June 2008 archive

Boys are flies, girls are lollipops

A few days ago, the arabist posted this piece of Hijabi propaganda:

The text reads: "You won't be able to stop them (i.e. guys), but you can protect yourself. He who created you knows what's best for you!"

Oh, where do I begin? Should I start with the "Men are flies" example, the MEN who made this employed, describing themselves? Or with the complete disregard to personal responsibility of men when it comes to sexually harassing females theme  of the ad? Or Is it with the paternal tone that god, who created you naked, really really wants you covered for your protection from his other perfect creation? Or should I not even bother, given that there is a joke there about lollipops and licking that I am simply not man enough to make on this blog?

Yeah. maybe I just won't bother. I am tired of fighting with Hijabis. If they don't find this offensive, then maybe they do deserve whatever comes their way. What's the point of yelling at men that women are not pieces of meat to be coverd, when the Hijabis hold that same exact view of themselves? I mean, sure I am offended by the idea that they are portraying men as uncontrollable animals, but if the women who wear the Hijab and are in the majority are ok with it, why should we even care if they get sexually harassed or assaulted by those same men?

There used to be a point in fighting over this. I am just not sure those women are worth fighting for anymore!

Joy to the WORLD!

VERNE TROYER HAS A SEX TAPE. Mini-Me has a sex tape. with his girlfriend. Who is tall, not very tall, normal sized really, but a giant in Verne standards. AWESOME. I wanna see it. Does anyone know where I can download it? You think he uses his whole arm? I am a perv, I know, but goddamn it, human midgit celebrity sex. Now that's must-see TV! Fuck you Highschool Musical. Fuck you! 

A grinch, moi?

So a few days ago I was invited to a friend's engagement party at the Mohamed Ali Club. I usually avoid such occasions, but this one could not be avoided, primarily because he was a part of a group of friends of mine who passed through a trial-by-fire a couple of years ago that left us all as brothers, more or less. So, even though he isn't even in my "see once a month" list of friends, I had to attend his engagement party. There was simply no way around it. Two problems presented themselves immediately: the heat, and the fact that the party was a dry one. NO ALCOHOL ANYWHERE. Knowing that the first was unavoidable, I filled my pink flask (It was a gift…and it had birdies on it…don't ask! Damn you Jem!) with whiskey and headed out. 

Upon our arrival to the location of the party, one thing became abundantly clear to me: The flask doesn't close well. It became clear because the damn thing spilled all over my jacket and the car seat. The alcohol was no more. I decided not to panic, assuring myself that surely we can hit the bar there for drinks. Keep hope alive, you know? I should've taken the flask incident as a sign, a harbinger for a horrible evening, but I ignored the voice in the back of my head and decided to give the night at chance….that is until we walked into the party, and far in a distance, past all the guests in the open space and the dance floor…and saw the huge mural on the wall marking the end of the open space.

Ok, imagine a 40 feet mural with the following caricature on it: The bride, looking blissful and in love, looking up to the sky, to the image of her groom, who is only wearing pants and sporting 2 angelic wings, bearing down towards her, while holding a flowers in his hand. Did you imagine that? Yeah, ok, we had that facing us the whole night. What else was facing was was the throng of girls who came to this wedding specifically to find a husband. You know them by the way they dress: Their dresses are not pretty, nor do they come in any kind of likable color. They only have one quality: They show off the girls' breasts. It was like we died and went to boob heaven. They were all there alone, always looking around, a couple making sure to pace back and forth for no other reason but to be seen by everyone at the party. While I didn't admire their tactics, I did admire their dedication. It takes serious effort to look this desperate.

So, anyway, we decide to hit the bar and see what's up, to find that the morning bartender is gone and replacing him was this girl who I think is responsible for orange juice making (she was making orange juice when we spoke to her) and asked her if she had any Vodka. She perked up, and with a glint in her eyes said "Yes, I do!" and proceeded to give us a bottle of wine. When we pointed out to her that this isn't Vodka, she frowned and said "THAT'S ALL WE HAVE!", so we each grabbed a beer and braced ourselves to a long and harrowing evening. 

After being cooked in heat for two hours (that's what it felt like) the bride and groom finally decided to start the festivities. The DJ took the mice and said "Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for tonight's surprise: (The bride's name)". We weren't sure what was surprising about her name exactly( it was written on the invitations), but whatever. She appears at the enterance, the DJ plays the sound of imperial trumpets, and puts the spotlight on her, and she poses, and 10 men in suits appear behind her. She slowly descends the stairs, the 10 men in tow, as she slowly walks to the dance floor. She stands in the middle of it, with the 10 men standing in front of her facing the enterance, so you expect the groom to come from there. But noo…they were too smart for that. The groom didn't come from the enterance at all. The groom came from behind the dance floor…

…riding a motorcycle…

…while wearing a suit and a cowboy hat.

I shit you not!

He gets off the motorcycle, and he starts approaching the bride, but the 10 men stop him. He tries to storm in. They block him off again. He tries to jump over them, they stop him again. So he waves with his hands as if telling them that "He will show them" and then heads to wards the entrance and whistles, and suddenly, 10 girls appear, and start descending down the stairs towards the groom, while the DJ starts playing "Oh sexy lady" by Shaggy. Oh, please don't roll your eyes yet. It gets worse.

The groom starts walking towards the dance floor, with his posse of "sexy ladies" in tow. He reaches the dance floor and points towards the 10 guys, so each one of the girls goes to one of the guys, grabs him by the tie and takes him away, clearing the way for the groom to finally reach his bride. He steps up to her, takes her in his arm, and they start dancing to- help me god- Bryan Adams' "when a man loves a woman"!


And , I repeat, there was no alcohol. I wasn't on drugs either. There was no escape. 

And to make matters worse, everyone else but me thought that this whole thing "was very cute and very romantic". And it was at that moment, ladies and gentlemen, that I realized that I will never be mainstream, because that shit doesn't work on me. I don't find this cute. I find this tacky. I wasn't sighing in "aww's", I wanted to shoot people who were. Those motherfuckers, it's the engagement party and they are doing this? What the fuck will they do at the wedding? A three act play?

Thankfully I found a fellow grinch who thought that subjecting us to this shit, in this heat, without proper alcoholic refreshment was a cruel and unusal punishment, and we bolted a half hour later, during which we were grabbed at least 3 times by girls to go dance on the dance floor. Single egyptian girls are vicious, man. I have to go with a date next time. Only she might find this spectacle- or something similar- cute, and then I would have to dump her ass.

Life is just not fair!

The MAN is dead!

George Carlin is dead. The man whose sardonic cynical messed up way of thinking has raised an entire generation of Counter-culture heads is gone.This is the man whose jokes I wish I could've came up with and whose books leave me in stitches every time I read them. In case you don't know him, let me give you this piece on political participation, cause, you know, voting is very important.

Well, George, R.I.P.


or you can always give the boys upstairs Hell. Whatever works for you. 🙂 

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