thing he can find at the finances he can provide,

Clive our former compulsive gambler lost a lot of money in Reno, Race Tracks, Casinos, Slot Machines and backdoor poker games; you name it, he lost it there. Of course as every typical compulsive gambler, he went to loan sharks, shylocks and even borrowed from the mob. Despite losing every nickel he owed to people who were downright mean and worked you like a xylophone in pre-school, all these people wouldn’t hesitate to sell your kidneys to get their money back. He decided to stick around to prove good faith to his creditors and pick up a few odd jobs to repay them. He wanted to cut back on costs so the office space above the sex shop just did about fine. He would meet most of his clients out of office and the only reason he rented the place out was to register for a private eye license with the state of Nevada.

So as he was going back to the office to edit some photos he took on his camera, he received a phone call from Ramirez, a thug that worked for “Fat Boy” Pintolo, they called him Pintolo after the shoes he always wore, he was a trekker that loved going up for walks in the Sierra Mountains with someone that needed to disappear and come down without them. It was pretty odd for a big guy his size to actually enjoy exercise…he was Fat, not Obese, not chubby, downright in your face FAT. Not your stereotypical dapper type mobster. Gotti and Castellano, these people were movie material, he was more of the real deal.

Ramirez told him that he had till midnight to pay the 200 Gs he owed. He could barely come up with 50 of that, he thought of paying them that to buy time. Instead of letting them know he was short at the drop at midnight, he decided to test the waters with Ramirez on the phone.

“I Can come up with 50 tonight, I’ll bring up the rest within the next couple of weeks, keep the vig running on what I still owe”

Ramirez replied in the scariest latino thug accent he can come up with…

“:Hey Esse…if you don’t come up with 200 Large in the next eight hours you’d better skip town chicco…cause Pintolo wont settle for any less Gringo…If I were you..run for it…we will get you anyways this is 200 Gs we are talking about, but hey…Im feeling a bit generous, consider this a 6 hour head start, show us how far can you run”

Now that is something pretty scary for someone to hear, even Clive who has lived most of his life within such circles. He knows it isn’t anything personal, his life will be nothing but a precedent for Pintolos Business…bail out on paying and an example will be made of you. The only reason Ramirez was generous enough to give Clive the so called head start was mere courtesy. Crooks respected people like Clive, Professional, Respectful and all action no talk…But hey, A Mans gotta make a living no?

Clive decided he would make a dash for it, and wire the 50 Gs he had to Ramirez’s pawn shop down in Spanish Springs. He really tried to make Reno work for him, cause he was good at it…but unfortunately for him, it wasn’t his loaf of bread. He will have to make it elsewhere. That’s if he made it alive out of his debacle with Pintolo.

As he parked his banged up brown Impala in front of the Sex Shop. Meeks the landlord popped out of nowhere as he always does. He reminded him of the evil landlord Jim Carrey in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. Not that he is a Jim Carrey fan, but he liked people who didn’t let courtesy get in the way of achieving their legitimate needs. Meeks was a real Jew when it came to money…he would haunt Clive everywhere when the rent was due. There was one month where he actually popped up while Clive was having an after work drink at a shabby neighbourhood bar and told the bar tender not to pour him any drinks cause Clive should be paying his rent. Like I said…a Real Motherfucker.

Meeks put it quite clear to Clive, if he doesn’t pay the rent by tomorrow morning, he is going to call his lawyer and serve him with an eviction notice. Clive just went back into his car and drove off to the nearest highway…this town is useless he thought…

Clive had no idea where to go, he literally had no place to go so he decided to leave it up to Fate. Although Clive hated not being in control –probably just like anyone whos a take charge type of person- He really had no other choice. He just wished that if anyone comes after him, that his movements wouldn’t be predictable enough…that’s why his best shot was to leave it to Fate…I mean, can you get any less predictable?

He Stopped at a roadhouse 4 hours later when his car was running out of Gas and looked into his wallet…7 Dollars…He put his car into park in a convenient parking spot by the Roadhouse and shut off the engine for his very last time with this car. Good Riddance. He spent an hour or so scouring the cars coming into the Roadhouse. Most of them were trucks and motorcycles, he couldn’t drive either. He was looking for something economic, Japanese or Korean so that it can cover more distance with the gas in it..he had no money to fill it up.

Nothing…

He hitched a ride with a trucker headed for Vegas carrying Fish, he simply introduced himself as Bob…a Builder looking for jobs in Vegas, with the Casinos popping up there like HIV in Africa, it seemed like a sensible thing to claim you are going to Vegas for Construction Works. The trucker was a man of amicable demeanour, and they sang along to The Future by Leonard Cohen together when it randomly popped up on the radio.

“When they Said…Repent…Repent..I wonder What they Meant”

Truth of the fact is, he knew what they meant…and just like most people who try, circumstances didn’t really help because its always realized a little too late. Theres nothing more convincing than a Mobster wanting to trade in your life for 200K to make you wish you just worked at a DVD store. Problem is, you only have 2 hours now to do it…its almost 10 pm.

He got off at the intersection of Interstate 15 and 515 , he didn’t want to end up in the hands of a union worker who had mob ties. Pintolo would hear of it in a matter of minutes, and would probably hire some crazy Chinaman with gambling debts to take Clive out, and in case you have never been to Vegas, Crazy Chinamen in Debt are PLENTY over there.

“I need a Car” he thought, best bet was a Casino Parking Lot where he’d pose as a valet..a high roller would tip close to 200 $ in a major casino and drop the keys to the first person giving him attention, And Yellow Ferrari man with a belly couldn’t have been a better pick. I think I wrote about Lamborghinis before…But Ferraris are different…even ask Jeremy Clarkson if you don’t believe me..the only problems with Ferraris is when you try to honk…it sounds so gay…but hey, who is being picky when you are planning your Great Escape? He tried taking care of logistics before Leaving Las Vegas ( Telephone, food, hygiene etc..) almost everything was taken care of, but then came a tricky question..Phonebooth or Cellular? Phonebooth would do for now…he talked to Sutherland, an old friend from the war ( here I mean Iraq and not Vietnam…this isn’t the 90’s anymore) to explain the shit he’s got himself into. Sutherland offered willingness to help but how can Clive go all the way to New York in a Yellow Ferrari and 200 Dollars? Sutherland gave him the number of someone reliable in Vegas…His name was Fonzy, Clive also got an address just in case Fonzy didn’t pick up the phone.

He gave Fonzy’s place a shot and was surprised to find a pretty woman opening the Door..her name was Knatalya..apparently Fonzy is dead…and Knatalya was his niece..she was a Blackjack Dealer at Bill’s Gambling Hall ( A lame Casino in-front of Caesar’s Palace) and she preferred being called Knat

“Like the Bug..” Clive Joked

“No…that’s Gnat, not Knat” She shot back

“Whatever, now you got me all tongue tied..”

Clive realized he cant run forever…but what can he do? Where can he come up with 200 Thousand Dollars?

“In Vegas…are You kidding?”

I know that’s what you are thinking as well, but believe me when you are in trouble, the most obvious solution sometimes escapes you like Harry Houdini. Knat being a sucker for adventure and tall mysterious men decided to tag along and help him…Doing a Casino needs Two..when you come to think of it, anything that works needs two…it brings balance..and there’s two of everything, but that’s not our story here and now.

Five minutes away from where Fonzy used to live, a couple of Police Cruisers swerved into the rear view, sirens blaring and lights flashing.. about time Yellow Ferrari man reported his car stolen. He knew the police cruisers were beefed up under the hood, and outrunning them would be easy game, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before the Pursuit Police cars would be up against him…either in the form of a black and white Corvette or Charger.. He recalled the days when he used to Drive a Dodge Charger for the Law, back in Montana…He was one of two police chasers in the State. He knew all the tricks, but basically you can never outrun the law, you were simply going to have to take it off road, or Intrastate, but then you would get state police involved and that makes it real big..you will either end up behind bars, riddled with bullets, or crashing…or…all three. He took it up back on Interstate 515 to give himself leeway for speed, the street cruisers followed him like flies to a carcass. He realized it was the wrong move when he saw police lights flashing in front of him as well as behind him.

He stopped at the Roadblock, got out of the car hands behind his head and hit the ground on his knees.

“I’m Unarmed” He yelled. Approximately 5 State Troopers and fifteen or so Vegas County Police officers lunged at him like a quarterback in the superbowl. Placed him in handcuffs and the back of a police cruiser. He figured being in custody would save him from Pintolo, for a few days at least. In County he can call up a lawyer and get bail since theres no flight risk for someone worth 200 Dollars but he would have to be very fast because Pintolo probably would have the Chinaman waiting for him right outside the precinct. But nobody would off him in-front of the station.

Upon his release he shot for Bill’s Gambling Hall where Knat worked. He decided not to work the place so that Knat doesn’t lose her job, she argued otherwise saying if the loot was big enough she doesn’t need to work again, plus shes an insider there so its better to work this joint than anywhere else.

She made sense,

On with it…

Between the both of them, all the angles were figured out..all but the fact that Ramirez was already spreading word to all the town’s Chinamen how Pintolo is willing to pay big money for whomever would “Keep Clive Alive”

Now that all the pieces are in place, Here is where things get very interesting…This is the end of GTA 5…The way GTA – 6 pans out will be upto you..Follow me on Twitter (Fodz)…tell me how GTA 6 goes, and favorable feedback will make it in GTA 6

GTA 6 is out on November 6^th and Thank You all for making this blog what it is

Land of Confusion: Cairo 2010

2010-10-10T12:56:00.003+02:00

I Must have dreamed a thousand dreams,
been haunted by a million screams,

But I can hear the marching feet,

Moving into the street...

Now did you read the news today,
They say the Danger's gone away,
But I can see the fires still alight,
Burning, into the Night....

Theres too many Men, Too many people, making too many problems...
And not much love to go around...

Cant you see this is the land of confusion
This is the world we live in, and these are the hands we're given,
USE THEM AND LETS START TRYING

To make this a place worth living in...

Oh Superman where are you now?
when everything's gone wrong somehow?
Those Men of Steel...

The Men in Power...

Are losing control by the hour..

THIS IS THE TIME
THIS IS THE PLACE
Where we work for the future...
Still theres not much love to go round...
Tell me why is this the land of confusion...

This is the place we live in...
And these are the Dreams we're given...

MAKE THEM AND LETS STOP WHINING...
To make it a place worth living in...

I wont be coming home tonight...

My Generation SHOULD make it right

They're just making promises

We know, that they'll never keep..

Cause theres too many men, too many people, making too many problems

And theres not much love to go around...

Cant you see this is the land of confusion

Now this is the land we live in,

And these are the names we're given

USE THEM AND LETS STOP CRYING

To make it a place worth fighting for...

STAND UP AND LETS START SHOWING

Just where our lives are going to...

Written by Mike Rutherford for Genesis in 1986

Re-edited for Cairo 2010 by Osiris Kane

Ginger

2010-09-19T22:44:00.005+03:00

Ginger, such a delightful hue,
Ya Mozza, you Possess...a certain hotness nobody could ever assess...

I imagined fantasies, for You I can create, even you cant concieve with that lovely red headed head of yours.

Its a Shame we never got the chance...I'll keep You in mind, and who knows...Fate might have its ways,
Maybe
But till then...balash el 2alam fel nafs dah...beybawaz el 2alb el safi..mesh 7elw 3aleeki wallahi...maybe I'll tell you a thing or two about that if we get together sometime...
So long Babe, Keep em swooning...you're good at it
Osiris Kane

Now Watch Me Shut this thing Down!

2010-07-28T18:56:00.002+03:00

Thursday:

Sahel is always a pretty sight in summer, hot cars, girls in skimpy swim-wear, fancy clubs and Mediterranean beaches...Thats what its all about. The money that pours into that stretch of coast during the months of June, July and until recently August is incredible. Between promotions, advertising, Sponsorship and downright marketing, its a consumerists wet-dream with a new and improved lazy sea breeze for a limited time only.

To other people it surely is about a lot more, or totally different things, but Sahel, just like the rest of the world is a playground, so many players playing so many different games, depending on the game you play you see it the way you see it. But that doesn't mean thats how it is seen by everyone, And that my fellow reader is what makes the world beautiful.

Armando Bond - Pitbull's alter ego was supposed to shut the whole thing down. His employers didnt get to see a dime of the money that is being poured in Sahel, yet in the same time the people who taste this money at the end of the day are surely going to protect their interests with their lives. Quite a formidable opponent to Mr Armando Bond.

Armando never faced the ruthlessness and relentlessness of "The Nomads" who were protecting the Sahel. They act like saints, and play as your friends, with their dark and smiling faces...leer you in until you are close enough, close enough to receive a hit that will impact too close to home...and this is where you fall, never to rise up again.

Armando roared in a Grey Chevy Cobalt dressed in a grey silk suit with a femme fatale riding shotgun, her name was Leon Blackwater, she was his local contact that flew in especially from the Emirates for this job. Leon knew one of the Sahel Barons and was the link that would introduce Armando to the Baron...his name was Donald Maccha......

"So Armando, are we clear on what are we supposed to do?" asked Maccha, while chewing on a Red Macedonian Apple in his hand. He was a very careless man that was extremely high maintenance. He walked around wearing nothing but velvety black briefs and a golden talisman dangling over his chest by the delicate gold necklace that interrupted the flow of his body hair, apple in hand and his mouth full of apple, a few bits dangled on the shag Feng Shuei like carpet that he bought from an auction in Sotheby's.

"Issei Sagawa used to shoot his load on this carpet.....get a bunch of pretty girls to play twister on it for a night and you will end up nine months later with an army of lil cannibal sonsofbitches"

It seems like Maccha was the only one who saw any form of humor in this sick joke. He decided to get to the point. Okay then Mr.Bond...I wish you all the success in this endeavor...

Armando replied : Mr. Maccha, it's a pleasure doing business with you.

With that said, Armando and Blackwater headed across the black marble foyer of the San Stefano Penthouse and took the elevator down to the garage.

" So where are we headed first Armando?" inquired Leon Blackwater

"Diplo..."

Friday

Armando woke up the next day in a hammock nestled under a shady shrub with nothing but his pants and sunglasses on. He realized he was in Diplo, but he forgot how he managed to end up here...he slowly recalled the events of the day before, and then paused when he realized what happened.

On their way on the road they were stopped at a checkpoint notoriously known for its thoroughness. It was midway between Alexandria and Diplo at a town called El Hammam, which mind you, in Arabic means The Bathroom. They got searched randomly and the police found a cache of firearms in the trunk, typical Armando who just loves being downright flashy. His flair always got the best of him many times...and this was one of them. They refrained from searching him and went straight to trying to cuff him , bad move..

Armando pulled what is known in tradecraft as a "sWordfish" which entails simultaneously shooting two assailants on either side of you, inspired by John Travolta in the film with the same name. Shot a third in the station bunker window who was aiming an AK 47 at him, and then shot several shots at the pickup turned police patrol vehicle locally known as "Box" or "Atari" in an exchange of gunfire between the ever so cocky desert eagle in his hand that is known to jam more often than not, and a Mother of a Cannon installed in the back of the Box...it was called the Killer Box since the ministry of interior had them installed as standard in all similar units to ward off any violent citizens. Not exactly Human Rights Friendly but alot has changed since Mr. M died in office.

The Chevy Cobalt burst into a ball of flames instantly when the shells from the killerbox made contact. Leon Blackwater shokran ba2a lets not ask... she was in the car.

He looked back at the Killerbox and noticed that it was a woman who was shooting...lets call her Octopussy.

Octopussy jumped off the Killerbox and sped to a Red Lamborghini parked right after the checkpoint.

Armando tried catching up with her in a white Peugeot 405 police car.

No Match...

The Peugeot was parked outside the chalet he was in. he could tell it was diplo from the distinct silence and americanized English yelled by kids on bikes zipping by the chalet every now and then.

With his mission failed and his partner lost, it was going to be very hard talking to Maccha and his associates and telling them how he fucked up. He decided to go after Octopussy, I mean how many Red Lambos can you find in Sahel??

He found one in Marina 6 and knocked on the door...it was Octopussy...she was with a bunch of ad execs all surrounded with brown Macdonalds Paperbags...one of them had a paperbag on his head and had the eyes cut out, they called him "Habby Meel". He grabbed Octopussy by the arm and pulled her outta the house.

"Thats no way to treat a lady"

" I treat ladykillers any way I want"

"That was collateral damage"

"حات حصليها عموما"

He handcuffed her to him and jumped into her Red lambo...

Lamborghini's are very hard to drive, theyre very wide...you are stooped down too low and you should be very careful with the accelerator.

After drifting left, right and almost moving sideways a couple of times on the coast way the Lambo veneered to stability with its underlayers bolting forward. Bound for Marassi, Armando and Octopussy tugged at one another whenever Armando needed to shift gears. She was quite an amicable woman, polite, discreetly pretty...soft spoken and smiling, you would find it very hard to beleive that last night she was shooting from a killerbox fe lagnet el 7amam...for today, she really looks like just another girl in sahel.

When they arrived at Marassi they headed straight for the clubhouse, Armando had to go kill Le Boeuf...the Nomad Leader. On his way in, Armando felt his heart sink...a familiar feeling he hasnt felt in a while...could it be?

could it be that Giselle Zero is here?

There she was...Giselle Zero, never seen or heard of since what happened between her and King. She was seated at a huge table, surrounded by many friends with a birthday cake infront of her. She was wearing a Tiara and looked like such a Doll. her kind smile showed when she glimpsed Armando.

Armando went towards her direction tugging Octopussy in tow...

"Happy Birthday Giselle..."he said...

"Thank You Armando...Im so happy you could make it,"

"I didnt come for you honestly, Im here to take care of Business"

"Well it seems that business is doing you good, I see it has you quite cuffed..."

"Indeed it has Giselle...Indeed it has..."

"Well I hope you are okay 3omooman"

"Dont worry about me.." he said" "this is always going to be how I live my life...."

And then he uttered his very famous line

"My life's a Moovie....Call me Scorsese"

The next few minutes were a blur to everyone. Strobe Lights shearing your perception at two times a second, Thundering and Booming music lurching its force at everyone from a very impressive collection of speakers and blouse rippers. The music wasnt the only thing that was smashing for so where the tables, The music wasnt the only thing that made people dash, so were the bullets and ricochets...all mixed up in a mosaic of light and dark, loud and mute...It was a disaster...

But Le Boeuf was dead...

thats all that mattered to Armando

Saturday

With Le Boeuf dead, The Nomads would fight off one another in this horrendous vacuum of power...this would be a good chance for Maccha's men to ward in on the loot and start the Gang Wars of Sahel. And that was how Armando Bond Shut Sahel Down.

Give the Man a Vanilla Flavored Cigar to smoke on the Beach for tomorrow is Sunday.

A little sincerity never hurt anyone

2010-04-12T20:09:00.002+02:00

He always felt that he saw things in a different light, not that he sees things period. He thought it was insight, not Schizophrenia. He always pitied people who were crazy. Thought they should all be killed off with the disabled and elderly. No room in this world for the weak. It’s a dog-eat dog world, a pond where the big fish feed on the little fish, and this tiny realization has just put him at the bottom of the feeding chain.

Nobody must know.

He must always be composed, to be reliable, reserved to make less mistakes, and wise to give people the guidance they need. He wanted to create a smoke screen, so that people don’t see into him..and realize he is what he used to call a loony.

He realized that seeing things that aren’t really there doesn’t confuse him, it makes things clearer, that he doesn’t need pity, rather than he should be an example. For even if as a regular person he is merely mediocre ( which is not the case with him) he had more to deal with. He has achieved more. He covers the same ground the next regular fellow does but with greater effort. If he has reached where he is today with this secret disability, this means he has far greater potential than what we see on the surface.

When Mr. Adham pops up, it doesn’t confuse him. He doesn’t spend all his time wondering whether when he meets you if you are real or just a product of his very overactive and creative mind, that would be downright distracting, he merely understands something his mind is trying to tell him, since even the mind presents the unreasonable and the illogical with complete reason and logic. A paternal figure appearing in reality like Mr. Adham is nothing more than his mind telling him, he lacks guidance, and trust. It tells him how much he hates his father, his older brother, his Boss, teachers and his President.

As the new reality of things was tinting his new shades of perception, he trodded down the street to his car, smoking a cigarette, jawbreaker in mouth. He spotted a lovely girl heading into a supermarket, he recognized her from the crowd he sees all the time, she seemed so out of place he wondered if she was again a mind trick until he saw her interacting with the store clerk. She grabbed a pack of Jawbreakers, sour cinnamon flavoured. She ripped the pack open and tossed one into her mouth as she left the store. There he stood, on the other side of the glass door, The impeccably dressed man of her dreams with a Jawbreaker in his mouth. All she could do is smile and laugh, hoping he would make a move.

He arrived at the place early, he had agreed to meet Christmas and Thomas Jones at Jacko’s at nine, they would try to make the best of showing up early by going in without a reservation. He left a good impression at the door with the bouncer due to his mannerism and commendable attire.

Jacko’s was a new friendly vibed bar at The Emperor 1850 a floating boat in Zamalek, it was owned by Jacques Zohny, a Halabi Syrian who’s family came to Egypt fleeing the Asad Regime in Syria, looking for better opportunities elsewhere. He was a very amicable man of refined tastes who was loved by all. The Boat included many venues catering to different tastes. Although The Emperor mostly housed restaurants and a hall for special functions and events there always was a bar. The Emperor gathered a refined crowd of all ages, mostly socialites. It was very normal that young people leaving the bar would bump into family acquaintances and try to turn a very awkward situation normal. Riad’s parents however were too estranged to know of his escapades, furthermore, they knew it all, so nothing would come as a shock to them, their son is a hardcore dirty cop with bad habits, could it really get any worse?

Christmas and Thomas came on time, Riad was seated at the bar in his coat, scarf was rolled up on the bar beside him. His back was facing the rest of the place. He was smoking a cigarette and nestling what seems to be a low balled glass full of whiskey and two half melted ice-cubes. He didn’t apologize for starting without them although they weren’t late. He had too much on his mind to be apologetic. Although he never wanted anyone to give him the extra care, He needed the world to accommodate him right now.

Later that night when the place started filling up, he started seeing more and more familiar faces. Real faces not ones his mind came up with. He always was a confident person and thrived on big crowds. He just felt like wanting to be recluse. Not out of fear, rather than comfort, but his confidence was a lot more than usual. He felt that he is perceiving on a far more superior level. So anyone or anything going on at the place was automatically inferior.

Jinx joined them close to the end, she had a lot of work to do, It was already past midnight and almost everyone was too merrily drunk to sharply scrutinize. It was a Sunday and hence Karaoke Night.

They sang four songs..

He hadn’t had that much fun in a long time.

He finally felt that he can reach security he longed for…not in a person, he was always looking in the wrong place. It was security from within himself that he was searching for, and it was right under his nose.

Look around you Riad, are these the people you always wanted to be like? Didn’t you start drinking to fit in with them? Didn’t you start doing drugs? Seducing their women? Just to try to convince yourself you are better…you fooled everyone, and congrats you are now the social legend you always dreamed of becoming, you never sought their acceptance. You sought your own acceptance, you wanted to sleep at night content with who and what you are, Not what they perceive you to be.

* * *

A few weeks later, she was at a wedding, in a White Knee length dress. Her friends and stylish mother all told her not to wear white to a wedding out of fear of overshadowing the bride, even if the bride is prettier it is still considered rude, Sally however takes no precaution to anyone’s favor. She stood in a not so secluded corner by a high table among a few good acquaintances, some were single, some came as a couple, some came without their better halves, She met Jawbreaker there and couldn’t believe her eyes. When he was clearly approaching her, she almost fainted.

He stood in front of her and reciprocated the smile she gave him in front of the store a few weeks back. She gladly asked him “Sour Cinnamon?”

“Strawberry” he replied…

Cafe at Sevres - Babylon

2010-01-30T12:49:00.002+02:00

It was a warm April afternoon in Paris, the World Health Organization just announced raising the Alert on H1N1 to that of a global pandemic, and they both couldnt care less.

He was an American, some engineer that thought of making a good buck in the petroleum industry by utilizing his expertise in isolation to protect the arms supporting oil rigs underwater. He used to be one of those divers who use Oxy-Acetylene torches underwater, one of the highest paid hourly wages on earth. these guys are paid 1,000 Dollars by the hour on works underwater. It's highly dangerous work because the fumes that come out of fusing Oxygen with acetylene react instantly with water making a highly toxic compound, don't ask me how they get exposed to it when they inhale from a tank, and their skin is protected by wet- suits , but they just happen to get paid earth's most expensive hourly wage. He now works as a consultant for one of the worlds largest companies that build off shore oil rigs.

She was raised in Grenoble - France , moved to Paris after graduation, she was of Polish Origin, and works fe sherket ba7s we tankeeb, A Business that if properly financed holds no risk whatsoever on anyone but the financier, who most of the time are some already filthy rich individuals with a fever for black gold.

They met after almost 6 months of hard longing, when they first met, sparks flew instantly and one thing led to another. As usual with out of town romances, everything back home was disregarded, meaning his loving wife and his life long battle with nymphomania that he always lost at the beckoning of a lustful woman.
He wasnt honest with her, cause he couldnt be honest with himself, he thought it was love, thats how the worm of infidelity always plants its pod into the minds of weak men.

She most certainly looked as hot as polish girls did, the problem with the hot ones from Danzig, is that they always are just hot, no further appeal than that. So to have one with a proper education and a promising career, well wow, dont you agree?

She loved America with a passion, I mean in 2009, who really didnt? Obama being the poster boy of the free world replacing lil' Bush, the global culture being hoarded with Americana between " How I met your Mother" and "Grey's Anatomy", it was the perfect setting for anyone who lived in some form of opression at any point in time to fall in love with the Western Knight of Human Freedom and Global Justice, and lets not forget, that Poles are the Jews of Europe. Did I also mention how much the French love Obama?

He was a Huge stocky man of Sheer bulk, you can tell he had a Herculean body back during varsity years, fair skin that turned pink and blue eyes comparable to Frank Sinatra's . His Southwestern origins made the French appealing, all about sophistication to compensate for a childhood lost in conservatism and Taboos.

She had legs that went on forever, Jet black hair, and a complexion that resembled a bleached Skeleton.

" I had a talk with her, she is going to her Uncle up in Maine with the Kids, and said her lawyer will contact me..."
" I am sorry Gordy, I really Am..."
" It's Okay Paula, it was bound to come anyways, Laura and I, we havent been the same in quite a while, She has become so consumed with her job, she forgets to pick the children up from the bus stop...John had to walk two miles in snow one day after waiting for her for up to two hours, and that is just an example of the one dimensional self centeredness I have to deal with ever since she got that promotion, she picks up phone calls in the middle of us making love, and just excuses herself with a Sorry, I have to take this..." his voice shrivled up into some sort of a whine, that couldnt come out of a sheer alpha male like Bruce Leiter..

When I overheard that I absolutely related and sympathized with the man

He gathered his composure up and tried to elaborate on how he felt, after taking a sip of the wine in his glass, and crunching on the fresh brown bread that came with their platter of smoked salmon. He looked at me as i smiled back apologetically when the smoke of my cigarette invaded their moment of intimacy...
That was the only contact I had made with the legendary Felix G. Leiter of the CIA.

For those of you who have never made introduction to the man seated in the table infront of me, This man is a very close friend of 007, not only have they forged a friendship in the past 40 plus years during the cold war, they always worked closely and were deemed one of the most formidable channels that defined the ironclad relationship between Langley and Whitehall.

As for Paula, well i can guess at least ten different Eastern European Intelligence Agencies that could have put her up to this. These people have become far smarter, and more formidable foes than the old picture we have created for them back when Berlin fell to the West. For ever since, these people have been engaging themselves into constant learning and experience exchanges now that the world has no enemy, that was back in the nineties.
Now, they dont plant someone where they want them, they recruit the people they need, think of it as outsourcing. And it all came down to an April afternoon in a cafe close to Sevres - Babylon metro station on Ave Raspail.
And thats my take on Paris for you my friends, a setting for lovely love stories, fine dining, art galleries, and fashion labels, a City with its own history, culture, and standing... an International Megacity, with International Relations of its own, along with iconic paraphernalia, ranging from loaves of Baguette, bicycles, berets, sidewalk cafes, statues created from the spoils of World War II, Edith Piaff and one hell of a metro network... a playground for Corporations and Governments alike, that are sleeping together in one bed, anywhere in the world...A fatal combination for anyone who dares stand between them, and their interests.

Osiris Kane, Signing Off, From Sevres-Babylon.
photo courtesy of - National Geographic

Merry Christmas

2009-12-27T16:27:00.001+02:00

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 !

Confessions of a Corporate Hitman

2009-12-27T16:19:00.003+02:00

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…

See You there

Postscript: On being a Dead Man

2009-11-24T14:15:00.005+02:00

" 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...

His Whole Life Flashed Before Your Eyes

2009-10-18T23:28:00.002+02:00

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…

Five Women

2009-08-11T15:20:00.003+03:00

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.

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.

Night Rage: Can it get any better?

2009-06-16T01:44:00.005+03:00

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”

In Servitude of Kings

2009-05-06T10:00:00.004+03:00

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...

Of Money and other Banknotes and Currencies

2009-04-06T15:46:00.002+02:00

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

Comin Up in the World dont trust nobody gotta look over your shoulder constantly!

2009-03-29T13:39:00.007+02:00

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

2009-03-29T13:32:00.002+02:00

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

2009-03-23T16:30:00.004+02:00

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

2009-03-17T12:26:00.002+02:00

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?

2009-03-11T16:39:00.002+02:00

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)

2009-03-10T14:22:00.003+02:00

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…

Take Me There..

2009-02-24T19:22:00.002+02:00

"He exists in a world beyond your world.."
"What you would only fantasize about, he does..."

"Feared by many, truly known by few, this man is as legendary as they come. He's cheated death, congregated with the most noble of people, and the most ruthless...he can be vile, he can be aristorcaratic. He enjoys traveling in the subway or in a Bentley both equally. Money is of no importance to Him, merely a means...And guess what, you are about to work for him..."

Sonja shifted her weight from one perfectly formed buttcheek to the other in her seat. she tried as much as she can to conceal the exitement and how impressed she was with her poker face. It was quite hard.

This guy is something close to a truly life inspiration of Keyser Soze... an underwolrd kingpin, who not so many people can boast. She never thought she would end up in this kind of life. She graduated from Secretarial College with aspirations to work at a bank, or maybe a multinational. serve important people.

Her definition of importance was about to be amended.

She kissed her husband goodbye, and went down to the unmarked black peugeot parked downstairs. Shes going to Prague, finally a big city for the first time in her life. Okay, not the first time, she recalls once how her uncle Olaf ( he wasnt really her uncle, hes Polish, but he was like a brother to her father) took her to Bratislava to see the Castle, the old town there, Back before the Velvet Revolution when they were one country.
It was a short drive to the closest town with an airport. She remembered how she was chosen.
She recalled how not so long ago she was looking for a job desperately in any place she can get, she submitted online, she did door to door, they all shunned her until in the end she worked as a receptionist at the only hotel in town. It was funny how her job description as receptionist included collecting laundry, and sometimes cooking to the one or two guests who actually occupied the rooms.

She was a Magyar, of Hungarian origin in a country which was enforced on its people, one day they just woke up and found some Cigar puffing politicians with too much fat at their bellies thought it would be a great idea for them to co exist with their not so homogenic neighbours under one flag.

Dont you just love politicians?

She remembered her husband, remembered how he would dream of changing the world, Changing the status quo, ridding them of the injustice of ethinc rifts, and that they would have a country of their own...

Transylvania...
He did nothing, Czechkoslovakia fell...and he had nothing to do with it, he just worked at the factory, didnt even celebrate that day to work the night shift when everyone was saying good riddance to the Slovaks, he just said its a celbration not of our own people, we still have a challenge...
Thats what men do, talk talk talk, when it comes to action, they always claim they have tomorrow.

The man who she was going to meet on the other hand, was unlike most men.
She was driven directly to a Villa outside of Prague. All across the way she was looking at different places, with different people. Different faces, and a story behind each one she thought. She thought of their dreams...their dissapointments and wondered how more dissapointments she will recieve in her meagre and unaffective life.

She'd constantly remind herself throughout the trip where she is going, what change she could be capable of. The untold riches of working with this man, the endless possibilities. She thought about leaving her husband, for she knows he would not accept her being the bigger breadwinner. With him being blinded by pride, allowing her to go try her luck is something, and living with the fact that she is the better and most successful of the both of them is something else. She'd wish the extra copious amounts of money would silence his pride, but he knows he is too much of a man to do that.
She wont leave him though, she will just wait until it gets too unbearable for him, and he will most certainly not let it pass.
Her thoughts of the severe change she was about to undergo should this trip be actually successful were interrupted by a jovially smiling middle aged man in burgundy uniform, opening her car door for her,
"Dobrý den, madam"
"Dobrý den..." She responded, with a corteous smile...
She walked into what seemed to be centuries of grandoise, only refurbished...probably in the late 90's or so. She was prompted very formally into a large reception/ tea room. with large and high white wooden double doors, the ceiling, in addition to being quite high for normal housing standards was fresoced with a biblical image. to the left, huge mahogany bookcases, with your impressive variation of Navy Blue, Black, Dark Green and Burgundy Red binding of probably classical books. The right side of the room was basically a set of ceiling to floor cross windows, that let in a gush of light accopmanying the subtly and dimly lit room which had lighting fixtures all over the place ranging from spots imbedded in the bookcase, to antique lamps on various tall rounded small tables sprawled delicately between the couches and armchairs. A Black Grand Piano shone in the far corner on the left, it was a Steinway and Sons. It ruled out the entire image of sophistication, attributing the essence to a pseudo-cultured American decorator.

She sat at the edge of a Dark red couch, and placed her handbag on the wall to wall carpeted beige floors. she realized her dirty shoes messed up the carpets and cursed at how bad and permanent an impression she is already leaving.

"Kurva!" she muttered...
At that point He walked in wearing a Grey Pinstriped suit and a black tie, She collected herself and in the best unbroken english she could come up with said Good afternoon Mister King...

"Good Afternoon, I take it you had a good drive up here?"
"yes.."
" I see you already have left an impression?"
"What?"
"an impression, your shoes...the carpet" he said smiling..." dont worry, im selling it anyways... I dont like Prague, only here because business takes me here..ill just stick to staying at the Four Seasons...you ever been there? its a lovely place really, spectacular view of the Vltava..
I know you have never been there...you must think you have come a long way in life, allow me to just assure you that you still havent seen life...nothing of it. You will see alot, Im bracing you...consider today your birthday..."

She hated the condescending manner the rich and the powerful communicated to her in almost every dealing, emphasizing the difference, the barrier, the invisible one everyone claims it doesnt exist but everyone still knows it does. Rubbing salt into the wound doesnt really help on forging a relationship built on trust she thought.
She asked herself why is she further subjecting herself to more pain, but just dropped the thought and let him proceed...

" What I am asking of you is quite simple, and easy...theres a room booked for you in the Four Seasons i just metioned...be ready at 8 o clock to receive further instructions."

That night, exactly at 8 O clock, the room phone rang, reception was informing her of a man simply referred to as "špína" was waiting for her in the lobby.

She descended to the lobby, and met the man referred to as "dirt".

It surprised her how in your face these people operated. Nobody is called Dirt, and they really are far smarter than to let such a thing pass them, yet they still do it, once again they rub salt into peoples wounds.
She followed špína into an Audi S6, that took them to the airport. the gates to the tarmac clearly opened upon sight of the vehicle, and they drove onto the tarmac up until they reached a non descript Gulfstream Learjet, being fueled and prepared for take-off.

" jsme létání?" she asked..she didnt expect travel this soon
"ano" he replied back in the affirmative.
"Nemám passport"
He just looked at her with frustration and pulled out a Red British Passport with Her Majesty's Seal on it, God Bless Her. He handed her the passport and told her to have a look..

"She does now"

Sonja's picture was inside, and apparently her new name is Sonja Tepes.
She found it sick of whomever picked out her name, since the most famous Magyar in History was Vlad Tepes, mostly known as Vlad the Impaler aka Count Dracula.

Seven Years Later:

She was waiting in the line for passport control at Almaty International Airport, Dressed in a Gucci Business Suit, Fleuvog Heels and a Prada Coat, donning her Blackberry and flipping through work emails as the line moved forward with one hand, and resting the other on her Loius Vitton Carry on luggage that matched her suitcase supposedly waiting for her already on the First Class flyers conveyor belt. She was sickened at the incompetence of local resources they had to utilize for services they were trying to procure with a shipping company, she hated how the forgers they were using to fabricate bills of lading refused to deal directly with legitimate shippers to not expose themselves. She hated how they didnt see the big picture, that they were supplying arms for separatist groups in Georgia and this small impedement required her attention that should be adequately allocated to the bigger scheme of things...

Shes an important person now, probably affecting the daily lives of millions, and is still treated regularly, still had to deal with inconveniences such as acting as a go between two entites that are not supposedly acknowledging one another's existence let alone actually doing Business. Such entites utilized people like her Boss, Damien King, and now hes utilizing her...She wondered that would be different after seven years of loyalty, in a Trade where you have a shelf life for merely one operation, one job thats it, and then you go home and feel great as to how you have become an arms dealer and actually was engaged in world politics...the secret jubilation of the thought would blind you from the Hatchet Man probably employed by your own employer who is coming at you with a .22 caliber to get rid of you quietly, or even worse, blind you that you will live through it, and only 30 years later the realization of such a heinous thing you have done will motivate you to take your own life . She stopped the string of thoughts about self loathing and self pity when realized she was holding the line back when the passport control officer was gesturing for her to come.
"you English?"
"yes.."
" Welcome to Kazakhstan miss..Tipps"
"It's Tepes.."

" Welcome to the Jungle then.." he said jokingly... She couldnt resist the comeback" You dont welcome Royalty to their own dominion do you..."

Calling Dr. Jones

2009-01-19T12:47:00.006+02:00

" Excuse me, I don't recall seeing your name on the invited list..."

"That's because my name is not on the list... I'm Dr. Diana Jones..."

"Would you be related to The Dr. Jones?"

"No, none relation whatsoever, and believe me...if someone in our family went around in a Hat and Whip, they'd be disavowed instantly..even if they did find the Lost Ark..."

That's the attitude you get when you mess with Dr. Diana Jones. She's not a Doctor yet, but with her experience she can out-doctor any PhD holder you know. Her feisty attitude is quite apparent. One would imagine with her size, she'd be a little more reserved, but she can take on any beast, at any time.

The French cultural attache, being the pompous person she is, even for a french, just decided to ignore the intruder and let her go about her day. She was embarrassed by a renowned group of Archaeologists who told her, any archaeological social function would not be complete without Dr. Jones being on the list.

Shes been on a lot of excavations for someone her age, and did work on quite interesting digs too. But if you want her resume you can ask her for it.

Diana is someone I have known for quite a while now. Despite both our busy schedules, we fall in and out of touch, but always pick up where we left off. Its always either discussing the Stargate conspiracy, something she thinks is out of a movie, but i always come up with considerable evidence that it just might be a little more than something out of a movie. Sometimes we just discuss issues she has in her profession, problems with pompous peers..She gives me the impression that everyone in the profession is pompous, from the French Cultural Attache (who isn't exactly a member of the profession) to a fellow graduate in her class who always ends up working on the same work she does work on.

She has a banged up 4x4 (would have said SUV to be trendy, but it doesn't have any utilities in it) that's constantly parked. As long as I have known her, I've been promised a ride..that ride is yet to happen.

Diana's appeal lies in her true understanding of what a friend is and should be. She never ceases to surprise me in how good a friend she can be. Shes also quite engaging in conversation, which is both pleasant and enlightening. She has a knack for comebacks too, for every time we meet, I end up quoting her on a statement she said, and with her consent I post it on my facebook profile, yes that's how good they are.

She's out in the middle of the desert now as we speak, no music, no TV , no Internet...just a tent and sticky desert flies like she once told me...I don't know when is she going to read this...but I'll just sing along with Bubblegum Pop band "Aqua" and say

Dr. Jones,

Jones...

Calling Dr. Jones,

Dr. Jones,

Dr. Jones ,

Wake up now!

Sophie's Choice

2009-01-19T10:33:00.008+02:00

Tuesday 1pm :

A Group of young business professionals were seated in an upscale coffee shop where business execs working in the tower would normally spend their coffee break.

"Dude, you shoulda been there last night, Tanya was all over the place, It seems like you really turned her into a dating beast...."

"Man, Dont forget you really fucked her up in the head..."

The Culprit, seated with them just gleamed, enjoying his seconds of infamy....and all he did was act modestly. Between the four of them, all dressed in their sharp suits with not so sharp minds to match, they pursued and were reciprocally pursued by the hottest and most eligible girls, the town had to offer.

Then she walked in...their eyes all turned.

*enter the chorus of "there she goes" by The La*

Dressed in black pants pinstriped with a subtle yet effective charcoal grey, a White silk shirt and nice little black ballet shoes she turned eyes and heads. She had a black leather laptop bag and was entrenched in concentration in her BlackBerry which she was nestling with both hands at the center of her chest.

Whats funny is, she cant even tell she was turning heads.

Some women act like they can't tell. She actually can't.

She crosses the cafe and sits at the farthermost table. A small table in the far corner where she'd always sit.

A creature of routine.

Routine is good,

Routine is safe.

Okay maybe routine is not so good. She yearns to break it, it provides no excitment, and like all of us we need to be stimulated, reminded that we are still alive, that there is still more to us and more to our world than Manolo Blahniks, Black Berry Bold, Dolce & Gabbana and Christian Lacroix.

She sits and makes her usual order, and opens up a book she is currently reading,

Israeli contemporary literature,

At this point the Boys are all eyeing her, wondering how this one managed to slip away from them.

"What's her name man...we need her name"

"Dude, I know her..she was with me in University, she actually was good friends with that babe...Lara"

"No Shit?"

"Yeah...her name's Sophie...Sophie Monet"

Her Phone rings, Sophie answers in German. A few minutes later, it rings again...the call is in French

"Where does she work...?"

"She Works in that big telecom company.. Oxycom"

Tuesday 4pm:

She sits at her cubicle, writing up one of the many reports for the day. Her supervisor leans over and says:

"Sophie, Norfolk wants you in his office..."

normally, anyone would quiver and go wobbly at the knees at such a statement, Norfolk's time is very expensive, even if its a mere few minutes, so if Norfolk wants to invest his time with someone, guess it is quite important.

Norfolk: Sophie, I liked your last report, Good job...I want you to do the same on Algeria and Nigeria...

Sophie: Thank You.... will do it right away,

Norfolk: No,

Thank you!...and if you need anything, please let me know.

Tuesday 7pm :

Quiksilver Gym is quite spectacular, its more of a social club than it is a gym. An anomaly made at the expense and for the utility of Cairo's Seen and be Seen crowd, although everyone acts like they are merely there to stay fit or work out, theyre really there for matters on their social agendas before anything else. On her way in she bumps into one of the trainers :

Carmella Blackman: Sophieyyyy!!!

Sophie: Carmella, How are you? its been a while,

Carmella Blackman: yeah, since what? when we met up with King...

Sophie: yeah, I havent seen him in a while too...

Carmella Blackman: I didnt know you train here...be sure to try out my spinning class..its a blast!

Sophie: well yes i train here everyday, normally I'm here before work, to avoid the crowd, you know...but sure Ill be sure to pass by...I have to see you guys...lets meet up...yalla take care, Ciao

Up on a treadmill, next to two dolled up girls trying to set up the speed on an Elipse Runner, she puts her iPod on full blast, as if shes the only person in the room, and just finds herself....

Running...

care free...

leaving it all behind...

The girls look at her oddly, as if shes not doing the normal thing people should do at a gym. They exchange whispers on who she is, where have they seen her before, if theres any gossip to be exchanged about her.

What they don't really get, is that in reality they admire her...for they cant pull off what to her is nature, even if their life depended on it.

Tuesday 9:30pm :

She drives her inconspiciously colored Japanese car, listening to Omar Khayrat heading home, enjoying the view of the Nile, and being thankful that she is Egyptian. Despite her multi cutural background from School, Uni, and her affinity for Europe, It's her Egyptianhood that she relates to the most.

She looks at her BlackBerry, recalls the many social invitations she has turned down today and smiles. She just turns it off and drives faster, activating her voicemail which is already full of unanswered messages.

In a Honky Tonk, Down in Mexico

2009-01-10T23:09:00.005+02:00

Dedicated To Colin;

"Mexico Boss? That's quite a long way from the courthouse isn't it?" Sid inquired...
" You bet your Dumb Ass it is Sid....now get your shit sorted out, I'm having you on a Bus tonight..."
To Sid, who's realm of both existence and awareness ended at the Courthouse at the edge of town, you could see the excitement oozing out of his pores.

A few hours later, Sid was at the Bus Station with a black gym bag that said "Rhee Bok" on both its sides in Blue. In the bag were wads of fresh 100 Dollar Bills....

A sudden shiver ran down his spine, when he remembered his Boss's instructions..
" You go find the lady, and you give her the money in the bag, all 1 Million Dollars of it , Its simple, now don't fuck it up..."
Sid's Boss was a barrel of a man. he was round, truly round, irrespective of whichever angle you are looking at him from. He'd Wheeze with the slightest of movement, yet was always impeccably dressed, with an eccentric sense of style that would dub him overdressed or flashy for nearly every occasion. He was a good man at heart, just hid behind a rude and ruthless behavior.. he was a lowlife attorney spending his career on small odd jobs awaiting his big break. Barely worth mentioning on the Industry's level, one of those lawyers who start off as nobody's and retire as nobody's save their directly surrounding environment, who'd semi deify him, put him on a pedestal and liken him to legend.
He always cursed in every sentence, it was part of the external demeanor, he tried acting tough, but he had a big heart. Take Sid for example, he is quite incompetent, however The Boss, being the bottom line whats in it for me type, could never find it in him to fire the simpleton. As incompetent as Sid was, The Boss knew he's stupid enough to do something foolish... Simpeltons are loyal, merely because they are too stupid to be ambitious, That's why out of all the grunts The Boss had, Sid was his first and only choice.

As the Bus cruised the road close to El Paso...Sid was sitting on chair 32 B, nestling the Rhee Bok gym bag on his lap, with his eyes, along with the drivers, the only eyes wide awake. You can tell he was excited, he actually for the first time in a while, felt like he was doing something useful for a change. He was humming Paul Anka's cover of Smells like teen spirit,
He felt good
He felt useful...
Tonight he would sleep a satisfied man, not in his bed, but in chair 32 B on the 7682 Bus.
I've never slept on the 7682 Bus before, so i wouldnt know how comfortable it is to sleep on, but you can tell from Sid's groggy face the following morning that the fantastic dreams of grandeur he had on the trip wouldnt make the sleep any more pleasurable.
The man genuinely seemed to be in pain. Mostly at the neck cause he rubbed it whenever he remembered.
After a few hundred meters on foot away from the station his black Hush Puppies were already a light beige from the clay like dust on the ground streched for as far as the eye could see. As he walked further and further up the road, he noticed the surroundings are becoming more and more desolate. He wondered why would someone 1 Million dollars rich would live in such a place, The woman can definetly afford to live somewhere more accessible.
His mind started asking many questions. What is this money? did a rich relative of her die and this is her inheritence? did she invest in a rewarding scheme? if so, he wouldn't mind a million dollars for himself as well.
"What would I do with a million dollars?" he thought.
Then, out of nowhere, popped the most wicked thought Sid's mind ever concieved, accompanied with the most hideous grin his mouth could conjure.
" Why dont I skip with the money?"
The excitement following that thought overwhelmed him. He was almost going to explode in joy, not from the result of the thought more than the fact that his simple mind can come up with such an ingenius idea.
The shortly created thought would have to go dormant now, for his simple surroundings of dust, sun and dry weather were intruded by a Golaith of a Black 18-wheeler. He finally could embody salvation.
He waved frantically at the truck, hoping for it to stop.
It did...
creaked violently to a halt, as if its momentum awakened abruptly and in protest, from a comfortable slumber.
The Passenger door opened, revealing a tall and built man, with black wavy hair in the drivers seat.
It was quite odd for a truck driver to be dressed in a black suit and tie, and wearing black Ray Ban Wayfarers, he looked like one of the Blues Brothers but without the hat, and he had blood stains on his right cuff and spatter of it on his collar.
"It's not mine" he said, "get in"
after he got in, he thought it would be nice to engage in small talk, to break the ice.
" when you said its not mine sir...were you referring to the truck or the blood...?" " Oh...Both actually.." he said in a friendly yet very raspy drawly voice. "But dont worry, neither owner are gonna be looking for us...the name's Bud..." pleased to meet you sir..I'm Sid..."
"Kid, I got a name, i just told you what it is, dont call me Sir..."
"Okay Sir...sorry I meant Bud..."
Bud smiled..quite an attractive smile for someone with his demeanor.. " so kid, where you headed with that Rhee Bok bag?"

A couple of towns down, with sunset just a couple of hours away, Bud realized they could both use a drink. They parked in a makeshift parking lot on the side which had a roadhouse overlooking it.. an old banged up pickup and a dusty American muscle car were parked outside. With an abundance of space, Bud just parked right in the middle, and they both went in to the Mexican watering hole.
To Sid's surprise, the place inside reminded him of home, only dirtier and with more eccentric people. The juke box in the corner was playing "Stuck in the Middle with You" by Steelers Wheel and Bud did the impromptu dance Mr. Blonde did when it was playing in Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs..it was only then that Sid realized that Bud really resembled Michael Madsen in that movie...heck Bud is probably Michael Madsen's twin brother.

They both approached the Bar, Bud motioned to the bar tender for a drink. Sid, then innocently said I'll have a beer...
The bartender chuckled, so did Bud...turns out they only serve Tequila in this place, and all other places like it. Tequila straight outta a dirty unlabelled bottle. only God and the maker of the bottle would know whats in it.
After downing a straight up shot, Sid felt wobbly at the toes and ears. Bud, went for another, and did another Mr. Blonde Swirl...
As Steelers Wheel gave the microphone to James Brown for the Payback, all three mens' attention was diverted to the pool table across the room when a woman giggling could be heard. Oh and what a sight.

Two Women, both tall, one Blonde, one Brunette..both identically dressed in tight black pants, black heels and black tops with sleeves. The Brunette was the one laughing..she sounded alot nicer than she looked. As for the Blonde, well that was compeletly another story.

She was a tall fair skinned woman with dirty blonde hair , and a green left eye with a subtle yet effective beauty spot a few decimeters below. The right one was covered in a black velvet eye patch, with clear white stiches at the seams, probably a designer thing. She had nothing else that was familiar about her face to be described, other than probably she'd remind you of Yasmine Bleeth. She held two black eightballs in her right hand..her left hand cupped her mouth and she called:

"Hey Joe..Can i take these two balls and hang them from my windshield mirror?"
Joe, who was wearing a Red Bandana replied after brief thought saying..." Chica, anything in this place is for you... but you know the gringos might wanna play pool.."
She then, quite innocently turned her face to the man in the suit and the emo looking simpleton by his side.
"would you guys mind?"

Bud approached her, paused, and between the intervals of the beats in the background song...and right before the Godfather of Soul unleashed one of his Historical wails, he said...
"Matter of fact...i would... So what's your name Hot Stuff...and what happened to your eye?"

The Girl was infuriated, She knows its quite a curiousity to everyone who sees it, but at least they are decent enough to act like it's not there...sometimes, she gets confused whether they are staring at the eyepatch and imagining what ugly sight could possibly lie beneath it, or are they merely staring at her drop dead gorgeous features and figure.

" None, of your Goddamn Business Asshole..."
" yeah, but at least this asshole still has both eyes..."
in less than an instant, her knee was heading for his groin, afterwhich she intended to crash her heel into the top of his foot...
She missed, as he dodged backwards butt first..his right hand grabbing her left arm, and in less than an instant, twisting her arm to reel her into his torso...
He held her close to his chest, whispered into her ear..."You gonna bark all day lil doggie...or you gonna bite?"

He didnt have enough time to gleam in victory, to celebrate this very cinematic moment of his life, for in less than a minute, a tall dark man in black with a guitar case walked in, followed by a short saucy young latina woman with a face that meant business which was contrasted with her black polka dotted white dress..she was a few steps behind the man with the guitar case...he inevitably stopped before she did, the moment she did...she asked the man in the guitar case whats wrong..
he said..."everything..."
With that uttered, they hailed the entire place with gunfire...
Sid hid for a corner and left the bag by the bar...
Joe the bartender ducked behind the counter and came out with a shotgun in his hand..started firing at the Mariachi and his Bella Donna, the ugly brunette in black somersaulted on the ground towards the pool table for cover, firing from two silver pistols that popped outta nowhere...
The only thought running in poor Sids head was why was everyone carrying guns...is this common here in Mexico? if so, then why didnt his boss tell him?
He suddenly remembered a parody movie he used to watch as a child, it was called Viva Zalata, where Fouad el Mohandes played an outlaw cowboy in Texico called Zalata...
Wahiba dih...Teb2a your mother!
nope, that was from another Fouad el Mohandes movie...Akhtar Ragol fel 3alam...
At that moment, he really did wish he was...
Actually last man or woman standing in this Gunfight, would respectably earn the title.
When the Gunshots and Cordite settled, Sid came out of his hiding place to review the casualties, both to property and human life..
The Ugly Brunette was slumped on the pool table...lifeless..riddled with bullets from an automatic rifle.
Joe now his bald patch naked after his red bandana fell off , was bleeding profusely at the shoulder, and gasping for Cordite free air...and in the middle of gasps he was cursing in the local dialect, something that involved alot of hookers and mothers..
Bud was donning his friendly smile, playing it cool..pulled his Wayfarers from his breast pocket and slid them on his nose. The one eyed blonde, lets simply call her Elle, was running for the door to take a look at the bandits who offed her pool playing fashion twin.
" hey Blues Brother, they took your friend's Rhee Bok Bag"
Sid upon hearing that just cried like a baby...

They sat down, and talked, each had his own explaining to do

Bud

Bud: the guy is a legend, they call him El Mariachi..sometimes they merely refer to him as El...he takes hits off any Cartel, I made a coupla Medellins ( members of the Medellin Cartel) unhappy by offing one of their rookies...guess this hit was in retribution..That Truck out there is his..
Elle: why'd you off em
Bud: nobody disses the King...
Elle: your boss?
Bud: ELVIS...

Elle

Elle: we were here doing work...we were doing a first time job for a big client, Damien King, we are supposed to track down a woman hiding from the FBI, since they don't have jurisdiction over here and they dont want to involve the Mexican Federales the FBI asks people like King to bring these fugitives back across the border...
Bud: Damien King is an Asshole...
Elle: Hey, i thought you said nobody disses the King.

Sid

Sid: I work for a guy, who works for a guy who works for Rankin Fitch, was supposed to deliver that bag to a woman, codenamed Dirty Diana...
Elle: Shit, thats who i was supposed to bring in?
Sid: why? what did she do?
Elle: from what it looks like she is one dangerous woman...She used to be an analyst at the Department of Defense, some techie that spent most of her day looking at screens, screens that displayed very sensitive infromation. She got greedy, guess it had something to do with an abusive husband, so she decided to sell the secrets..
Sid: to the Russians?
Elle: you really are pathetic Sid, The Russians are our friends now...she's selling it to the Arabs..
Bud: But i thought the Arabs were our friends...those Jews are doing a good job with the governments in the area,
Elle: not government, Hizbollah...
Sid: I need to get that bag back, can you guys help me?
Bud: I gotta plan that would make everyone happy... how do we split 1 Mil three ways..?
Elle: heck i want no money...i just wanna get the woman back...
Bud: don't worry, we'll get your woman...
Joe: AHEM! out of all you Gringos, who the Puta! you think needs the money most?

Joe (now donning a purple Sash, and a Black Mustache)

Joe: Why do you Gringos gotta come do your dirty business south of the border? why cant you go mess up a roadhouse in texas, I mean up there you still can shoot your pistoleros..2nd ammendment Merda...we dont have no Second Ammendment here, you know what, you are all pathetic...you all work for someone, whos doing something for someone, you are all a bunch of fuckin assholes, you dont got the guts to be what you wanna be...ME? This is my Cantina...My Rules, nobody tells me what to do, I work for myself, Im the most honorable out of all of you, i sit down on my pianoh stool, play the blues pianoh, this is the closest to Americana i wanna get... get out of here... all of you...take that dead chiquita off my pool table too get out...
he reaches for his shotgun, and cocks a cartridge into the barrel, the sound of which turns the mood from somewhat comedic, to serious...funnily enough, they've all just been out of a gunfight..but his anger wasn't a matter to take lightly...If i learnt anything during my time in mexico, is never mess with an angry Mexican.
get out...
(BANG!)
GET OUT!
(bang!)
I dont want your beezness here... It has no place... yalla...yalla...barra barra....ya Kelab!!!

They walked out gracefully, and headed to Elle's Muscle car...
"okay, Im curious Elle, how would a pretty thing like you get a nasty scar like that.."
"Abusive boyfriend with an Ego problem.."
"Is he still breathing?"
"well, not for long.."
"how you surviving?"
"I drink..."

The Windsor Hotel & Number 3 Happiness High Lane

2009-01-04T12:16:00.006+02:00

They were staking him out,

The Hotel said the guy fitting the description rented out the room four days ago under the name of "Feldman"

It could be him.

They always had good conversation on stakeouts...dont ask why, cause for in other situations, these two couldnt keep a convo flowing between them with guns to their heads.

"Hows the wife?"

"she nags.."

"Kids?"

"expensive.."

"Dog?"

"hes getting old, we are going to have to put him to sleep soon..."

"would ask about job, but i can already see.."

"funny you should ask.."

"You know what you need...you need a blowjob"

"not from you i presume..."

"yeah yeah...you should try your mother...she was great last weekend.."

She was fidgeting with her keys in the car door...turns out Germaine was parked right next to her...

"Kelly...!~!"

"Jem...how are you?"

"I'm fine, we havent seen you at the club for a while, I hope everything is okay?"

"Oh well, you know the ups and downs..."

"Why whats wrong..is it Sid?"

"hes just going through a rough time, i guess its work..."

"Is he back to gambling?"

"yes...he even maxed out half of our savings..., he even cant get the car he promised Jack for his 16th birthday, and hes avoiding it ..I tried confronting him and i even offered to give him some of my own savings for a downpayment, and he just snapped at me, I know its out of pride...and i tell him there shouldnt be any between us. He just left the house and came back when i was asleep."

" he might just be going through a rough time at work, being a police detective can be very stressful, even for someone at his rank".

" Well i hope it might just be the job, but i feel he is falling apart, Hooch..his bloodhound is sick too..i think its taking a toll on him..."

"The poor thing!..., Oh well if you need anything Kelly..I am here for you..."

Just another one of them Dark, Sketchy Meetings

2008-12-30T10:51:00.005+02:00

Meeting One: Sammy & The Unseen Man

He walked through the main revolving door at the entrance just like he was told.He crossed the marble floored hallway, just like he was told.Walked to the reception, at the sign that read "Concierge" just like he was told.

A small tingle shivered down his spine as he placed his palm on the counter for support, he was weak at the knees....It was getting to him.

It's Just one of those dark and sketchy meetings he convinced himself...the ones you enter into your calendar or Diary as a "Ma2moreyya" or "gym with trainer" to fool yourself into believing its not as big as what it really is...such a conundrum, an induced white lie for comfort..., not the recipients comfort, but that of the Liars..

for both persons are merely one and the same in this situation.

The concierge handed him an envelope with the agreed lie written on it"for Sammy..." it read.He flipped it over to open it, and reveal to his anxious eyes the contents. He was prepared until this moment. He was given instructions until this phase, the rest he will just follow.

he felt excitement,

he felt fear...

the two adjoined can be overwhelming.

The envelope contained a small 10 by 4 card..

a business card, same texture same thickness.. no details, just dead center in the middle it read....... Room 613.

He asked the bellhop for the directon to the elevator, he gestured him to head down the narrow corridor to the right, the one furnished with a red velvety wall to wall rug.As he walked down the narrow crevice, the air went stale, with a prominent whiff of cheap cigarette tobacco, he could tell its one of those old regal like hotels that are withering away with the times. neglected and left to rot.The perfect setting.

As he leaves the brass elevator door on the sixth floor, he looks left and right..he sees a brown wooden door, with a golden doorknob at the end of the corridor to his left, it read 611...so he knew where to head down.

He stopped in front of the door of 613, realizing finally that he has reached his destination. This is it, it will all be over soon. He recollected himself before knocking, formed his fingers into a makeshift comb and ran them through his hair three times, re-adjusted the knot on his brimmed tie, and fidgeted with the unshapely lapels of his raincoat, and knocked.The minimal force of the rap his knuckles made on the door while knocking just swung it ajar. Its open he realized.

He walked into a dark room, the lights from the outside seeped through the white silk curtains giving an air of blueish white to the room, the light reflected off the bed, the desk and mirrors. he didn't need to turn on the light to know he was in just another hotel room clean and neat. The arrangement of furniture screamed standard Hotel configuration. Bed faced by mirror and desk, TV on Desk, Closet to the right of the beds, bathroom right next to the door and a small table and arm chair across the corner by or in front of the balcony.The balcony sliding glass door was open, allowing a breeze to come in to give life to the white silk curtains.He could see an orange glow from behind the curtains, moving and glowing more intense after a movement...Cigarette he concluded, He awaits me outside.He passed through the curtains, only to find a white plastic round table, and two plastic white chairs on either side of the table. The farthest one, was occupied by a silhouette of a bald headed man in glasses, super fit, legs crossed over the table, ashtray in lap, and an almost spent cigarette that will be a butt in less than 30 seconds in his right hand.A voice said sit down, he didn't see the lips move, he can barely see the face despite the light source reflecting on everything else. He only assumed the voice was that of the man, since nobody else was around.

"It's a pleasure to.."

"Shut up..." Interrupted the unseen man.. "did you get it?"

The unseen man's voice was so raspy, it distorted in your ears.

" yes, here is the confirmation of the bank transfer.."

"Don't you just feel important saying that..? probably it lost its flavor ages ago...you said it a hundred times before to impress yourself, it gives you a false feeling of importance doesn't it? It also makes you feel important if anyone is listening in to your conversation, you think they would probably think you are some hotshot don't you... I just ask why? why do the likes of you have this unnecessary need to feel important, what have you invested...what did you put all your money on, what did you REALLY go through to have this need to reassure yourself that it paid off? you probably didn't get a bicycle for Christmas on your 8th Birthday because daddy had a bad year..or didn't have enough time to bother and get you a Christmas gift was that it? did that make you feel worthless? and hence you spent the rest of your life chasing recognition that you are worthy? was that what put you through the bullies at school , through an Ivy League education paid by a bank loan you probably paid off in less than 5 years of working your ass off for a fortune 500 company? did it also put you through the ruthless competition offered by your peers who wanted your next promotion for themselves? and you worked at it after hours with no overtime and through the night? till you proved yourself worthy to that unknown close to retirement manager in the corner office who was your ticket to board room meetings? which a few years later landed you with an incomprehensible title that sounds important? which in turn meant more zeros on your paycheck? it made you feel better about yourself didn't it? and to reward yourself you probably leased a nice two doored sports car? you think that's original? you think you are the only one on the planet who wants one? who can get one? well lets not get into that, but you probably think you are something, and felt it for a few years, until it got normal...boring, the usual...and then comes the need to be special again...the moment it was mentioned we will "utilize the services of a professional who can make our problems go away" I am sure you felt stunned...enthralled, wished you can personally be the one who goes to "utilize such services" and that's why you are here...all you want to do is feel important..

at a very high expense..

I wish i was your Father, I woulda just got you the fucking bicycle..."

Meeting Two: Horton & The Woman in Red Stilettos

His impeccably shiny cuff links glimmered across the place,attention to such detail only tells you how well dressed and well groomed this middle aged man is. He keeped his eyes fixed on the bartender as a comfortable space, he always did that when he was under the spotlight.

She was expecting an elaboration.

"look Selma, you have to understand, i will divorce her anyway you know these things take time".

"No, you understand you dick...I am not your Bitch...I am not a Bitch...you will not leave me high and dry after you took what you want.."

"That is why I am saying we should stop seeing one another, at least until I settle things with my Wife.."

"And what if you dont?"

"Then we dont keep a bad thing going..."

It took her a few seconds for her to fathom what he was implying. It shook her on the inside..like thunder booming all of her insides, she needed the few seconds to wait for everything to settle, then she can resume normal biological activity.

She resumed, more composed...she reached for her bag, and pulled out her phone, she said the following while she was fiddling with her phone, it looks like she was looking for something.

"you see,........................technology.........can...be a good thing..., back in the day...women in my position didnt...have anything to protect themselves with" she flipped the phone so he can see the screen...she gleamed in ecstacy when she saw the look on his face, she never saw his eyes so wide, they were big and wide enough that she can actually see the reflection of the images he is seeing now.

First he was shocked...

Then when the thought of how she had him grabbed from a very weak spot sunk in, the shock turned to fear,

and in an instant...

less than an instant actually...

the Fear turned into anger....

They were both old enough to be composed despite the provocation.

"Listen, I know exactly what you are, and i dont need to say it, I am sure you are smart enough to figure out what you are, what do people call the filth who do things like what you just did. Its sad really, it sad that you are weak enough to be a victim of circumstance, to let your past, your history and what you have gone through during your life dictate upon you what to become. You might have a noble cause, you crave security and provision much like any other woman. You were deprived of it with your first husband, instead of security he gave you imprisonment, and yes, he did provide you alright, he provided you with all sorts of cuts and bruises. The last straw was when he beat your second baby out of you. that was the last straw, and thats what everyone knows, ever since then and you have been conniving and plotting to get a man, a better one , one who will not beat you, one who will worship the ground you walk on, give you all you need and more. A mere creation of Fantasy, a man too good to exist, You must understand that men have limited means, if their means were unlimited they would provide endlessly, but an unchangeable fact is, they will always have limited means. Should you refuse to accept that, you will never be at peace...argue all you want, deny all you want, it will not change a thing, its like trying to scratch the wall with your nails. You think if you are nice enough, sexy enough they will fall and give you all you want. So you open your legs, you lift up your skirt.. but what you dont realize, that what they gave you before that, is all that they can ever give. So they dont budge, and you go on to the next one, theyre all standing in line, yes, they are drooling, yes they want you..you provide for them what their own wives should provide for...and then they label you as the Housebreaker when its the wives that shoulda taken care of their men...cause if they did their business.. you would be out of business. But what you dont get is, you would be silly to ever think they would give away what they had, what took them years to build and choose you over that...if it ever happens it would be that a good one of them is punishing himself and is trying to right his wrongs by taking you in, and losing what he held so dear as penalty for his infidelities, but you would be silly to think he wants you over them. You are nothing but an Orgasm..a minute of intense pleasure, then he goes back to his life again."

already in tears mid monologue, Selma sobs, sniffs and almost collapsing..her wrists weaken, she cant look him in the face anymore, and hides in her hair facing the table..

he lifts up her head from the chin..gently, looks into her eyes and says:

"You did that to yourself..

I would marry you just because its the responsible thing...

I would marry you just because i am sick and tired of the home i have

They lost me, you found me..

I dont need you opening your legs so that i can pierce you...and make you feel vunerable, or violated,

I know what you are..

I understand what you are..

but with that stunt you pulled, I really dont think we stand a chance...

if its security and protection you seek...just be a dear and hand me that phone..."

Meeting Three: Vincent and the Boy with No Hair

"sorry i am late" he said, as he grabbed a seat in the food court...

"its okay dad, work getting the best of you as usual i assume..."

"story of my life...so tell me whats going on with yours?"

"hows mom?"

"shes better..i just texted the nurse, she says theirs slight improvement with her eye movement..tell me, do you need money?"

The Boy was infuriated...but kept it all in...he can't beleive his father, he can't beleive that his father doesnt see it, he doesnt see that his neglect for everything in his life at the expense of his job is making everything else crumble, he cant see that what happened that day a few months ago was a final and desperate call for attention, that he has become a "pervert" as his father called him out of his loathing for his dad, he refuses to share anything with his father, even his fathers sexual orientation. He resents his father for what he has done, and he hates the concept of a family and what it represents out of what his father has done to him and his mother..

Of course the mother wasnt as strong, she got a nervous breakdown when she found out her only child was gay, she went into a coma and is improving slightly...All his father cared about was work, he couldnt get time off to care for his love of 30 years and decided to get a nurse...he texts her three times a day, and just works works works...you would assume he runs a country, but in the end its just a biotechnology company that does medical research and sells it to whomever is interested, pharmaceuticals, universities, governments, etc...

He even tried to think about things objectively..could it be that maybe his father was escaping? fleeing from the hardships of life in his job...distracting himself from all the problems he has to face, that he has failed as a husband? a father? a neighbour and a friend?

His Blackberry is his only friend....his only family, his company is his only son...

He ignored all that and said...

"yes, i will be needing money to cover my operation"

"what operation?"

"my sex-change operation"

Meeting Four: Just a Couple of Regular Fellows (inspired by that scene)

{Int. coffeehouse, smoky bar occupying far side of establishment, full house, waiters passing by with trays, noisy clatter of cutlery...zoom in on table mid-room...table for two...two middle aged men seated across one another Bobby & Al}

Al: so, you workin on something big

Bobby: [grimace] yeah..a lil bit

Al: you know, someone lookin at us now, would probably think we are friends...a coupla regular fellas..but theres something you gotta get, if it comes down to you...or the cop you are about to turn your wife into a widow..you're goin down!

Bobby: I do what i do best, i take out scores..and you, you do what you do best, try to take out guys like me...

Al: and what makes you think i wont be able to take you out?

Bobby: a friend of mine once told me...never let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat once you feel the heat..coming from around the corner.

Al: so what do you got to give me?

Bobby: A guy, old school...washed out, he now works on dirty jobs for fortune 500 companies...calls himslef "Murk", the fuck wears sunglasses at night and chain smokes... hes taking out some guy thats supposed to testify infront of a grand jury, about some biotech company doing human genome cloning...theyre american but have all their cloning activites in Hamburg, if you squeeze him, he'll give you all hes done in the past 20 years, ...Mob hits, gun running, clombian coke..the guy's a veteran

Al: whats in it for him..

Bobby: give him immunity...hes got all the dough he needs...the guy is smooth, try to involve the feds as well...theres a guy over there.. his name's Hoit..hes worked up a case on the guy..has a keen interest, the guy took out his partner over a decade ago...he'll help you...

Al: what are your sources..

Bobby: did a job with him once, we met at a Damien King party..hes good to work with...

Al: King?

Bobby: nah...King's an asshole..I meant Murk... will you get the check?

Al: nah, your treat this time...

Meeting Five: The Boardroom

Gentlemen, after obtaining quorum, I now commence the board 6th and final board meeting of Lifetech-Roslin for the year 2008, in the presence of the following individuals:

1- Myself Dr. Eliot Campbell Chairman of the Board

2- Mr. Vincent Mead Managing Director

3- Mr. Horton Finch Financial Director

4- Mr. Samuel Taurel Executive Director

5- Mr. Sid Goode of external legal counsel

After discussing the items on the agenda we have unanimously adopted the following Resolutions:

Resolution one : approving the minutes of our last meeting held on the 1st of October 2008

Resolution two: approving the financial balances proposed by Mr.Finch for the year closing December 31st 2008 to be finalized by January 10th 2009 and sent to our financial auditors for approval

Resolution three: approving the appointment of Sid Goode, of Goode, Marshall and Partners as external legal counsel for Financial Year 2009

Resolution four: removing the sum of 15,000,000 USD accrued for pending litigation and releasing them back into capital since charges have been dropped

Resolution five: Alotting 1% of annual profit to Research & Development.

With that, the meeting conlcuded and I thank the Atendees for their participation, Thank you..Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Nex Moribus Levum

2008-12-28T16:44:00.002+02:00

"I lost my eye twelve years ago, The world has been half as interesting ever since."

The statement took Salamar off guard, its been a while since hes been taken by quite simple words. He was a man of action, hence immune to words. However it wasnt what was said rather than how it was said.

Salamar decided to give the speaker a closer look. "Hardly your regular handicapped" he thought.

The speaker was a tall fair skinned woman with jet black hair, probably dyed, and a green left eye with a subtle yet effective beauty spot a few decimeters below. The right one was covered in a black velvet eye patch, with clear white stiches at the seams, probably a designer thing. She had nothing else that was familiar about her face to be described, other than probably she'd remind you of Yasmine Bleeth.

Salamar always felt uncomfortable in the presence of pretty people, however her handicap confused him. This uneasiness he feels, is it because she is pretty, or because she misses an eye?

Her being pretty places her above him, her with only one eye places her below him, so is she above him or below him. A logical thought passed through his head to say shes probably in his place, for both attributes cancel each other out, but if that is so....

then why is he feeling uneasy?

probably because all 23 eyes in the room were on him, waiting for him to talk...

"Hello my name is Salamar....and Im an Alcoholic.."

"Hello Salamar!..." They all said in unsion.

"I dont want anything new...new needs change, and change scares me...it bears the equal risk of both success and failure, I just want to stick with what i know...and what i know is alcohol..I tried Golf..I might get better at it with time, but for now Im not Tiger Woods, Im not even close..But I am good at alcohol, and being good at something feels good..

I hate alcohol, I really do...my Liver cant take it anymore, it brings me headaches and i want to stop it..

Im just too good at it to stop it...

I stopped it since i started coming here, and ive been detached from everything, couldnt care less about anything, ran over a guy when driving home one night, lost my job and spent all my money on it...but its still the only thing i am good at..."

Joel has been bothered with what Salamar had to say from the moment Salmar opened his mouth, he wanted to say something. He waited for the right moment when it wouldnt be perceived as an interruption, and after introducing himself for the 100th time to the same crowd and getting the similar "Hello Joel" back...he said the following:

"Salamar..you really dont need to keep on going at something you hate just because you are good at it, I think your problem is with accepting that you failed, you are being stubborn, and by doing so you are just falling deeper into an abyss, it will only make your ascent all the more weary and longer, cause you've fallen too deep.

You need to work on accepting failure, its okay to be a failure..its not okay to do nothing about it let alone deny it...we all learn from our mistakes, and we rise out of them better people".

Salamar in his prime wouldnt have let this go, and would have argued to the last of his breath...however he simply told himself he cant be bothered. His response was filled with Silence.

The meeting continued with the next three speakers, all through which Salamar didnt get his eyes off the one eyed girl (hereinafter referred to as "OEG"), who in turn had her one eye focused on the watch high up on the wall.

As the meeting concluded, oeg grabbed her black coat and headed for the door. Salamar followed, he wished he wasnt daydreaming throughout the meeting, only then he woulda picked up her Alias, and he simply cant just yell One Eyed Girl dead into the corridor to attract her attention..I mean it most certainly done the job but that would be downright offensive. He at least had adherence to that.

she stopped outside the building to hail a cab. He offered a ride, she reluctantly accepted.

They talked quite jovially for a first meeting, and he felt a feeling he has never felt before...

He felt like he was good at something other than Alcohol.

For the following few months..he enjoyed the meetings, and the coffee with oeg after the meetings..and he really got to know her quite well, her name is Sylvia, she lost her eye in one of the many bouts of domestic violence she had with her ex-boyfriend. the rest is history he knew from the meetings...

Sylvia has been cold and reserved, and nonetheless cynical ever since her accident with her eye. She considered having a prosthetic eye but then shed pass for normal. She wanted the world to know she wasnt normal.

"Sylvia?"

"what.."

"you make me happy.."

"ok"

" I really would like to repay the favor...I want to do something for you.."

"go ahead"

"yes, but what would make you happy?.."

"I am happy.."

"Yes, but i want to make you happier, i want to show you what you did to me, how you made me feel..."

"get a grip...what did i do...i did nothing"

"no you did, and i want to show you, what can i do to show you?"

"I dont know"

Her mind automatically shifted to something else, as if it resolved that this issue is closed, and she said with her eyes lighting up..

"you know what would be cool? Robbing a bank... I always think its cool to stick a gun to a tellers face and say, i am making a withdrawl..., Dont you think its funny?"

It this point Salamar didnt know wether to feel offended, or realize that he hit a jackpot.

"I'd crush the stupid fuck's head in if i were you" Said Douglas...

" come on, dont be too egotistical Doug.."

"whats egotistical about it, the guy deserves it...now go fill up my glass will ya?"

" I thought you quit..."

"that was ages ago..."

"didnt you do AA?"

"AA is for sissies and that was before the promotion"

Douglas smiled as if he finally proved he's a wiseass...handed his flute to Eric for a refill, and smiled cockily as he spotted a hardbody of a woman in the corner,

"Hey, can i get you something to drink?"

"sure..."she said, as she revealed a very expensive smile and a tiny triangle shaped tongue flickered from between her lips to dampen the side of her mouth..

He engaged himself with small talk and a few jokes, until Eric came over with two flutes, one of them was seemingly Eric's...yet, Doug just took both, gave one to the Girl who apparently is wearing a Vera Wang, to match his Hugo Boss grey suit.

"Did you know that Vera Wang originally does wedding dresses Eric?...oh sorry, Eric this is Jaimie with an i-e , frankly i know no other jaimies...Jaimie this is Eric, my best friend..

Eric internally choked at the introduction...

"so now im The Ego's best friend" he thought..

In less than a second, Douglas left both Jaimie and Eric to go schmooze and socialize to a high powered suit that just walked onto the main foyer..

Eric felt really awkward standing next to a superhardbody like Jaimie, he knew she will leave in 10 seconds if he doesnt reel her in.

"Look its okay, he does it all the time...thats Doug Mason for you...anyways, Im Eric..."

"And I am not interested..."

The next day, Salamar was scheduled for picking her up to go to the meeting.

Only today, they werent going to go to the meeting.

After driving a few blocks away from her house he handed sylvia a ski mask and shotgun...

"What the hell are those for?!" She exclaimed

"I thought you wanted to rob a bank..."

"Sal.. I said its cool to rob a bank , i didnt say i want to rob one.."

A look of utter dissapointment befell Salamar's face..

"So you just want to go to the meeting?"

"Is there any other option...?"

"yes, we can rob a bank..."

"You are crazy...!"

"only about you..."

"Sal, I dont love you...Sal , i dont love anyone.."

"I dont care Sil...I just love you...now will we go Rob that bank?"

She stayed silent until he parked infront of a big business type commercial bank...he shifted the gear into park and said he didnt come here all dressed up for nothing. She told him that hes on his own, she will wait for him in the car.

He got out of the car..regretting everything he did in his life.

He is just one big Fuck up..

two seconds later, Sylvia joined him with the shotgun and ski mask with a smile on her face...

* * *

Salamar's Sister has been worried sick about him for a few days now, shes been deseprately trying to hear anything about him. She called everyone, everyone who cared. Nobody has heard of him...nothing. She waited by the phone. Any lead was better than sitting like that with nothing.

Her Heart stopped and beat back to life when the phone rang...it was her best friend Sherry...

"Elsa, i think you should open the news on channel 1"

"...Have been identified as Salvatore Olp aka Salamar..an unemployed Business Development manager and Sylvia Sumner a troubled Social worker...after questioning people on scene the investment manager of the bank revealed that his efforts to releive the situation were instigated when he identified one of the assailants as a troublesome ex lover, who has a history of violence..further investigations have proven that the first assailant, Olp was refused a personal loan from the bank six months ago...and we have now Douglas Mason Investment Manager of The Bank for comment:

"Its a shame that society fails to help troubled people with fitting in..the result of which is this atrocity that has taken place today..I tried to calm sylvia down but it seems that she already had her mind made up...it was like she woke up this morning, with the intent to die..I am sure this troubled man manipulated Sylvia, and used our personal history for his own financial gain. Its a pity and a reassurance that he avoided Justice by his demise today.."

"When asked about further actions, the Investment manager replied by saying that, this matter is closed, and he will be having "a quiet night with his girlfriend Jamie"

Welcome to my World said the Spider to a Fly

2008-11-18T13:27:00.003+02:00

There it goes, buzzing around, minding its own business, going about its daily business with not a worry in the world. Merely a little pest, that can rest assured it will be at no risk unless it meddles with someone else's affairs.

Ti's a wise pest that little fly..for it cant be fooled.

Or so it thinks.

The fly's father told it of all the hazards life might pose to a fly, all the perils it might throw its way.

Do not be fooled by the allure of the Venus Fly Trap, for it can be deadly.

Always stay light on your feet, don't get too comfortable in one place, for its inevitable that you will have to go somewhere else. don't trust the ground under your feet. The only thing you can trust, are your wings. train them.

The only place you can feel comfort and security, is in the air where you report to no one, where your only enemy is gravity, and you were created to beat it , For God gave you wings.

Beware the Hazards of Bugspray...all it takes is one breath

The Fly took these lessons to heart, promised itself it will never be seduced by stability, for stability is nothing but the beginning of the fall.

*Buzz Buzz*

Probably if flies could whistle, our little fly would be right now. un-suspicious of anything in the world, in total confidence of its capabilities and judgement.

A little too cocky ain't we?

Ego...

Across the room, in the highest corner...laid a Web, intricately built, with patience and perseverance.

Attention to detail and infinite symmetry would be putting it lightly.

Along came a Spider, crawling effortlessly on what to many would be the tightrope above the waterfall.

No sticks for balance,

No arms for equilibrium,

Just an eight legged freak, cruising on the almost invisible.

I never knew these things were so durable, its very rare maybe even unique to find biological tissue that is actually non-biodegradable. I heard they make bulletproof vests out of spiderwebs,

You may crush the Web, you may remove it from its place, yet you can never cut a strand...not even with scissors, I tried...

*Buzz Buzz*

Our vain little fly was consumed with smelling its armpits ( in this case wingpits) that it didn't notice it was head on with a Spiderweb ( so much for compound eyes)

You had to see it, in slow motion, from the side...just like those crash tests with the dummies.

Denial...

You can watch the fly almost jetting through it like a bullet, but in the last second before it is free, just when the fly is pushing the Web to the limit of its flexibility...you see the whole web stretching with it.

And finally pulling back........

DOOM!

that's how the fly felt......

Nailed!

that's what the Spider thought....

Who put this Web here? why would a silly spider put a web my way...can't it realize i have somewhere to go? Damn these spiders...always messing with our schedules? I'll give that spider a piece of my mind when i see him..who the Hell does he think he is!!!?

Anger...

The Fly trying to writhe out of the situation, only to realize the more it writhes, twist and squirms, the deeper it entrenches itself into the bulletproof fabric...This is where our arachnid makes his initial appearance...

As it approaches the fly, it becomes more composed, more certain of its role...

The fly, can smell the Arachnid approaching,

So sweet..so different..

What you are actually smelling o little winged one is the familiarity of your fate..

You mean this is my end? does it all end here? Please dont let this be the end? i swear ill do anything.. ill come back every night but please let me go about my day...dont take my freedom away..i want to fly as i please..do what i please, ill be yours but ill do what i please..

Bargaining...

It recalls Papafly's with every effort, and is befallen by an unescapable fear of dissapointment, and shame..how dare I fall utters the fly...I am so much better? I am doomed..this spider will keep me in his webs..and only he can release me...when it does..it will be lunchtime for him...and endtime for me..

How i wish i would have done more...

How i wish i wouldn't have waited, thinking i have all the time in the world...

How i wish i wasnt so vain...

How i wish i would've watched where i was going..

Fine..go ahead...take me...

Depression....

I wont take you, not unless you want to be taken...all i do is set the trap, you fall in it..if you didnt, then i dont want you, this is my way of selection..that is how i select my prey..you passed the test, or you failed depending on which way you want to look at it.

Accept your fate,

It is what is meant to be..

As it is meant to be that you be taken wether you like it or not, It is meant to be that i take..wether i like it or not..

Isnt it possible that i might like being taken than doing the taking myself..

Its my nature,

I can't fight it...

Don't fight yours..

It's futile...

You wont win...

I wont win...

Fate wins..

in the meantime, welcome to my World, a world where everything hangs on a thread..yet stuck together by an intricate web...The Web is strong, but you can hardly see it, or feel its effect. Follow the lines and you will go wherever you want, whenever you want..the road has been already paved for you.

All is controlled...

My control..

Dont you find it appealing?

Dont you find it comforting?

Calm down...its not chaotic as you think, in fact it is not chaotic at all.

Its an Ante-World..a Purgatory..without the judgment, without the Punishment.

its seemingly chaotic, but actually theres an order to it.

Its the fear in you that brings about the chaos..

the fear of change..

the fear of losing control

The fear blinds you...it convinces you that it is chaotic, thats how it is seen from the outside, it makes it seem unappealing to others.., hence they flee...for they are superficial, and judge by exteriors..

you need not be afraid, look at the bliss others miss..

Do not fear losing control..

You need not be in control..leave that burden to me and enjoy..

I am in control

Trust me...

How do you like it?

Acceptance....

Boys Wanted

2008-11-17T15:48:00.004+02:00

Boys of spirit, boys of will,

Boys of muscle, brain and power,
Fit to cope with anything,
These are wanted every hour.

Not the weak and whining drones,
Who all troubles magnify;
Not the watchword of “I can’t,”
But the nobler one, “I’ll try.”

Do what you gotta do,
With a true and earnest zeal,
Bend your sinews to the task,
Put your shoulders to the wheel.

Though your duty may be hard,
Look not on it as an ill,
If it be an honest task,
Do it with an honest will.

In the workshop, on the field,
At the desk, wherever you be,
From your future efforts, boys..
Comes a Nation’s destiny.

Hamlet : Revisited

2008-11-10T14:44:00.006+02:00

Posted upon personal request:

"I saw him today, it was too surreal, this never happened I never thought it would..

Where was fate today, called in sick? it never should

Never should have happened, this abomination of destiny...

When a man meets his fathers killer, and greets him with intensity,

The sort you save for a cherished guest,

Or the riddance of a confounded pest,

Why do you ask? why should a man be put in this mess,

For it is expected of that man, to be in love with excess,

excess success, excess possessions,

enough to drown him, from the need of confessions.

He dream t of War and dream t of Peace,

Unvanquished victory, and the fighting would cease,

The looting of spoils for it is fair game,

But War and Peace to him were the same,

Same battle same enemy, not against orc or elf...

The War , The Peace were both with oneself..

The Spoils extravagant, the Satisfaction a plenty,

His wealth two folded, multiply it by twenty,

A Nimrod created to walk the earth,

An evil beast, destined from birth,

The same beast who loved and cared,

For his prized possessions which he always shared,

Cleansing the dirt he feels and no one sees,

His passion for Goodness, apparently would fill up streams,

Along the way, he made some friends, but always more enemies,

One would haunt him and rid the world of his felonies,

The One that would haunt him, always overlooked,

Expecting it to come from the owners of the Billions you took,

The Billions you took, looted and plundered..

Their cries in your heart, never really thundered,

But O what is Money next to The Soul of a man,

The Soul of a man, who did all he can,

All he can to live, and constantly provide,

for his Son was raised on principle and pride,

His Son has always sworn to bring you down,

And so he starts his journey to your town,

On a Dark Knight in the Hazy Shades of Winter he asks him about his Unfulfilled Dreams,

About Chances, first and second, for nothing is what it seems,

About your Choices, black or white, your lessons from the highway,

Do you regret you did things your way?

Dont you see the anger, the anguish your choices made?

Cant you see how much it cost? and the price to be paid?

A Lifetime of Parting, Crusaders will Raid?

Intruders meddling, they will always ask..

For Loving a brother instead of another is no easy task.

You chose yourself over your own brother,

You shamed yourself, You shame your mother,

How dare you kill him, what would be the excuse,

my dear dear uncle,they are of no use..

let your billions help you..let them help you squirm..

But beleive me O old one, in hell you will burn..

I vowed revenge from the day i knew..

But wouldnt that make me just as bad as You..."

Picture This

2008-11-10T10:28:00.003+02:00

A Black Camaro SS with with racing stripes, ferociously thumping against a stretch of road in the middle of nowhere. The day couldnt be more sunny. Its hot, but the speed brings about a cooling breeze, mixed with the heat coming from under the hood, it gives the driver a bitter sweet sensation.

The playful sensation brings about playful thoughts. Love and Hate are one and the same, both feelings, both can be experienced with intensity. Both reassure the same fact, you are alive, and you feel..

You hate standing in line, its painful, and partially degrading..but the pain of it, the degradation, reassures you that the reason you are standing is important enough for you to go through the pain. Masochism, maybe..

For as far as he can see, its nothing but road, road and a horizon of endless desert and clear blue skies, a couple of gliding birds, hawks maybe even vultures scouring the dichromatic image of blue and yellow. He knows where he is going. He has never been more sure of a destination in his life. The journey cannot be more perilous. Its vast, its desolate and if he stops, theres no where to go.

To top it all off, hes low on fuel. He consumed alot of it on other pointless journeys.

This one isnt pointless.

Its probably the most significant of them all.

He thought the same about all of them.

However,

Never before has he seen such determination from himself,

Never before has he tolerated such perils..he doesnt even flinch,

If the car putters out of gas, he has no problem pushing it the rest of the way.

If he gets too tired, he will abandon it and keep walking, he can get another one when hes there.

If he gets too heavy for his legs to carry, he will lose weight by chopping an unnecessary limb.

He must get there,

Its what he dreamed of acheiving all his life, and nothing of what he dreamed of in the same time.

He knows this is it, because that is what his tongue told him.

He never doubts his senses.

Yes the Bottle is made of glass..

Yes the label reads Heinz

Yes the condiment is red,

But he knows Mustard when he tastes it...

He wants mustard, He loves the bitterness, the playful taste, how bitter and ominous it can be only to releive you with smoothness afterwards.

He can't find mustard anywhere...

He only found it inside a bottle of ketchup.

Ketchup is cool though, everyone thinks Ketchup is the Condiment, he doesnt..

to him its only good on fries..yet he still eats fries with salt and pepper.

everyone thinks hes after ketchup, but is afraid to admit it , to retain coolness and originality.

But beleive it or not

he hates ketchup

and hes persuing mustard disguised as ketchup.

Twas the Man in the Turban that told him of the legendary Ketchup looking Mustard. He hates Turbans, but was intrigued..

He wants Mustard...

He needs Mustard..

He values it to the extent that hed want to keep it from the world, so what better mustard to indulge in, than one that disguises itself as an ordinary condiment...

Ketchup... he traveled the far corners of the world to get this special mustard, he pseudomorted in mexico, congregated with Arms Dealers in Europe, was almost bitten by a rattle snake, was burnt in a car accident, was run over by a runaway smiling japanese car colored like the sky, subjected to carvel like sexual harassment, engaged in unruly celebrations of hate... had an army of dancing overlords chase him in a parking lot..took up an alias, lived in cheap motels, had all his personal belongings thrown out of his window, temporarily deafened, attacked by wild ants in the woods, fallen out of an airplane above the city, crossed three countries in one day, catered to the whims of an Excloosive princess...

He'd go for so much more,

This is nothing next to how much he loves mustard..

Mustard makes him feel like The One,

Mustard makes shit taste like steak..

Mustard soothes him,

Mustard sends him secret messages in the middle of the day

Mustard would stay up all night in preparation to feeding him the next day

Mustard pleases him,

Mustard smothers him..

Mustard helps him inhale both air and smoke

Mustard helps him exhale both air and smoke

It makes him buff up and lose weight

It devours his old T-shirts with Stains, and makes him buy new ones

And this is merely the beginning...

Picture This, Your life is a Burger, We are all born with burgers, the same, the burger in a bun..what we do with our lives is the filling, some add cheese, some add pickles, some add lettuce, some tomatoes, some all , some leave it plain, some a combination.

But all, without exception must have a sauce on top to actually make it an edible burger..

a livable life..

33rd Floor, Six windows from the Right

2008-08-12T09:48:00.002+03:00

On the 33rd Floor, Six windows from the right stood a man. A man with tall wavy black hair, all coiffed up in a hairdo quite similar to that kid who does superman in smallville. The man was quite tall, almost filling the entire length of the panoramic floor to ceiling windowpane. Dressed in a black pants and a crisp white shirt with the first two buttons unbuttoned, you can tell hes back from a glamorous night. He stood by the window, perching his right forearm on the pane, The left one balled up into a fist and resting on his waist. You could tell from his face that he was in a deep state of pondering, not thinking, but pondering. There's a difference you see, Well according to him, cause that is what he always told anyone who would dare intrude on his thoughts.

For Thinking, is you recollecting a particular event, assessing it or your performance, or someone elses performance in reaction, the effect of it, and then an expected course of action about it if its not yet settled. You are in control, and mentally occupied by a particular and specific, maybe even pending event.

Pondering, on the other hand..is Wandering ( that is probably why they rhyme) into the fields of your mind, thinking about whatever your conscious throws up to you. You arent in control, you arent thinking of something in specific, and hell you arent determined on conjuring up some sort of resolve.

Anyways, now back to that man at the window on the 33rd floor, sixth window from the right. He's a doctor. a heart surgeon actually. not exactly the most famous but slowly on his way there. Which in itself is quite an accomplishment for his age. His pondering was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was one of those knocks that are followed by an opening door, they merely inform you of someone coming in rather than requesting your permission. An Elizabeth Shue type walked into the room dressed in home comfy clothes walked in. She wore grey sweatpants and a wool-like V neck Cardigan that fell at the right shoulder. If it was hers then she probably lost copious amounts of weight if the label read "Tight Fit". She walked into the room Cautiously yet warmly...maybe even sympathetic, but you can tell it wasnt her fault.

"So how was it?" She asked
He was open to answering, but was interrupted by the sound of a vibrating phone on the plush Duvet covering the bed. It was the Hospital calling. Its probably an emergency. Frustrated, he picks the phone up, slips it into his pocket and leaves.

On his drive over to the Hospital, in his Sporty Volvo..he had flashbacks, images of Elizabeth Shue allowing herself to sit on the Bed, and nestling her hands in her lap, showing her apparent attentiveness. How he should've looked there , when all he can look at and ponder about is why is a cable repairman on the building across working on a rooftop at 1am in the morning dressed in a white gown.."Probably some lunatic" he thought..
While parking in the Hospital's lot, he was about to run over a hobo while reversing into his reserved parking spot. He cursed at him and at his likes, thinking as to why dont they just get a job, or better yet commit suicide.

He walks into the Hospital Hallway, so full of himself. He is in his element, after years of studying and literally looking into the insides of people, so why shouldnt he be full of him self. He has achieved what so many have yearned for and failed. He cures people, gives them second chances in life..helps them fight something looming to take away their life, and are helpless..he makes miracles, he is divine.
He knows that thinking like that is downright wrong, but he just cant help it..plus, he is entitled,or if someone were to be allowed to think in this manner, it ought to be him. A little voice inside of him on the other hand tells him he will be punished for his thoughts, especially if he does act upon them, even if subtly. He fears that if God shows him who really is divine, he wont be able to handle it. He shelfs the thought in his head, right between "where to take Elizabeth Shue this Christmas" and " What was the effect of Exenetides on the gastro-intestinal centers of the CNS". He is prepped by his medical team on the patient he has to operate on. He asks very short questions the answers of which are shot back to him by a woman in green scrubs taking her job way to seriously and in a tone similar to a National Security Advisor briefing the president about a Nuclear Crisis. He finally walks through the door of the operating room which he secretly nicknamed the pearly gates.. for whomever is rolled into here on a stretcher is guaranteed heaven by his mere touch...
nasty thoughts, nasty thoughts...i should shelf them he thought...

With "La Donna E Mobile" booming out of a small boom box in the corner, he stands elbows out.. palms facing in at the height of his chest, waiting to be fitted with latex. pulls up the mint flavored mouth guard and works his magic.

the gloves were all bloodied up, scalpel in hand , with the patient gutted open like a fish, he was whistling to the tune and enjoying his handiwork.. he notices peculiar movement from the corner of his eye, he imagined the patients head move. he pauses...checks the ECG, heart rate stable and normal for someone under anaesthetic.
Just as he was about to put the scalpel to the patients Aorta, he hears a groan...
"did someone just groan?"
"No doctor".
The scalpel makes contact with the artery..he hears a chuckle..followed by a very eerie.."Stop..that tickles"
He just Jolted...and the scalpel falls out of his hand into the patient's insides..
"Shit!"
The medical team stares at the Doctor in awe, they are in the presence of legend...how can he slip up like that.. the lady with the Natsec tone tries to assure himself by wondering how much stress he must be under and asks him, "Doctor, are you tired?"
One of the Junior residents holds a flash pen and is cautiously looking for the scalpel inside the patient while the Doctor pauses and collects his cool. He closes his eyes only to see a face.. A white, pale wrinkled face with a sombre stare. its the patients face...
"Have we met before?" asks the doctor
"yes..a few hours ago"
"you were at the Gala Dinner?"
"No later.."
He just realized that he is having a mental conversation with a patient he is currently operating on, he really is loosing it..
"Doctor we are loosing him!!"
The Doctor snaps out of it.. and issues a salvo of orders ranging from extra adrenaline dosage to jump start the soon to be carcass on the operating table, and to start up the refiblirators to give him a charge.
the Natsec Resident interrupts the Doctor, objecting to the order, telling him that the patient has been comatose for a few weeks, revival is impossible.
"how? he said he was just with me.."
"DOCTOR!"
- flatline-

The eerie humming beep of the ECG always did haunt him...it is a bell that tolls when he fails......
he snaps the latex glove off his hand, and tosses it into the patients gut as if he were a wastebasket. Walks away..semi nauseous, and utterly dazed by what happened to him in there, and how he lost it.
trying to make sense of it all he walks into the elevator in his now bloodied scrubs..forgetting to change..
he presses the button for the ground floor.
Elevator doors close...
Elevator descends..
lights out...
Elevator stops between floors..
the lights flicker back again but dimmer than before...but keep flickering in a strobe light kind of effect. he sees the patient...standing next to him, smiling..with his gut opened up yet nothing falling out..the patient reaches into his chest cavity, starts moving things around and pulls out from his insides a bloodied glove and scalpel and tosses them at the Doctor's feet.
"I think these belong to you.."
The Doctor, fear stricken and close to a heart attack just stares..
"Why are you doing this to me" yells the Doctor
"Im not doing anything to you..You'd be silly to imagine the world revolves around you..oh well, what do you expect from a Nimrod like you...but while we're at it, thanks for the lovely job..my wife will love it im sure.."
And just while he was about to walk off..The Doctor stops him...
"Wait!....where did i see you before..?" inquired the Doctor.
" I was up there on that building...i saw you in the window pondering...33rd Floor, 6 windows from the Right.."

Reign on Me

2008-08-07T11:11:00.002+03:00

He looked alot like Stuart Townsend, but a far more exhausted version. He sat in the corner of the room. The room was padded with worn out greenish brown wallpaper that even looked too tacky the decade it was rolled on. It was tattered and torn to form a makeshift collage between it and the wall it is supposed to blanket.

The faucet in the bathroom was dripping. So was the drool in the corner of his mouth.

He just sat there, in an upright fetal position chin resting on his knees, and his arms hugging his calves..

With his cold blatant stare glaring outside the window...the chaotic view of the street from the fourth floor wasnt all that flattering. he didnt budge an inch when the tram passed by the cheap hotel. You would think he was catatonic. but something about his eyes tells u he has no problem moving and this state is merely induced by choice. The look of Despair on his face was unmatched.

The black telephone set on the bedside table rang. its headset shook from the vibration induced by the ringing bell. it just kept ringing, he didnt budge.

Ten minutes later, someone is knocking on the door persistently.

A muffled voice came from behind the wooden door.

"Mr. Riddick are you okay?"

"Mr. Riddick please open the door"

Finally, he budges..he lets out an booming growl, and leaps from his crouching position to the emergency stairwell right out of the window, and slowly descends to the street. A few minutes of walking mechanically down the street , menacing at every onlooker. He walks into a club entrance called "Cesspool 8" , the bouncer with a deep commanding town asks him for a reservation. He just stares at him expecting the bouncer to understand he doesnt have one.

The Bouncer examines Riddick one more time to see if he can let him in, the guy looks like he could use some fun...is he a threat to the crowd? hmm... well only if provoked....the bouncer thought, but he stinks, smells like he hasnt showered in weeks. The shirt is drabby, sneakers...sorry dude, wish i could help...managements orders.

"Sorry sir, you cant come in without a reservation"

"I could really use a drink...."

The bouncer sympathizes with him,

"Theres a bar a few blocks down, ask for Sid...tell him Hank sent you."

Riddick heads towards the general direction of the Bar. he passes by the alley behind Cesspool 8. he sees something ruffling in the darkness. As he approaches he can smell the scent of two people in heat. They barely notice him, they are too preoccupied with what they were doing. With the girl cornered up on the wall by the man, Kissing wildly, she couldnt have the chance to warn the man with what peril was looming behind him.

In less than a second, the mans hand that was leaning on a wooden plank for support is struck dead in its center with a blade, you can hear the blade finally striking the wood after it penetrated the entire depth of his hand.

He screams in Pain. The Pain makes him buckle to the floor. The Girl is paralyzed in fear.

a raspy male voice sings in his head "Ohh Mary...Mary, it doesnt show but i can tell that you're so scared!"

He stares at the Girl...tries to comfort her..

"His name!"

"Howie, Howie Meyers"

The man on the floor is pleading for someone to get the knife out of his hand. Riddick twists it. the man passes out from the pain.

" Give me your ID",

she complies..."Now i know where you live...you say anything, i will come for you..now go home.."

He takes Howie's clothes, and knocks on the alleyway entrance..

the peephole slides back...he sees a set of black eyes.

"Howie Meyers" he days

The Slide goes back to its original position. a few seconds later, metal clanking and the door opens. he walks in and is hospitably gestured to come in and enjoy his stay by the owner of the black eyes. The Club is Eerily inviting, with its black marble floors, and green luminecent tubes turn every crack into something out of a science fiction movie, the lighting although quite neopunkish is far from distracting. theres a rail..as he approaches he can tell he will like what he sees. He walks closer to the rail..the music raging in his ears, thumping at his heart..moving all his internal organs,

Dum

Dum...

"Pause"

"He can see the people!"

Dadududududududududududududududm

"Enter the melody"...

Riddick's state far surpasses Euphoria, with his new clothes and new identity, hes transformed himself into another man. He owns, the Dancefloor, the people on it, The DJ...everyone. The Music has given him that power, for he who enjoys the music the most, and allows it to touch his soul is the most powerful of all of them. He modeslty approaches the bar to congregate with his slaves. a pretty one notices him and his loud velvety red shirt and italian seam black trousers.

"Kate.."

"Howie.."

Back in the Hotel room, everything is Dark, not how he left it at all. He left all the lights open and the TV on, now its pitch black. the bed is made, the faucet isnt dripping anymore, it actually smells fresh. The Door is swung open violently to the extent it nearly rips off of its hinges. A man carrying a woman perched up on his chest fumble around the neighbouring walls, chuckling..and she is squealing mid chuckles. They land on the bed. As he begins to undress her, she turns on the lamp.

He Stops.

Runs to the corner and sits just like how we first met him.

She goes to sit next to him, ruffles his hair and asks him what is wrong.

"Shes gone..." he said..

"who?"

"Cheryl.."

"Cheryl who..?"

he looks at her all wide eyed and angry... and yells "You' arent Cheryl!"

"Man you got issues, i am outta here.."

As she rises up to leave, he slits her heels with his blade, first they rip through her mesh stockings, then the skin.....then the artery, hes messy...he ended up with blood specks on his nose.

"You Freak!" She shrieked while she tried to grab onto anything for dear life.

He observed what he carved up out of her after he was finished. like a craftsman finally assessing his handiwork, like an artist admiring his finally finished portrait. he felt power, followed by doubt,

Remorse,

Pain.....

He remembered why he does that.

He misses Cheryl.

Cheryl used to light up his life, the source of his livelihood , she'd make the world beautiful. her power to solve any of his problems with a mere smile. She was everything to him, baby, girl, woman, teacher, even mother sometimes. he realized he had never lived before he met her.

What surprised him is, the first time he whispered i love you into someones ear was in a girl called Cheryl...not her , but another Cheryl, when he was a young boy.

The first time he had a car accident , was with a girl named Cheryl as well.

His most recent Car accident , was with Cheryl.

Only he survived.

fifteen minutes later, his reminicing session was interrupted by violent knocking on the door.

"Mr. Meyers, we heard screaming is everyone in there okay?"

"Mr. Meyers, please open the door".

- Thanks to Marilyn Manson for the lyric and the general feel of the post, And thanks to the real Cheryl, who should know she has the power to do that-

The Legend of the Man in The Long Black Coat and Gailee Zucchini

2008-08-07T10:13:00.003+03:00

It sort of started like this:-

On a Friday afternoon, a Man in a long black coat walks into their dreary town. He seems to have crossed quite a distance, as he has gathered up different layers of dust on his clothes. his face always covered by shadows, be it the shadow from a leering building, or a nestling tree, he was always hidden in a sillhoutte of scarce shade in a very sunny and dusty town.
The weather was hot and dry..dusty but the water in the brook was high for this time of the year..
Gailee walks out on the porch with a dish under her arm full of fresh washed clothes. with washing line clips in her mouth she was ready for her battle with the hurricane of a breeze , and the dust it brings along with it. She saw the Man, no...actually she just saw the coat..walking by the brook. his footsteps rustling the dust settled on the bank. His pace reminded her of a Black Bull she once saw when she was a child. A memory of strange times in a stranger land, long forgotten.

Not a Word, not goodbye , not even a note...
She was gone with the man in a long black coat..

That night they had a celebration at the town hall. people were singing, dancing or merely hanging around...they were all there, young old , frail robust, everyone in town.
He made another appearance. At the forefront of the hall, stood the man in the long black coat..with a peaceful sneer on his face, looking at the townsfolk, he suddenly looked at her.
He Winked
Gailee blushed,
The Townsfolk noticed,
The Man left
Gailee ran out discreetly to avoid any further embarasment .
Hes Gone.. but then she notices something out of place , something lying on the white gravel...
A Little Black Book...
She picks it up and peers in side..its empty, but it has a dedication on the first page..it said
"To Gailee..." . Something inside of her moved, shifted, she never got a gift from someone before..at least not someone like that..she gathers up whatever awareness she has and tries to hide the fact that she is daydreaming her mind out about him.
As she enters into the hall again..she notices that he has stirred up quite the commotion.
"Who is this, this man in a long black coat,"
What business does he have in our little town?"
She smiled in the corner, knowing something that nobody else knew...it was a done deal..

It aint easy to swallow, it sticks in the throat,
She gave her heart to the man, in the long black coat.

The next day, the preacher was talking, he gave a sermon saying that every man's concience is vile and depraved, you cannot depend on it to be your guide..it is you O human that must keep it satisfied..

Some body said, from the Bible..he'd quote,
There was Dust on the Man in the long black coat.

McGraw, the Town Bully...came up to the man...and told him to flee town, he is no longer welcome. The Man bent over to Mcgraw and whispered something into his ear,turned around and left the church. Mcgraw's face reddened, and he followed the man outside. all the onlookers went outside to see what was going on. The Man and Mcgraw went over the hill.

Silence...
The man emerges from behind the hill...heading east..
McGraw does not..

There are no mistakes in life, some people say...
it is true sometimes you can see it that way...
People don't live or die, people just float
She Went with the man, in the long black coat,

Theirs smoke on the Water, its been their since June,
Tree trunks uprooted beneath the high cresent moon,
Feel the pulse and vibration, and the rumbling force,
somebody is out there, beating on a dead horse,

She never said nothing, there was nothing she Wrote, she went with the man in the long black coat..

Thanks Bob, i Owe you

Some Fucking Nostalgia

2008-04-30T15:41:00.003+03:00

This isn't exactly what i signed up for,
I expected less, I expected simple..
I expected having my own little world, with the people i chose, and shut out the rest completely.
I don't like the world i see, and hell i can't do anything about it.
How am i supposed to make do?
I guess ill have my own little bubble...where the fantasies that fueled my smiles when i was 7 return...to fuel my squints, winks, and maybe even smirks...
But they wont even let me blow my own bubble and live inside it. They all don't want me to find happiness.
Yes i am blaming them, because my interests do not harm theirs...but theirs do harm mine
Who is the bad guy now?
Seebooni fe 7aali........ana geet gamboko?
In my quest i have seen, met and heard the wierdest sights, the strangest people and the absurdest statements, and i wonder again, how did i end up into all of this.

The Beach: its exactly like the good old days when id pick my surfboard (yes i did have washboards one day) to catch a wave, you wait for it, go with the flow and let it take you to the shore where you want to go. but then something happens, the wave is wilder than you expected...the tip of your board rises too high...you cant keep your balance, and you are engulfed back first into the wave in its final battle in futile fury...
You try to resist, and realize that its not exactly the best idea, you let go...wondering where you will end up...and you end washed up on the shore with alot of sand in your swimsuits, hair, and even in your mouth. you look at yourself and say.......okay, this isnt exactly what i had in mind, and you ask yourself why did i take this wave?
The problem is, the analogy isnt even correct, cause in reality you only get one wave... but its what the wave does to you that best describes it..

1. a looming tower of water that intrigues you to take it
2. a wild ride
3. a Very sandy landing
4. a dissapointing destination with possible damage

Question is, am i dissapointed?

You see i love building fortresses in the sand too but i always hated having the sand stuck between my nails, the problem with playing in the sand is, it gets pretty messy...but hey you are there...so why dont u just play in the sand...humans are ground creatures, if they were meant to conquer the sea, God would have created them with fins...or even gills...plus a fortress on the shore will last..till the tide at least, or some wad zareef who will kick it once u leave the beach as for the wave...its gone after u ride it...only to be replaced by another...

and another...
and another..

The Commute: sometimes, your job takes you across town, sometimes across the street, and alot of the times across the world, the last two cant really be called a commute, so ill stick to the first one. In a city loaded with traffic, you always have two paths, the direct one which is predictable, secure, yet normal, the easy route..and then theres the other way out, the one with the wierd sights..the risky weaving through traffic, and the stupid slow drivers in the way. Very stressful, not always guaranteed to take you where you want to go without significant damage to both your car and mood, but law salka...beteb2a SALKA...and you will get to where you want to go with your navy blue Jalopy faster than the next mofo with the fastest and reddest Ferrari in town.
You can take it, the beggining of the route beckons...you look at your watch and assume, its a win or lose situation could be salka or could be hell. You take it...
mid way you realize it was a wrong move. should you repeat your mistake and take another shemal fe yemeen on a parallel route? or just eat the toast you burnt?
I mean you can always be just late and blame it on traffic...
yet all roads lead to Rome...
No matter which route you take, you will always get where you want to go.

The Dinner: sometimes, your Social life takes you to sit down and have dinner with different people, some of them are pleasant, and leave an impression making you want to repeat it. some of them arent all that proper and you lose the number as soon as you close your car door. Some of them recommend a dish, engage in talk that you just don't want the night to end...to the extent that the restaurant manager doesnt want you to leave and asks for your number to give him pointers..Not because he thinks you are the shit...its because who you are with makes you the shit...
and some of them kill the flower on the table, or put their feet up, emit gastrointestinal noises mid-meal, or just lunge at you in the middle of a no longer discreet arguement and make you wonder how did u end up here exactly?
Despite all that, there is always the eternal dilemma of what dish to choose...
everything sounds delicious on the menu...but alot of the time when the dish is served on the plate right between your fork and kinfe you ask yourself...did i order this? Hell i dont want that...should i ask the waiter to take it back? what if he spits in it? will i have to pay for it and the other thing i ordered?
or should i just eat what i have been served...some people cant afford a grain of rice in Africa.

However, Them africans have access to shitloads of Diamonds, you could have just taken the bridge, or build that fortress on higher ground where the tide, and the 3eyal habla cant really reach it. And there is always the option of taking another street, catching another wave, or waiting till your next meal.

Smashing!

2008-04-06T15:11:00.002+02:00

Pumpkins,

yeech! but this one is no ordinary Pumpkin, this one is a bullet with butterfly wings...my reflection in the mirror, born of love and cast through light...don't you know we cannot die...you can live with this one where no one will watch you on your way home...

This one, like no other... holds a bass guitar,
This one honors the family name better than the hockey star...
This one dresses like a star, always makes a statement, even if its just with shoes...
She will never be replaced, although someone has taken her place..
No Hole can ever fill her place...
We can never forget your cries in Zero...
to which we all think of you as a Hero

D'arcy Wretzky..this Post is for you,...strike the chords forever...

dedicated to the Three D'arcys , the Zeitgiest, Sukie and all the Smashing Pumpkins fans out there.

For God & Country...
2allak 2edrab...

20 Questions

2008-04-02T09:58:00.003+02:00

Nope, not the game, these are 20 questions i am truly sick and tired of hearing:

Q1: Are you Happy?
A: I guess
What I really mean: You don't see me jumping off a bridge and leaving a fucking note now do you?

Q2: Whats new?
A: Not much...
What I really mean: You'd be truly pathetic if I happen to be your source of current events.

Q3: Wa7eshni ya man, inta Ghatsan feen?
A: mafeesh ya 3am, enta elli ghatsan
What I really mean: Well why dont you reach for your phone and call me every once in a while you hypocritical fuck!!!

Q4: Netsharaf be 2esm 7adretak?
A: ....Osiris Kane
What I really mean: ana mesh gay 2at3arraf ya K*s Om*k khalasni...

Q5: *said while you are walking into a place* aiwa ya Ostaz?
A: Na3am....
What I really mean: *in Clint Eastwood mode* go ahead, make my day

Q6: Are you a player?
A: huh?
What I really mean: oh, so you are one of them structured girls...I guess I'm wasting my time

Q7: Do you still think of me / have feelings for me?
A: of course i do...
What I really mean: look, I'm not exactly hot shit...move on, get a life...find a guy that'll make you forget i ever even existed...do you want Brad Pitts number?

Q8: Wow, you are a Lawyer? do you like stand in front of a judge and shit?
A: erm...yeah
What I really mean: What the Fuck? do you ever ask a Doctor does he open up patients and write prescriptions? i mean... there are millions of us out there...

Q9: wow, you cook?
A: i have to eat you know...
What I really mean: Walk into any Kitchen of any fucking place that serves food...you'll find a man sweating over a stove, so seriously..don't be impressed.

Q10: mesh nawi tetgawez?
A: leeh bas ya 3am...?
What I really mean: oh and end up like you? no thanks...oh and btw, if i ever do, you wont be invited to the wedding

Q11: Does this make me look fat?
A: yes
What I really mean: You wont get a compliment outta me, so go fish somewhere else.

Q12: Whats wrong? *said generally*
A: nothing its okay....
What I really mean: Its none of your business

Q13: Whats wrong? *said specifically*
A: nothing, its okay...
What I really mean: Ask yourself, see where you fucked up...and thats exactly whats wrong

Q14: How do you represent someone who you know is guilty?
A: look, its not my job to make him get away with something he's done, my job is to help the judge have a clear picture of his side of the story, so that he gets what he deserves, its never about winning or losing, if he gets 7 years, and he deserves 3...then i should find something better to do, if he deserves 7 and gets 3, then im an accomplice, and that doesnt make me feel in any way better. Guilty doesn't mean he still doesn't have a right to get the best defense he can afford. but beleive me he aint paying his way outta murder. This isnt John Grisham okay, this is real life, its less controversial and less exciting and most certainly less dramatic...although we wish it weren't
What I really mean: Fuck You!

Q15: We eeh tani?
A: ...............
What I really mean: say something for the love of God

Q16: Are you pissed?
A:....Eshta, Peace......
What I really mean: You fucked up...you know it, now fix it...

Q17: How was your day?
A: not bad...
What I really mean: wow, am I really that boring?

Q18: How was last night?
A: Zareef
What I really mean: hehehe....you have no idea....!

Q19: Inta mesa7eb?
A: I don't date....
What I really mean: It's none of your business...as far as you are concerned, my personal life is totally non-existent...

Q20: Any plans for tonight?
A: No, Call me...lets do something...
What I really mean: No, Call me...lets do something...

The Dancing Dolls in the Blue Dresses

2008-03-31T10:59:00.002+02:00

Smoke and Tinkle Music,
the perfect setting, for 6 little dolls to do their Dance, a little sequence to entertain their Dollman...their Lord,
So Jolly,
so Dolly,
Just like the dolls in Tinder Boxes, they rise, just like the dolls in Tinder Boxes they bow,
they shake back and forth like little flowers bending to a soft gentle breeze...
the music giving their motion a very graceful backdrop...
their movements altering the music, their teethy smiles shining the room....
reminding me of what a happy trip on LSD would be like
their pigtails bouncing behind them,
Damn man, he is one lucky lord....
how can i get a half dozen of those?

Gotcha!!!

2008-03-30T13:15:00.004+02:00

And he thought we couldn't figure out his next move now, didnt he?

This young aspiring entrepreneur (image altered) was seen courting 5 Eastern Europeans all on his own at the formerly chic but now strictly dodgy place known as Ritmo...at a downtown nile overlooking Hotel. recent news about the young man, after a stint in the desert to sort his ideas out, this man has shifted careers to investing in Gold...not that hideously bad an idea, given his prior endavors involved Iron Men and Tony Starks.
Casey, we still love you

News Flash

2008-03-26T17:58:00.003+02:00

Former Governor Released from Jail after serving 7 year Scentence:
Former Governor of Giza Maher el Khamissi was released Saturday from el Mazraa prision. Khamissi was released after serving 7 years of his 15 year prision scentence. Khamissi pleaded Guilty to bribery charges in 2001 after tape recordings known to the media as the "Wadi Hof" tapes that were anonymously submitted to the Attorney General's Office. the tapes included a 90 minute conversation between el Khamissi and a unidentified woman only referred to as "Lola" discussing the particulars of delivering 18.5 million dollars to swiss bank accounts, and certain profits to be made from the development of a landfill in Wadi Hof into a condominum project.
El Khamissi made a brief statement infront of el Mazraa prison upon his release saying:
" I have served my punishment and return to you as a rehabilitated man, I am certain that my return to society will be a smooth one, and i have faith in God that i will be able to continue my endeavor to give back to the community."
When asked, el Khamissi did not reveal the identity of "Lola" claiming that Egyptian law only penalizes the public official taking the bribe and was not under legal duty to reveal her identity. Since his incarceration, the property at Wadi Hof has still not been developed, and remains as a landfill. "Lola" was never found, however the authorities have sufficient reason to beleive she has fled the country and a composite sketch of her , is still at Airport security along with all her known aliases have been logged into the Airport Incoming Watch List.
El Khamissi also added that he has no plans for running for public office once more, and choses to retire to his family.

Star Defender Fired by New Club Boss: Essawi is too fat, and has an obsession with Papa Johns:
rumors leaked to fans of the National Sporting Club F.C were later confirmed by Football Coach Henry Kleats that the new club boss in last weeks board meeting has dismissed Haytham el Essawi from playing on the clubs team. The rumors began to become "worrisome" after Essawi failed to attend last nights training. Kleats who attended the meeting quotes club boss Hanasiro saying:
" Essawi is turning into one fat fuck, the guy has man titties now!, whenever i attend the trainings all i see is a fat man in our number 3 Jersey eating a pizza, last time i saw him yelling to one of the waiters demanding a bottle of Heinz Ketchup and throwing what seems to be another brand of Ketchup in objection...i cant eat without my Heinz he says..."
Haytham el Essawi who has served as a defender was always been an integral part of the team for the past 5 seasons, and was inducted into the hall of fame after his stellar performance in the Clubs games in 2005's annual championship. El Essawi has recently been gaining considerable media attention as a result of his weight gain allegedly bought about from excessive overeating and his recent marriage to famed belly dancer "Samya Mawaheb" , the couple were also scrutinized in many tabloids late last year when they were photographed kissing passionately in the corner of a local bar in Agouza during a live performance of famous rock band "Egoz".

Mischa Carter attends annual Feteer eating contest in Ard el Lewa:
Egyptian Movie Star Mischa Carter attends the annual Feteer eating contest held by an orphanage in the random housing project of Ard el Lewa. When Asked, Mischa said "Eating is one of the most important acts committed by humanity, and we must teach children that eating is a good thing, indeed the media in recent years has portrayed beauty in a size 2, which leads to people depriving themselves from a beautiful thing such as eating". Despite being a Size 2 herself, Mischa admits to eating too much for her own good, claiming her motto in life to be " I eat, therefore I am". Mischa is rumored to be associated with acclaimed TV producer Moby D'eaucclit Chaupper's new untitled project set for release in 2011.
"I am in love with the script and have shown a keen interest..I even met with Michael last Saturday!"
PR Mogul simply known as "Michael" is also rumored to be pitching in with the project that is set to revolutionize the way we see TV. the two met at a Cafe in Mohandiseen regularly frequented by Michael to discuss the prospects of Mischa's involvement in Chaupper's Project.
Michael and Moby D'eaucclit Chaupper are close friends since 2006, they were introduced by Chaupper's wife Lana Deets.

Italian "Immobiliare" to fund Next 5 lines of Greater Cairo Subway:
The Undersecretary of Finance & Planning at the Ministry of Transport Mr.Adolf Kane in a press conference has stated that the Ministry has "Secured a commitment from the Italian conglomerate to finance the next 5 lines of the Cairo Subway system" which would bring the total number of lines running under Cairo to a whopping 8 lines. the expected extensions are supposed to span the entire capital with its expansions to conclusively link the 6th of October city and Sheikh Zayed Districts to the Fifth District in New Cairo & el Sherouk City. Mr. Kane also stated that "Immobiliare have committed 16 Billion Dollars for the project", prospects of further expansion were disucssed in the presence of Engineer Hesham Taqui Mandarin Managing Director of Taqui Madarin Group to extend the Sherouk and New Cairo lines to reach the Groups mega development project "Metropolis" situated in the eastern outskirts of Cairo.
The Memorandum of Understanding was signed between His Excellency the Minister of Transport, and Immobiliare CEO B.J. Harrison.

Kingpin Weds Grand Mufti's Daughter: Crime and Religion in Holy Union
Amidst the cheers of supporters and Religious chants, Damien King, alleged underworld Kingpin celebrated his legal union to the Grand Mufti's Daughter in Mashyakhet el Azhar this Afternoon. Spectators could both hear and see Jubilation in the air in the form of cheers and confetti which brings an end to the controversy regarding the alleged Kingpin's social behaviour.
His choice in a pious bride such as the Grand Mufti's Daughter is one met with both concern and resentment by most conservatives due to King's criminal association. King's notoriety was bought to the media after his trial and acquittal in the controversial shooting of Daughter of suspected Arms Dealer Abdel Salam Fayek in early 1999.
"This wedding is backed by political motivations by Mr.King to appear as an upstanding citizen in Egyptian Society, we find it offensive that religion be used for politcal gain and public acceptance" commented Islam el Tayeb assistant dean of el Azhar University for Shaira Affairs.
King's proponents declined to comment stating that such allegations should not even be dignified with an answer, however King's neighbour Simeon Parais was available for comment.
"Damien is a very lucky man, for it looks like he has found love."
Details for the wedding have not yet been disclosed, nor travel plans for the Honeymoon, however given Mr.King's general extravagance and his affection toward Las Vegas, social columnists have speculated with confidence that the now wed couple would most certainly be visiting the city.

Sophie Monet to reveal latest collection of Works in Townhouse Gallery:
Eccentric contemporary artist and influential socialite Sophie Monet has announced the display of her works at the Townhouse Gallery next week under the theme of "Diamonds & Dogs" . Bacca Royd the Townhouse Curator has commented saying that he is "very impressed with Monet's new collection, which still proves that Monet has alot to offer to the artistic community". Monet has received tremendous controversy after designing set pieces for the 2004 summer block buster " I am the Man" starring Menna Chawki and then rising star Adham Fares followed by the keen interest displayed by Senate member and minority party leader Jimmy Bonspiero who purchased one of her pieces at an auction for a whopping 650,000 LE, the piece was a clay sculpture of a naked lady chewing on what seems to be a grooms hand.

3 youngsters found shot dead on Arab League Boulevard: Police ward off suspicions of gang violence:
An idling car was found on the North side of Arab League Boulevard early this morning by a parking attendant receiving his shift. The Silver Daewoo Lanos contained the bodies of 2 youngsters in both front seats. The youngsters apparently died of multiple gunshot wounds. Police investigators rushed to the scene and after examination have managed to pick up 71 empty shell casings off the floor and around the car. the casings seem to be of high caliber suggesting the use of an automatic sub machine gun. A third body was discovered in the trunk of the car, wrapped in an Iranian silk rug, cause of death is still to be determined after performing the state appointed autopsy in the coroner's office. A half consumed cherry flavored "Chupa Chups" lollipop was also found at the scene.
Police officers at the Scene have declined to give official comment claiming that such comment would impede ongoing investigators and assured all business and residents of the Boulevard that the perpetrators will be bought to justice and that the locals need not fear for their safety.
A high ranking police official who wishes to remain anonymous has assured us that this incident is in no way gang related in an attempt to ward off suspicions that the area will once again be plagued by gang violence.
The Arab League Boulevard has historically been plagued in the past decade with ongoing gang violence between two rival gangs fighting for control over the South side of the Boulevard. However after continous Government crackdowns in recent years has led to the gradual dissapearance of such violence. The last reported incident was in August 2003 when random fire was sprayed over a local fast food restaurant after on a Thursday night where 7 people were killed and 12 were injured.

Quote of the Week

2008-03-16T16:53:00.003+02:00

" Never think you are smart enough to figure out what is going on on the other side of the World, for you lack the awareness...

Never Think you have the Foresight to figure out what is going to happen tomorrow or even tonight...you lack the ability to grasp all the possible variables that may take place between now and then....

Don't fool yourself into knowing whats happening on the other side of town.... for its not your neighborhood...

You'd be kidding yourself to believe you know the events and thoughts being cooked up in the other room..for you can never know what goes on behind closed doors...

You can never tell what exactly is being said on the table to your right...for you lack respect of other people's privacy....

And most importantly...

Do not commit the unforgivable mistake of believing you can know, what goes on inside the mind of the person right in front of you..for you lack the ability to determine, which of the first five mistakes he is currently committing..."

Osiris Kane,

Signing off