Now Watch Me Shut this thing Down!

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

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

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

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

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

" 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

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

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?

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

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...