Banana Fleece

         Yep. Almost three months since my last post now. Time does fly, doesn't it? Seems like that to me. I've personally managed to do plenty of useful things in this time; including, but not limited to: fortifying my procrastination skill to Master Level (now I can procrastinate tasks I haven't been assigned yet!) and growing a water belly, which is the same as a beer belly, but it's caused by drinking water.

          So I've decided to slander some things and some people in this post. I realise that I don't exactly edit or proofread these posts after writing them (so liberating!) so please don't be mad when I tell you my honest, unjustified and totally unfair opinion of you, and remember, you must've earned it by doing something that is completely irrelevant but it pissed me off - or it got between me and food.

          To my second email address: I've been checking you thrice daily for a week now, waiting for an email that seems more and more unlikely to arrive. You make me sad, because every time I sign in and search for the email I wish I'd received within my inbox stashed with Puma ads and National Geographic promotions, I realise how you're not my favourite email address anymore and you can't give me the email I wanted. I'm sad. I feel like the father who never sired a son in an old Egyptian movie. But I still think kids are icky smelly creatures that drink icky human milk, burp, poop, pee and make women's bodies look bad.

         To you, and if you don't know who "you" is referring to, then it most probably is not you. Please stop acting like a conceited narcissistic airhead in public, and stop expecting treatment you don't offer. You make me look bad. Welly 3ala raso bat7a ba2a ..

        To the nerd who used to take the same A-Level biology and chemistry classes with me, and then started med school with me, only to flunk, repeat a year, and then go totally off charts: where the hell are you now? Ya3ny I know everyone is either being a pain in the ass now, or is being a pain in the ass of some lower year because they flunked our year, or is in Australia. But you, where the hell are you?

          And to the wildly ferocious girl who used to punch boys and break desk when we attended elementary school together. I actually miss you, and I wish I could see how those last 10 years have affected you. But I don't know if you have a Facebook or a twitter. If you read this, I hope you know that I've sacrificed many hours of precious last minute exam revision time stalking everyone on Facebook looking for your profile in vain. So yeah, I'm blaming you.

          To the bisexual lesbian who had a thing for me a while back. Nope, wasn't gonna work. Sorry.

           To the cold currently-Salafi girl who used to have a thing for me 4 years ago but now avidly supports the Salafi guy who was caught making out with a girl that was engaged to another guy, effectively cheating on his other four wives. I did not know it was gonna be like this 4 years ago, or 2 years ago when I last met you, but your Facebook posts today make me glad I said no.

          To the amazing medical interns tweeting in their graveyard shifts to kill the time: thank you for making procrastination in the small hours of the morning more fun.

          I see your Skype icon, and it pains me to know that I might never see it go green again. Oh, and it hurts me even more that I probably will not be able to give you that book back. But I'm keeping it in good condition, just in case.

          To the pitifully ignorant Dutch girl who thought she could out-talk me: Ya5tchy beida. I didn't know Europeans could talk beyond yes, no and football (if they're Dutch, English or German).

          I'm sick of climbing four floors with 2000 other sweaty smelly nervous people in a staircase that is two-people wide. I'm sick of it, it doesn't help before an exam, and it basically sucks. And if you don't know which staircase I'm referring to, then you probably suck too. If you can't relate, then your probability of sucking rises considerably.

          Begging for attention by blocking the distance between me and the video game on my computer game is a very bad strategy that will only get you the wrong kind of attention.

          The rule above applies to cats and women on an equal basis.

          Oh, and tweeters/Facebookers in Egypt are the most utopic and least realistic bunches of amateur thinktank experts ever. It's kind of cute, actually.

          Anyone who calls himself Moe or Moey is gay. Or at least needs to man up. Man up ya5ouya we7med rabbena en esmak mesh 3abd abouh, and yes, this exists.

          Kefaya keda? Yep.

"I want to make an apple pieeeeeeee,
so freaking bad,
I want to have what that guy in the movie haaaaaaaaaad" - rhyming with that ceepy song about being a millionaire, and referring to the first part of American Pie

Circus Balloons

          Am I the only blogpost user who thinks the "Monetise" button at the top of the screen is just too damn weird? I feel the urge to rap it out though "Monetise, get them crowds hypnotised, weed's legalised, my sextape's scandalised, my dick is paralysed, shove two fingers in your eyes, something something that actually flies" w keda w beta3. How have I not launched my professional rap career is beyond me, but rumour has it, I'm so dope I'd cook all those rappers more than my burned tires at the traffic light at the junction between share3 el manial w share3 el rouda. That's how we do it, brah.

         I'd like us all to share a moment of silence, to mourn the death of the toupee-master Ibrahim El-Fekky. I'm actually kidding, I think he's a waste of talent, they could've used him to empower the people or some other shit, instead, he's telling people to think and sense and that kinda shit to improve their lives instead of jumping off their obese arses and actually doing shit. And don't get me started on The Secret. Seriously? Secretly that Newton, Shakespeare,  Einstein, your momma, and countless others all knew and helped them excel? It's very convenient, claiming that people who are long since dead and can not possibly deny your claims, have used the secret you, of all people, have distilled into an obscenely expensive booklet with that wax seal impression on the cover to convey a feeling of faux-authenticity. It works on the profitable audience for this type of book; namely obese women and teenagers, but I'd hate it to break it to you, you are so insignificant in the universe the only way you can attract something good in your life is to better invest the money you spent on this book in something profitable. Start a business. Organise your own private army. Try to distil liquor out of oysters and sell it to the filthy rich. The possibilities are endless.

          You know what's sad about the new generation? They've softened the definition of an arrogant asshole into "not nice". You walk down the street when you see a 4 year old kid who smashed his new Blackberry on his sister's head. And when you offer to help, or ask where his mum is or whatever act of good nature you could think of, odds are, the kid will give you a very filthy look and either start blowing his rape whistle or just tell you to suck his pre-pubertal dick or something. Then the mum turns up, you tell her what happened, and if she doesn't call the cops on you, she'll demand her son apologises for not being nice. This misconception extends with a kid throughout his early years until he graduates, or at least, goes through humbling shit of monumental proportions, then the work place and life will teach your kid the manners that you could not. Free of charge too. And then you keep whining that life doesn't drive you any good bargains ya we7esh ya 2asy.

          I think I've got concrete evidence that my cat is part chicken, part rabbit, part PC gamer and gifted*. He is also as black as a motherfucker in the face and he likes bananas and pita bread. Any genealogy experts willing to analyse his genome, for free, are most welcome to step up. He's also available for birthday parties and those wishing to distract their wives/girlfriends. Bitches love the kitty.

*Gifted = retarded


"Nigga don't act like a bitch, that's why I don't got love for a bitch" - E40 ft Too Short and missing a grammar textbook.

Croton Oil

Here's something new, a little rap freestyle, inspired by Tech N9ne's "So Lonely" ft Blind Fury & Mackenzie O'Guin. Here goes:


Been tryna rap it, like a bad habit, sniffing coke just won't knack it,
Life's a deck you either stack it, flip it, split it, hit it or just plain smack it,
Forever alone's all teary all dreary single but I'd sack it,
I'm a Boss, show some secretary buttocks and I'm gonna shag it,
You a dude but with a pink like a bitch, shake that ass, I gotta smack it,
Whoa there, you a spoiled kitty, you smell fishy, like your mom's sticky icky,
Less spine than a sea cucumber, and less of a hard-on, pity,
On the being a tit scale you score a DD, double shitty,
 Bounce em round, your ass cheeks, you big titty,
You think you grand I think you're as bland as a British cookie,
You think you got it bad when you're playing as a damn rookie,
You think you lonely while having a damn nookie,
You make me sick when you owe like that damn Pookie,
All in all, you a bitch, eunuch prick piece of coochie.



And as for you, cutie pie, sweetie poo, little wiggely sue,
You a girl so calling you pussy just won't do,
Where's your brain? Did you lose it, baby boo?
Oh there it is, in a dog's mouth. Chew, boy, chew,
You such a cutie you dump rainbows in the loo,
But you got more dog brains than Eat-Like-Poo,
Da Korean restaura', yu layk da foo'?
I disagree with Mr. T, I don't pity the fool,
I pity stupid bitches who think they all cool,
I like you less than haemorrhoid blood in passed stool,
A shame y'all didn't drown that day at the pool,
Call the headmaster, how did y'all skive off school?
Lemme puncture your head, ventilate that extra room,
Do you have to pay extra, does it come with an extra bathroom?
Won't you let me in there with my trusty broom?
I'll clean it up more nicely than a newly-wed groom,
Where's my vacuum? Me wanna go vroom vroom vroom,
Maybe suck you all in, bury you in my appliance room.



you think you cute, you sly, you sexy when you smile,
I think I'm queer, I sneer, I don't even like beer,
And mister queer says, wipe off that nasty leer,
You ain't nothing, worth less than a drama queen tear,
Please, put your neck inside my shear,
Won't take long, i promise, have i ever lied my dear?
Maybe feed you to the dogs, first goes your inattentive ear?
I don't write the best rhymes or the best lines, but I hope I strike fear,
Into the hearts of people I once thought sincere,
Trash is out, but oops, i missed a spot, I'll get it all clear,
I punch you out so hard my fist'll get stuck in your ear.



NB: Wow, this sounded much better in my head. Wasn't cut out to be a rapper, I guess. Shame

"Kaboom"

Jallapeno Straw

        Main reason why I'm writing this post: I'm getting sick of people begging me for a new blogpost!

        So I'm listening to Yelawolf's debut, Radioactive, and it's everything I imagined it would be: drinking, smoking, crappy Shady Records production and multiple references to himself in the third person. The boy certainly has talent, I'll give him that, but he needs to work on his game. Ana zah2an, 7ad zah2an 3'ery?

        Ana enaharda kont ma7shoor in a two-metre wide hallway ma3 another 200 individuals waiting for our 3-hour-late exam, while others kano wa5deen Thanksgiving as a day off. If I hear anyone complain I'mma fill 'em with more holes than the Swiss cheese version of 2Pac the day he got shot. Rest in peace Tupac, I bet you wouldn't have used Auto-Tune. Jesus drives a Harley and the Devil wears Prada? Okay, Yela, I'll take your word for it., mister Slumerican. I love bitches.

         I'll wager most of y'all checked the whole Alia the nude revolutionary thing, if not the blog in itself. Now, I really couldn't give a cretin-rat's single testis what anyone thinks, what you, your mother, or your religious-extremist mechanic thinks, but I really think you're giving the girl more than she's worth. Let's face it, the girl's ugly. Her titties got me thinking about all my colleagues at college in a very adult-oriented fashion, and with all that cussing I've witnessed streaming across the internet, I can't help but wonder what would people have said had she actually been hot. My guess: they'd have whined just as much, or more, or less, which proves that their taste is horrible, depending on how you look at it. C'est la vie, really.

        I feel full and sluggish, credit owed to the medium cheese-lover stuffed crust pizza with beef and pineapple toppings I had a short while earlier. I'm running out of good ideas to write about, so I'll be resorting to my favourite technique of just writing whatever comes to mind. Starting now.

         Blank.

         So this is my cue for the night. I'll hopefully be back soon with some new posts but for now, cheerios.

Life is a banana and you're the monkey free
Searching you jump from tree to tree

Lettuce

        So, another friend of a close friend of mine is the actual reason why I'm writing this new blog post. I'm finding myself less interested in writing for the sake of writing, but then again, I've always found bloggers silly, because, well, if I write a blog which no one is likely to read, or want to, then I'm technically writing for myself, and while I think myself is a very interesting, charming and downright eye-popping-sexy, I happen to be able to read every idea that ever crosses his head. It's a sort of personal connection me and him have had since, well, we were born. I was born first. No, I'm not schizophrenic, which isn't saying much because no neurotic patient ever doubts that the flying 18 year old images of Tina Fey floating around, quietly seducing him -yes, those that everyone else is oblivious to- may not be real. I hear what you're saying, anonymous reader. don't give me that look. Yes, that look. I know you're giving me that look because you're still reading this. Let;s talk Schroedinger's cat and Quantum. Do the words exist if no one's reading them, or are certain particles gravitating together to form them as soon as the future is set into course when you first decided to read this and keep on reading even when I told you to stop giving me that look. so, stop.

        18 year old girls. Why, god, why?

       Bossypants is a really good book which I'd recommend to everyone who thinks I'm not funny and would like to read something that I think is funny. I'd like to point out a paradox, however, seeing as how if you don't think I'm funny but trust my taste to define what I might consider funny for you, this either means I'm not very funny, or you have very distinctive taste between what you think a funny piece of writing should be like, and what you would like to recommend to people as a funny piece of writing.

        I'm blabbing, which often means I'm tired, or under the influence of drugs, alcohol or microwave popcorn in quantities between 1.2 and 1.7 big bowls' fill, so good night, dear anonymous reader.

  "Did anyone notice that quantities has tit in it?" - Me exactly 2 minutes 12 seconds after writing the word.

Balloons

          So, my thirtieth post. I suppose I should write something that's so totally exciting, new, hip, rad, cool, and psyched it'll make everyone's eyeballs cook and burst like eggs in the microwave that is their skull as it is heated by the radioactive energy my words shall pump into the neurons of the optic nerve, and as everyone who's been through third grade physics knows, as the resistance of a wire increases so does the amount of heat produced by an electrical current passing through it (i think) and it follows suit, seeing as how no one has ever managed to boil heads with sheer wordpower before, that I should win the 2012 Nobel prize this year, it's either that or I'll get a shitload of cold hard cash from governments and terrorist cells alike, both interested in the literary weapon I created. Only problem is, how can I be awarded the Nobel prize if the judges' eyes get microwaved? Anyway, so this would've been my usual course of action to celebrate my thirtieth post, but seeing as how I am not in the mood for awesome writing/weapons design, I'll just skip that part and pretend it's just another random post - i.e: I'll just moan and whine about whichever string of words that comes to mind.

         I hate my phone. Why? It's the fact that it keeps on reminding that it has a low battery. It's not that point that annoys me, but, it's that irksome little feature called "make-ur-phone's-low-battery-alert-so-loud-it's-clearly-audible-3-metres-away-and-make-it-sound-like-a-monkey-whore-in-heat", which I really didn't want installed on my phone but apparently it's not an extra, and it's free. I've always been fascinated by the Arabic proverb "3asforeen b 7agar wa7ed, walla kanet zalata wa7eda?" because i really couldn't imagine the physics of it all as a child. I was a very literal child and as a result I kept trying to imagine projectiles that can hit one bird then bounce off to hit another without losing any momentum. I also kept wondering about the Robin Hood who would be able to calculate the angle at which the stone, rock, pebble, whatever, would hit the bird so that it would bounce to hit another bird, that is to say, until I concluded that throwing rocks at birds is wrong anyway. This particular proverb comes to mind because, well, the furry footmat I like to call my cat purrs like a diesel engine, so i was considering shoving the phone down his cute little throat. I'd still be able to hear the low battery alert, I reckon.

          Facebook is no longer the social networking website I signed up for. It's mostly a study group (mehayeseen el 2asr el 3einy) / religion-preaching centre / CNN / and twitter posts. Now something that really pisses me off is, why should I give a damn about something you posted on twitter? I  mean, I've avoided creating a twitter account for a reason, and if what you have to say is so damn important, why don't you just post it on facebook instead? Or are yow pickwe littwe fingews too tiwed? so, why do I hate twitter? That's a good question, and, honestly, I find the fact that there are so many people out there with enough mental capacity and time to spare for writing what they think about everything that everyone else finds totally irrelevant and not worth knowing to be overwhelming. Happy people should be against the law, in my opinion.

          Exam stress is not good for your skin. Nor your social connections. When you've been sitting at home for months on end because of your exams, you start getting really strung, like guitars, only more strung. It's like someone's twist-drying your pants while there are a million dollars in the pockets and you're going crazy over these million dollars. A well known fact is, I'm a hazard during my seriously-overstretched-three-months-of-finals. I should not be carrying a gun or anywhere near one, because I tend to think that anyone who is busy travelling or taking happy pictures or something just as annoying and who has the nerve to stick em under my nose deserves to be shot. That simple. Not saying it's rational, bu it sure feels worth it. I'm not usually big on the whole murder thing, but then again I've never been much of a trend-follower. Still, people get alienated, and arguments flare, and the good natured people just don't realise they're being stupid by deciding to sharetheir awsum happy moments with yours truly, because, honestly, sometimes all you care about is for your next exam day to arrive so your family would find an excuse to force you to shave and quit looking like a hobo.

        But on another note, I dropped laughing just last night because I mispronounced the name of a virtuoso as a well-known, highly sought profanity. Totally irrelevant, I know.

        So, that's all for tonight, ladies, and, well, more ladies. I hope you enjoyed whatever sick pleasure you derive from reading these twisted ideas. Bi-Bi


"PS: in case you haven't figured it out yet: the Bi 3 lines ago is a pun on the word bye, which sounds the same as bi, meaning bisexual, so basically this is a dirty line that is perfectly PG-15 if you read it outloud. I have no idea why I just did this, but I do know that, if you got the pun, then, chapeau, my good fellow. If you haven't, then you deserve having to read these extra 4 lines, as punishment, I think"

Chicken Carnival

          This post is, once again, upon the request of a friend of a very good friend of mine, whom I've just been informed is a regular reader of mine, and I just can't say no to one of these folks, they're the best. I really have no idea why she hadn't asked me for a new post personally, but that's not for me to decide - but shout out to everyone out there, I don't bite, especially if you're a lady, who doesn't want my money.

         So while logging in and checking my dashboard, I noticed that a friend of mine had a recent post about Vampires, so I wrote a comment on her post,and quoting myself: "couple of ma3loomat that u might find interesting:

-the myth of vampires started besabab two medical conditions, one that makes your skin extremely sensitive to light, so sensitive, in fact, that mediocre sunlight exposure can cause burns and skin cancer, and a couple of years back, there was a bit of news about a family people attacked here in Egypt because they wouldn't ever go out during day time. they had this condition, it's genetic. The other condition makes your blood hemoglobin count extremely low, so you end up craving foods rich in iron, such as raw liver and, the best source of iron ever, fresh blood.

-Ma3looma tania, did u know that, sicne vampries are always depicted as filthy rich, and somewhat leisurely, their myths have only appeared in historical times and areas that have been in economical abundance, but myths about zombies and ragged, dead corpses in general, have only sprung up in poor areas such as the Caribbean islands. Can you see the connection? " Please excuse the sloppy grammar and language, I was hungry at the time. I'd like to elaborate on that subject, mythology and its roots and cultural implications is a very significant topic in my life and I'd love to do it justice, but maybe not this time, because I'm hungry, so if I find that enough people are interested, it might just make it to the top of my "To Be Blabbed About" list.

          Now, the reason why I'm hungry, it's called a gym, which I think sounds much better than "gymnasium" which makes guys everywhere sound like a bunch of stretch pants-wearing pansies who love to do somersaults and jumping jacks and this sort of monkey shit. Gym sounds so much better, so much manlier, short, concise, gorilla-like. Very astutely named. I have found your average gym to represent all levels of the masculine society, as smelly and beautifully uncivilized as it is. On the one hand, you find the beefcakes, who usually keep to themselves and other beefcakes, who look intimidating and they know it, so they bask in its power (the equivalent of the dumb blonde, except that, smart people can grow muscles, dumb blondes, dumb brunettes and dumb everything can't grow brains), and on the other you find the skinny carrots, fumbling around with their tiny dumbbells and unloaded barbells like the cute squirrels they are, relatively speaking, and in between the two aforementioned categories you find everything from the weird ass foreigners, the flirters, the homos, the wannabes, and 2arrareen (doesn't have a satisfactory English equivalent, my apologies to my cosmopolitan readers). What does that mean? It means that women definitely do not appreciate how much effort it takes to bench press that loaded barbell, the same way men don't appreciate how much effort it must take chicks to wax, or whatever it is that chicks do. Point is, we do it, so if we ever catch you walking around with a visible moustache, we won't be happy, and I'm addressing a certain group of girls you must have guessed by now if you've heard me whine about that topic enough.

           Moving on to a more interesting topic: the theater. I watched an amateur play very recently, and  I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but for some reason, watching a play is still a complicated deal for me. The script writing for plays is just so, let's face it, mind boggling at time. I mean, what about Shakespeare? Crazy scripts, they just compel you to stop, and try to think about things, and the way the actors just stop between lines, I guess I'm just a movie person, fast paced. However, I've acted in enough plays to realise how much effort needs to be put into a project like the one I've enjoyed, and so I'd like to raise a glass, my hat, and various other objects to all the fabulous ladies who helped make my night, and several others', very enjoyable.

          Aaaaaaaaaaaand it's 1.30 am already. It's funny how time flies, especially if you're writing a blog post while simultaneously checking facebook and msn. It's funny how half my Facebook is suddenly obssessed with Douglas Adams, and it's funny how everyone thought I was a retard when I had my share of his writings. God, I love this guy and all 6 books of his "increasingly inaccurately-called trilogy". Towels, beautiful things. If you haven't read his work, then, I suggest you go read Barney Stinson's The Bro Code, if you're a dude, that'll help cut down on some of the retarded behaviour I get to endure on a daily basis. More and more guys are starting to act like their Y chromosome has gone out to walk the dog and never came back, yes, all 3 trillion versions of their Y chromosomes from all their cells have walked out on them, and this spells a lot of abandonment issues, and red skinny pants. I've also noticed that, the less Y chromosomes a guy's got, the larger are his bicep and dog, and it seems like everyone's walking around with a dog these days, it's so commonplace it's a testimonial to how superficial and shallow women are if they're still running around giving every guy with a cute dog some attention: Newsflash ladies; he couldn't care less about the dog if it didn't get him some hot female, so get over yourselves, and besides, huge slobbering pitbulls with narrow eyes are definitely not cute.

          So I guess that's enough for one post, but for dessert, I'd like to leave y'all with some food for thought:
"What would life look like from the perspective of a bsaketball?"