Saturday - 28 Ziqaad 1426 - 10 Pausa 1927 - 31 December 2005

There are movies with good prints, excellent sound quality and crisp pictures and colours. Then there are pirated versions of these DVD movies available for lesser amounts so normal human beings, who are not able to differentiate between colours that the human eye can not biologically differentiate between, are spared the bull crap used by over paid salesmen to sell real DVDs at prices where all decent humans should scream bloody murder. Then there are movies that are of a lower quality. Cinema prints. These are movies taken from a choice location in the cinema to give a good clear picture; you can see the cameraman focusing the camera during the initial brain dead advertisements of the movie.

Then there are the bad cinema prints. The camera is placed in the most inaccessible location of the cinema, kudos to the brain power of the cameraman. Then the idiot forgets to focus the camera. Grow a brain moron. Then all through the movie people keep crossing the cameraman to go to the bathroom because they did not have the common sense to not stuff themselves full all day long and have not had enough self control to discipline their bowel movements. Then of course there are the people who keep coughing all through the movie, have the decency to pour some venom down your throat bitch. To top everything off, the cameraman turns out to be a complete idiot and keeps covering the camera with his hands so you get to see only half the screen of the movie. Wow, congratulations on having an IQ equal to that of my morning bowl of porridge! <>The worst thing is that my idiot cablewallah always ends up getting the last type of movie. And that is what I am watching right now. And that is the reason for this rather agitated post. Although, I must add, there are beans passing through the digestive systems of cows that would make better cablewallahs, but since he is my cablewallah I have respect for him and his miserable braid dead group who takes care of the cable system here.

Oh, and yes, regarding a wedding that I had to go to recently. What the hell is wrong with the bridegroom’s idiot brother? Who the hell sleeps till five in the evening on the day their brother is getting married? I know you are reading this, I know you know this is you. Don’t comment, just call me and lets have a cat fight.<>

And, yes, I use British spellings, so bite me! Hard.<>

Oh, and in case you disagree with what I was saying here – go menstruate; put on your skirt; and do some baking to calm yourself down.

What will a butler call his master's son whose name is Bates.

Master Bates?

That is just nasty.

Wednesday - 26 Ziqaad 1426 - 08 Pausa 1927 - 29 December 2005

Damn you Murphy; damn your breeches; and damn all of your laws!

It is indeed a cause for concern for all overly scientific minded vulcan agnostics when things do not go according to the accepted norms of science or common sense.

What I am trying to say is that when you see a heavy metallic object of a square shape you are expecting that tiptoeing into the kitchen at midnight and dropping it accidentally would lead to one hard metallic thud sound and end of story.

You are not expecting the loud boom of an empty tin can falling down from the lower heavens and then rolling about, despite a completely cubic shape, with horribly loud banging noised for as long as it takes a dying man to see his life go by infront of his eyes.

One simply is not prepared. It is similar to being flashed by an extremely ugly human being when one is trying to hit on someone sitting next to you on a public bus. One is simply not prepared.

And now, I shall beg your leave, have a wonderful evening.

Monday - 23 Ziqaad 1426 - 05 Pausa 1927 - 26 December 2005

There are times when I think that my blog is a representation of me. There are times when I do not. And, this does not refer to my multiple personality disorder. That is a completely different issue that Jalal has to go through.

But then again there are times when I think what kind of a person I am, then I come across a search for "paranoid psychotic" that landed on my website. It is one thing to know oneself and it is completely another to be told oneself, and in such a ghastly manner indeed. I would prefer to be called a psychotic sarcastic blogger instead. Or, rather delicately as someone on the internet put it "psychological problems in Karachi". It would be a nicer world indeed if we cared about each other and used properly grammatically crafted slurs for each ohter. So the other person only goes through insult not injury.

Although I have been talking about a lot of sex on this blog but the search results for "caress my nipples" leading up to my blog are completely unacceptable and libelous. I did not say that to him at any time during the first one day of our relationship. For that matter I did not discuss "unpopped cherry porn" either. I mean, I would never get taped during the first time. I would never, never, never. Unless there were too many men that I could hide amongst. But all this said, I would like to say that I am not a sex obsessed perverted slut of a homosexual guy at all.

Strangely enough, the search results also cater to my rather violent, spank-me-red-daddy kind of attitude as well. What with searches like "Qurbani of Goat in Toronto", "cricketers hit in the groin and lying down in pain". I do admit these searches paint a picture of pain and suffering. But a slight amount of violence never hurt anyone, specially if it involves pyromania with someone's belongings at your office who seems to be the demon from hell incarnate. Specially if noone was hurt and noone had their expensive leather briefcase charred two days after they sabotaged Jalal's report by changing all of his spellings to vile Americanized versions of English words.

The most interesting part is the mellow cultural / cultured touch that some of the aforementioned searches come up with. I mean "indian film songs for rukhsati" surely deals with a tender and loving emotion that I hold for my sisters being wedded off and me finally getting all of the property that they so serpentinely sit on presently. And the search for the "nafees nastaliq font" shows yet another one of my hidden talents of observing and enjoying beauty in non living things just as well as in living things. While at the same time slave driving my art school going sister to do some calligraphic writing for me.

And with that, I take your leave.

And so does Jalal.


This post is being added solely as a mellowing agent and a warning. It is being added as a mellowing agent so that you are Jalalized and transformed into a hyper active super excited human who will be able to get my previous post below this one. It is also meant as a warning that the following post is only for adults who might find male homosexual practices acceptable to read about.

Thursday - 19 Ziqaad 1426 - 01 Pausa 1927 - 22 December 2005

So, today Jalal started his sex life. With sexy-office-guy.

No, we did not fuck. I got to give a completely perfect penis a long hard hand job.

I love being gay.

Friday - 13 Ziqaad 1426 - 25 Agrahayana 1927 - 16 December 2005

Ok. So I have finally managed to get a date for tomorrow. Taking time out from my 85 hour work week has indeed managed to improve the quality of my life.

Plus. I repeat - I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again. I will not turn into a hyper sexed up lust craving slut on the telephone again.

Wednesday - 11 Ziqaad 1426 - 23 Agrahayana 1927 - 14 December 2005

This post is slightly graphic so I would suggest people except gay men to proceed with caution.

The sexy office guy. The same one who I was about to hold from behind when he came in from his workout some time ago. The same one who I keep thinking about when I do strange things. The same one who has played around with me. I had the following conversation with him today.

I have to state that this whole conversation is carried out in a semi humourous state. That is possible because, unlike the West, in Pakistan men have very strong bisexual instincts. It is not a cultural taboo, except in the more extremist right wing elements or the social classes with Victorian sexual morality. I digress - so the conversation goes as such ...

Me : So are you doing it or not?
Him : You keep saying it but dont do it.
Me : Come on tell me.
Him : Tell you what?
Me : Are you doing it or not?
Him : You keep saying things but then you back off.
Me : I back off? You are the useless one over here.
Him : I am going jogging today if you want to join me you should join me there.
Me : I am not really experienced with jogging.
Him : Oh, I am very good with jogging.
Me : With my lack of exercise in the recent past I think I might have to stop jogging in about 2-3 minutes.
Him : Oh I can do laps.
Me : (sparkle of admiration in my eyes) Really? How long?
Him : 20 minutes.
Me : (physical condition). Really?
Him : Oh, yes, try me.
Me : Do you have a condom right now?
Him : Its in the car.
Me : We need to do something tonight.

Well, to think that my luck can be any worse. I got extremely sick during the day today and had to take the day off. So no fucking sex for me.

Sunday - 08 Ziqaad 1426 - 20 Agrahayana 1927 - 11 December 2005

It brings great pleasure to me to be able to bridge gulfs. The gulf between right and wrong by considering them both right. The gulf between religion and athiesm by being an agnostic. The gulf between men and women by telling women that they are vile creatures meant only to serve men. The gulf between boxers and briefs by introducing the concept of boxer briefs. The gulf between straight and gay men by wanting to sleep with them both. The gulf between work and home by making my work both of these. The gulf between order and disorder by being an extremely disorderly perfectionist. Finally, the gulf between East and West by introducting ideas from one to the other and them translating them.

My latest idea would be the concept of changing much used terminologies.

West : Whose your daddy?
East : Whose your sahib?

West : Whose your daddy now?
East : Whose your sahib now?

West : Whose your daddy now bitch?
East : Whose your sahib now kutiya?

West : Whose your daddy, SAY IT?
East : Whose your sahib, SAY IT?

West : Oh yeah daddy?
East : Oh yeah sahib?

West : Oh yeah daddy, gimme some love?
East : Oh yeah daddy, gimme some love?

Why are the last to lines the same? That is because some things done change.

Thursday - 05 Ziqaad 1426 - 17 Agrahayana 1927 - 08 December 2005

There are three questions hovering around in my mind right now.

One, why do people search for the strangest things. I mean, why do people search for ""took off his shirt" uniform army hide"; and " pakistan work week"; and "Rushless Coffee Shop"; and "what does a indian peshwaz look like"; and "online caramboard"; and the crowning glory "Queer Bloggers in Karachi"

Two, why the hell do all these searched eventually lead people to my blog. I mean, come on, I search for strange things, but I never end up at my blog. Why is Google and Yahoo doing this to me? Why? Why? Why?

Three, why the hell are people in Karachi wearing sweaters, mufflers and coats for crying out loud. It is not like Karachi has a winter. It has mild summer period. Why? Why? Why?

Sunday - 01 Ziqaad 1426 - 13 Agrahayana 1927 - 04 December 2005

There are times when my mother is paranoid. There are times when my mother is psychotic. There are times when my mother becomes an avid worrier. Basically, there are times when my mother suddenly comes upto the standards of motherhood and becomes one with all the paranoid, psychotic, worrying mothers of the world.

I experience it every day when my mother tells me how to park my car inside the room of the Inspector General of Police and then fly from there to my office and avoid my car being snatched and being kidnapped at the same time by listening to her; how to make sure I do not get so involved in office politcs that my colleagues get me murdered / assassinated; how to know that the food that I am eating might not be clean if what I am eating has any taste, smell, colour, sound or texture; how to make sure that I lock my car doors tightly, what the hell is locking doors tightly, when I am coming back from work; how not to trust anyone who offers me candy or food on a public bus or taxi or on the street; and finally, how to do everything a burglar says once I am being burglarized.

But, I am told, and silent whispers of forgotten memories do come back to me like wisps of smoke on a cold January morning. I remember the time in my pre teenage era when we decided to go to the US for summer vacations. My father had already left for the US and we were to join him there after meeting all of our relatives who lived there. It was me, my mother and my two younger sisters. All young, all vibrant, all active and a paranoid psychotic wreck for a mother amongst us.

As soon as we boarded the plane my mother underwent a change. She became completely paranoic, psychotic and worrysome. We were supposed to pull our pockets outside our pants so noone could slip drugs into our pockets. We were not supposed to talk to strangers or they might bind us in the darker corners of the Airplane and sell us to the Ferengees once the plane landed there. We are not supposed to jump from the plane until we were sure that the stairs had been attached to the plane. We were supposed to keep quiet while she was calculating time so we do not get the 24 hour system and the AM PM system mixed up, miss our flight, get stranded in Tokyo, and have to spend our life in utter destitution begging for food on the streets of Tokyo. We survived the flight.

What happened as the plane started to descent upon the land of the rising sun can not be explained. All of a sudden my mother took out three ropes. She ties ropes around the hands of my and my sisters and tied the other ends to her hand. I thank Allah to this day that I do not remember this completely. Then we had to spend one hour in Tokyo airport being led from counter to counter, check to check, desk to desk, tied to our mother with ropes while all normal work continued. All the nice, motherly, smiling, Japanese women on the other side of the counters asking my mother why we were bound. She telling everyone that she is travelling alone without her husband. All the nice, motherly, smiling, Japanese women on the other side of the counters nodding in understanding and expediting our paperwork.

So, basically all mothers are the same. And they "get" each other very well too. Culture, Religion, Ethnicity, Social Class, Language, Race, Species, Musical Choice, Political Orientation, Preferance of meat or greens, Colour of skin, American/British spelling preferances are no bar to this rule. Mothers are all alike and they are completely in synchronization with each other.

In the end, thank be to Allah that I was too young to forget most of the episode.