Oh Bouda, with your feline face upon a tanned Iranian body and Baywatch dirty blonde hair. There you sit, beautiful like a Persian twat…cat, cat, I meant cat….tapping away at your computer, probably facebooking or looking at Vogue online.
How I long to spend endless hours with you discussing geopolitical issues and the meaning of life. I know, I know, you’d probably just stare at me with complete and utter vacancy but that isn’t the point is it?
What? I’m supposed to be a good listener? Now, what the fuck am I going to listen for? Your discussion on what you’re wearing or your personal problems (you’ve probably got Daddy issues)?
Seriously, I don’t think this is going to work, Bouda. If you really think I’m going to listen to endless drivel about the state of affairs in “The Hills” then you’ve got another fuckin’ thing coming.
Ohhhhh, but you’re so delightful. Ohhhhh, the confusion, the pain….I don’t know, which way to turn…but I know which way to turn you….that’s it lovely, you face the wall and I’ll be back in a tick after I’ve brushed my teeth.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Abandon hope all ye who enter here
The idea of hell has been forged into our core belief system since we entered this meat space we call life. As infants we were baptized, circumcised, anaesthetized, ritualized, iodized, and immunized with the single minded intention of saving us from all the future sins that we would all eventually commit. I have left out infanticide on the aforementioned list because that particular treat was reserved for those fine specimens that were committing sins as infants ( which makes old Lucifer very proud) or those who were born the wrong gender ( you didn’t think I was going to leave that little delectable nugget of truth out?).
Fire, Brimstone, Demons of unimaginable horror, all efficiently managed by a severely sun burnt, horny (i.e. with horns) gentleman with a tail and an oversized gardening tool called Satan aka Lucifer or by the moniker he is more popularly and universally known as… Dick Cheney.
That little postcard of eternal damnation strikes fear into the hearts of most regular people, but I ask you is that the scariest depiction of hell we could conceptualize?
Hell has lost its edge; Hell historically was always used as a deterrent against bad behavior. I look around and all I see is bad fucking behavior so it is time that we put the "bad motherfucker" back into hell. Hell needs to be the Sam Jackson version of hell. We need to come up with a hell so bad, so terrifying that it will scare the gays straight, it will scare the thieves to find alternative employment, it will scare the adulterers into monogamy, it will scare the U.S. government into admitting that there were no WMDs and it will scare all of us into actually acknowledging that “The Big G “is all powerful so that he doesn’t banish us into eternal damnation at this particular venue.
Keeping this in mind I have decided to present to thee my top ten list of scary ass hell in no particular order just of the top of my head.
Prank goes to Hell
1.) Trapped in a room with the women of “The View” during a collective that time of the month.
2.) Teaching George Dubya calculus.
3.) Tom Cruise’s wife
4.) Being trapped in George Lucas’s Double chin.
5.) C-Bar.
6.) Being shackled in a basement and being forced to watch re-runs of The Teletubbies.
7.) Being in powder form around Keith Richards.
8.) Organizing Lebanese elections of any kind.
9.) Being trapped in a public outhouse sandwiched between George Michael and Elton John
10.) Trying to say the full name of any South Indian quickly.
You are looking at this list and laughing at the insanity of it and thinking to yourselves “This is not half as bad as fire and brimstone”. I want you to take a look at the list above and add one small word at the end, just one small word “FOREVER”. Now look at the list again. Do you hear that? that is the sound of you all soiling yourselves. The fear is overwhelming ,the thought of being Tom Cruise’s wife FOREVER, C-BAR FOREVER, Subrumaniumakkarajuaribukeralitispongallamvindaloojohn FOREVER !
That children, is the Mac book of Hell , no spam , no spyware, no screw ups, pure unadulterated damnation at its worst.
Quillock and I would like to extend an invitation to you all to come up with your idea of hell and we will collect and collate then provide you with 20 possible new residences for the Overlord of Darkness - Dick Cheney.
People, this needs to be done, we need to do this for our children and our children’s children so that those puny rat bastards will truly know fear, we owe them this much.
Do you hear that ? That is the sound of Bouda showering ! Please close your eyes and marinate over that thought for as long you like.
Fire, Brimstone, Demons of unimaginable horror, all efficiently managed by a severely sun burnt, horny (i.e. with horns) gentleman with a tail and an oversized gardening tool called Satan aka Lucifer or by the moniker he is more popularly and universally known as… Dick Cheney.
That little postcard of eternal damnation strikes fear into the hearts of most regular people, but I ask you is that the scariest depiction of hell we could conceptualize?
Hell has lost its edge; Hell historically was always used as a deterrent against bad behavior. I look around and all I see is bad fucking behavior so it is time that we put the "bad motherfucker" back into hell. Hell needs to be the Sam Jackson version of hell. We need to come up with a hell so bad, so terrifying that it will scare the gays straight, it will scare the thieves to find alternative employment, it will scare the adulterers into monogamy, it will scare the U.S. government into admitting that there were no WMDs and it will scare all of us into actually acknowledging that “The Big G “is all powerful so that he doesn’t banish us into eternal damnation at this particular venue.
Keeping this in mind I have decided to present to thee my top ten list of scary ass hell in no particular order just of the top of my head.
Prank goes to Hell
1.) Trapped in a room with the women of “The View” during a collective that time of the month.
2.) Teaching George Dubya calculus.
3.) Tom Cruise’s wife
4.) Being trapped in George Lucas’s Double chin.
5.) C-Bar.
6.) Being shackled in a basement and being forced to watch re-runs of The Teletubbies.
7.) Being in powder form around Keith Richards.
8.) Organizing Lebanese elections of any kind.
9.) Being trapped in a public outhouse sandwiched between George Michael and Elton John
10.) Trying to say the full name of any South Indian quickly.
You are looking at this list and laughing at the insanity of it and thinking to yourselves “This is not half as bad as fire and brimstone”. I want you to take a look at the list above and add one small word at the end, just one small word “FOREVER”. Now look at the list again. Do you hear that? that is the sound of you all soiling yourselves. The fear is overwhelming ,the thought of being Tom Cruise’s wife FOREVER, C-BAR FOREVER, Subrumaniumakkarajuaribukeralitispongallamvindaloojohn FOREVER !
That children, is the Mac book of Hell , no spam , no spyware, no screw ups, pure unadulterated damnation at its worst.
Quillock and I would like to extend an invitation to you all to come up with your idea of hell and we will collect and collate then provide you with 20 possible new residences for the Overlord of Darkness - Dick Cheney.
People, this needs to be done, we need to do this for our children and our children’s children so that those puny rat bastards will truly know fear, we owe them this much.
Do you hear that ? That is the sound of Bouda showering ! Please close your eyes and marinate over that thought for as long you like.
Rupac: Trans-gender, gangsta crap
Over the last ten years something has bothered me so much so that I can sincerely say I’d like to ban it. Not because it is offensive or I’m conservative but simply because it creates a paradoxical cycle of audible shit.
Yes, children – I’m talking about Rap, R’n’B and Hip Hop. It sucks cock for the lack of a better term. Don’t get me wrong, when Rap originated it was different and creative and meant something. There was a message and it was powerful. Who can forget the likes of Public Enemy, A Tribe Called Quest or Grand Master Flash? Society changing and infectious. And Rhythm and Blues was the domain of some of the most creative black songwriters the world ever saw. Subsequently, good, old white folk took over and adapted it – including the likes of The Rolling Stones.
But now….now it is just prose about money, diamonds, shagging or masculinity over a series of bleeps or samples of great tunes they didn’t write.
“Oh man, you heard the latest joint by Timbaland? Go out and buy it.”
Errmm, no. If I wanted to listen to music that should be the backdrop to a 1980’s Atari computer game, I would use a mind rubber to delete what grey matter I have and live in a mental asylum.
All the braggadocio and spastic talk that only middle class white American teenagers seem to relate to seems as primitive as a caveman, masturbating over a breast shaped rock.
I’m sure there are exceptions but none of it (original or sampled) seems like it is something that will be listened to in 20 years time with affection. Hmmmmmm, how to spice it up and make it more interesting….???
Well, perhaps nobody knows this but the late Tupac Shakur spent one long night with Ru Paul 13 years ago. The result was Rupac, the illegitimate, hermaphrodite spawn of this vile relationship that involved candlesticks, knuckle dusters and 17 broken Trojan condoms.
I believe that new audiences would be attracted to a dull genre if this transgender, gangsta rapper/rappess were to make music.
What a refreshing tone for Rap music. A male with an adjacent front opening, singing about how he/she attracts young men only to reveal a browned cucumber as an unfortunate bedfellow. Perhaps a song about the joys of having anal sex with young men or having to deal with a period as well as erections….there are so many possibilities. I think Jay-Z or Puff Daddy or whoever the latest, great producer is should actively search for Rupac and await the amazing results.
Ohhhh, the freestyle potential. Could you imagine it? Rupac and Eminem face-off against each other to the point that they get so angry with one another that they end up wrestling. The wrestling would begin aggressive enough in earnest but it would devolve into some rabid, confused, sexual pile. White on black, cock on munge or cock up bum.
I’m sure the same insipid hicks who watch American Idol instead of living their lives would tune in. How could Simon Cowell ever turn Rupac away? He wouldn’t. He would be blown away by the true life story of a black, she-male trying to make it through everyday life and he would ensure that the sympathy votes would go to her/him.
Cue end of Rap
Simon: “Do you really want my opinion, Rupac? Well, I think that was the most amazing performance by a double, genitalled individual I’ve ever seen. In fact, that is the only performance by a twat, cocked person I’ve ever seen!”
Audience laughs and cries at the sweet irony of it all.
Either that or just ban shit music altogether. Bundle it all up like a toxic debt from Lehmann Brothers and sell it to Mars. It’d be better off in a vacuum.
Yes, children – I’m talking about Rap, R’n’B and Hip Hop. It sucks cock for the lack of a better term. Don’t get me wrong, when Rap originated it was different and creative and meant something. There was a message and it was powerful. Who can forget the likes of Public Enemy, A Tribe Called Quest or Grand Master Flash? Society changing and infectious. And Rhythm and Blues was the domain of some of the most creative black songwriters the world ever saw. Subsequently, good, old white folk took over and adapted it – including the likes of The Rolling Stones.
But now….now it is just prose about money, diamonds, shagging or masculinity over a series of bleeps or samples of great tunes they didn’t write.
“Oh man, you heard the latest joint by Timbaland? Go out and buy it.”
Errmm, no. If I wanted to listen to music that should be the backdrop to a 1980’s Atari computer game, I would use a mind rubber to delete what grey matter I have and live in a mental asylum.
All the braggadocio and spastic talk that only middle class white American teenagers seem to relate to seems as primitive as a caveman, masturbating over a breast shaped rock.
I’m sure there are exceptions but none of it (original or sampled) seems like it is something that will be listened to in 20 years time with affection. Hmmmmmm, how to spice it up and make it more interesting….???
Well, perhaps nobody knows this but the late Tupac Shakur spent one long night with Ru Paul 13 years ago. The result was Rupac, the illegitimate, hermaphrodite spawn of this vile relationship that involved candlesticks, knuckle dusters and 17 broken Trojan condoms.
I believe that new audiences would be attracted to a dull genre if this transgender, gangsta rapper/rappess were to make music.
What a refreshing tone for Rap music. A male with an adjacent front opening, singing about how he/she attracts young men only to reveal a browned cucumber as an unfortunate bedfellow. Perhaps a song about the joys of having anal sex with young men or having to deal with a period as well as erections….there are so many possibilities. I think Jay-Z or Puff Daddy or whoever the latest, great producer is should actively search for Rupac and await the amazing results.
Ohhhh, the freestyle potential. Could you imagine it? Rupac and Eminem face-off against each other to the point that they get so angry with one another that they end up wrestling. The wrestling would begin aggressive enough in earnest but it would devolve into some rabid, confused, sexual pile. White on black, cock on munge or cock up bum.
I’m sure the same insipid hicks who watch American Idol instead of living their lives would tune in. How could Simon Cowell ever turn Rupac away? He wouldn’t. He would be blown away by the true life story of a black, she-male trying to make it through everyday life and he would ensure that the sympathy votes would go to her/him.
Cue end of Rap
Simon: “Do you really want my opinion, Rupac? Well, I think that was the most amazing performance by a double, genitalled individual I’ve ever seen. In fact, that is the only performance by a twat, cocked person I’ve ever seen!”
Audience laughs and cries at the sweet irony of it all.
Either that or just ban shit music altogether. Bundle it all up like a toxic debt from Lehmann Brothers and sell it to Mars. It’d be better off in a vacuum.
Sex moment sponsored by Jizz Bathroom Cleaner
There’s nothing more soul-appeasing for myself, Prank and Elie than hating just about everything. But there is one thing that we all genuinely LOVE. And that thing is a solid piece of attractive, walking office estrogen. Now, before any female readers roll their eyes and go “how typical of a chauvinist male” ask yourself one question – “Are you really that ugly?”
Anyway, for the sake of argument, let’s call this lovely lady intern, Bouda. Ahhhhhhhh, Bouda – like a lovely breath of fresh air, strolling into the office every morning doing menial, meaningless tasks. Perhaps it’s because she probably couldn’t cope with anything more than making cups of coffee but who cares? Since when did intellect ever come into raw, sexual attraction? And please don’t tell me it’s about the conversation – unless you’ve grown female funny parts in the last minute then that doesn’t wash with me.
Regardless, Bouda is on course for a sensual, sexual education that is likely to end up in the ejection of 3 cubic centimeters of my jasmine coloured love splash on her sodden front garden.
Anyway, for the sake of argument, let’s call this lovely lady intern, Bouda. Ahhhhhhhh, Bouda – like a lovely breath of fresh air, strolling into the office every morning doing menial, meaningless tasks. Perhaps it’s because she probably couldn’t cope with anything more than making cups of coffee but who cares? Since when did intellect ever come into raw, sexual attraction? And please don’t tell me it’s about the conversation – unless you’ve grown female funny parts in the last minute then that doesn’t wash with me.
Regardless, Bouda is on course for a sensual, sexual education that is likely to end up in the ejection of 3 cubic centimeters of my jasmine coloured love splash on her sodden front garden.
Friday, November 7, 2008
New Asia, Where have all the Asians gooooone ?
Before this next rant, I would just like to make one thing clear , reading our last exercises of cathartic expression it seems that we are waging our own "War on Terror" on the fine denizens of the Levant.... let me be the first to clear things up... NO ONE IS SAFE ! So dispel any notions you might have that we are... for the lack of a more inappropriate word .... Racist ! Actually not only are we racist but we are sexist, creaturist, elitist and extra terrestrialist. So once again NO ONE IS SAFE ! If there is a new species or extra terrestrial life form that is discovered rest assured that jokes will be born , au naturel.
On that note without much futher ado about nothing ....
New Asia , where are all the Asians ?
New Asia Bar: swanky, classy, house music but not the good kind, mini skirts, drinks fit for royalty ( just price wise) and of course a place for Dubai's very own buttonly challenged to congregate in a proverbial table/bottle measuring contest. I feel this doesn't paint a vivid enough picture so I present to you :
Shoo you think you can party ? The only reality show worth watching.
Disclaimer : The characters in this show are as real as global warming, and bear resemblance to a majority of the population of this city, there is absolutely no coincidence here because it is intended. No Tree Dwellers we harmed during the witnessing of this show.
Elie 1 ( shockingly enough , top three buttons missing, hair of a chestal nature in all its glory): Shoo ? No one is looking at me , how can I get more attention ? Ahh oui ... If i order a large bottle of Moet and hold my glass in the air and move around that should work.
Elie 2 also thinking to himself ( yes that top button crime spree is spreading fast): Shoo !?! Look at that guy... kisikhtak ! There are more people around the area of his table..... Bien Sur ! I'll order a Magnum bottle of Dom Perignon as well as a flaming sambucca, this way I can hold the glass as well as the shot glass in the air and move around!
An so on and so forth, if there was one word I could use to describe New Asia it would have to be an incubator.
An Incubator is an apparatus where pre-mature infants are kept in a controlled environment for protection and care. It makes sense (especially since I came up with the analogy) and because of all the underdeveloped conversational and thinking skills , only in an environment like this would the " The Tree Dwellers" (as Quillock so aptly named them) flourish and be protected from depth and substance ( not the kind we all like to abuse).
However I will say this New Asia bar is a testament to showcasing the wonders of minimalist material use. In the words of the eternal and occasionally brilliant Joey Tribianni " It's amazing how they can do so much with so little material".
I need a drink !
On that note without much futher ado about nothing ....
New Asia , where are all the Asians ?
New Asia Bar: swanky, classy, house music but not the good kind, mini skirts, drinks fit for royalty ( just price wise) and of course a place for Dubai's very own buttonly challenged to congregate in a proverbial table/bottle measuring contest. I feel this doesn't paint a vivid enough picture so I present to you :
Shoo you think you can party ? The only reality show worth watching.
Disclaimer : The characters in this show are as real as global warming, and bear resemblance to a majority of the population of this city, there is absolutely no coincidence here because it is intended. No Tree Dwellers we harmed during the witnessing of this show.
Elie 1 ( shockingly enough , top three buttons missing, hair of a chestal nature in all its glory): Shoo ? No one is looking at me , how can I get more attention ? Ahh oui ... If i order a large bottle of Moet and hold my glass in the air and move around that should work.
Elie 2 also thinking to himself ( yes that top button crime spree is spreading fast): Shoo !?! Look at that guy... kisikhtak ! There are more people around the area of his table..... Bien Sur ! I'll order a Magnum bottle of Dom Perignon as well as a flaming sambucca, this way I can hold the glass as well as the shot glass in the air and move around!
An so on and so forth, if there was one word I could use to describe New Asia it would have to be an incubator.
An Incubator is an apparatus where pre-mature infants are kept in a controlled environment for protection and care. It makes sense (especially since I came up with the analogy) and because of all the underdeveloped conversational and thinking skills , only in an environment like this would the " The Tree Dwellers" (as Quillock so aptly named them) flourish and be protected from depth and substance ( not the kind we all like to abuse).
However I will say this New Asia bar is a testament to showcasing the wonders of minimalist material use. In the words of the eternal and occasionally brilliant Joey Tribianni " It's amazing how they can do so much with so little material".
I need a drink !
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Ergo Ego
Me. I am me. I cannot be anything but me. Prank and myself live in our world. A world viewed through the lens of our mind’s critical eye. The environment that surrounds us is a millionaire’s playground and within that playground exists a media agency with a reputation that precedes itself. A reputation for fine work and creativity.
But beneath the surface of eccentricity and egos, resides a highly sexualized and juvenile clan known only to the those in our world as “The tree dwellers”. Indeed, those in the know, realize that ‘the dwellers’ perpetuate an expanding bubble of their own, externalizing the frailties of their psyche through aviator sunglasses and badly thought out fashion statements.
Their call is unique and heard from miles around. “Shooooo….shooooo”. Their ears prick up like desert foxes in an infertile land and at the first sign of a potential self-aggrandized statement, the clan strut the halls, alleyways and dungeons of our agency smelling for sex like it was a shit in a gold plated living room.
Useless information is passed around the agency in a bid to create a positive morale including 15 different ways to tie a shoe lace. One day the revolution will happen and when it does, I and Prank will lead the desire for change. The fact that the revolution may not actually happen in our beloved, quasi-oriental city is neither the point or for you to question. Follow us on our journey through space and time….
But beneath the surface of eccentricity and egos, resides a highly sexualized and juvenile clan known only to the those in our world as “The tree dwellers”. Indeed, those in the know, realize that ‘the dwellers’ perpetuate an expanding bubble of their own, externalizing the frailties of their psyche through aviator sunglasses and badly thought out fashion statements.
Their call is unique and heard from miles around. “Shooooo….shooooo”. Their ears prick up like desert foxes in an infertile land and at the first sign of a potential self-aggrandized statement, the clan strut the halls, alleyways and dungeons of our agency smelling for sex like it was a shit in a gold plated living room.
Useless information is passed around the agency in a bid to create a positive morale including 15 different ways to tie a shoe lace. One day the revolution will happen and when it does, I and Prank will lead the desire for change. The fact that the revolution may not actually happen in our beloved, quasi-oriental city is neither the point or for you to question. Follow us on our journey through space and time….
A credit crunchy tale of two cities
The time is now , the time is right for us to release this little cathardic expression of celebrating the human spirit ( Pls read previous line in most sarcastic tone of voice divinely possible. This will set the tone for all future rants). My partner in crime, not in sin have been residents of this "city" for a while now , me longer than him, and it is safe to say that we are Dubaiist.
The very definition of Dubaiism - Is prejuidicial discrimination of everything that this "city" aspires towards or fosters in terms of celebrating spectacular mediocrity.
Now it is credit crunch time... how is the world adapting to their subujugation to third world country wealth ? Keeping in light of the reduced purchasing power of consumers in London, the fine tradesmen of the black,clandestine pharamceutical industry have started offering a "Credit Crunch Special" yes I couldn't even begin to make this up, even if I tried. "Credit Crunch Special" is a bargain in its' purest form. I urge you to research and find out what it is.
In Dubai the fine male specimens of the Levant are practicing thriftiness in their own unique way... due to the global credit crunch they have realised that the best way to excercise their credit crunch induced right to a more modest existence is by eliminating the use of the top three buttons on all their shirts. This small but effective practice reduces the cost of their designer labels exponentially. More importantly this gives the members of the opposite and same sex a view of the goods.
Times are hard , you need to do your part !
The very definition of Dubaiism - Is prejuidicial discrimination of everything that this "city" aspires towards or fosters in terms of celebrating spectacular mediocrity.
Now it is credit crunch time... how is the world adapting to their subujugation to third world country wealth ? Keeping in light of the reduced purchasing power of consumers in London, the fine tradesmen of the black,clandestine pharamceutical industry have started offering a "Credit Crunch Special" yes I couldn't even begin to make this up, even if I tried. "Credit Crunch Special" is a bargain in its' purest form. I urge you to research and find out what it is.
In Dubai the fine male specimens of the Levant are practicing thriftiness in their own unique way... due to the global credit crunch they have realised that the best way to excercise their credit crunch induced right to a more modest existence is by eliminating the use of the top three buttons on all their shirts. This small but effective practice reduces the cost of their designer labels exponentially. More importantly this gives the members of the opposite and same sex a view of the goods.
Times are hard , you need to do your part !
Saturday, November 1, 2008
There should be some message welcoming you
At this point in time, my proverbial partner in crime has not made his presence felt. However I have it on good authority that he is planning something on whalian proportions. Therefore what this blog is about , what we are trying to say , what is our purpose all these grand existential exercises in narcisissm shall be revealed during the course of this week. Till then start drinking bitches ! we have one more day to intoxicate beyond reproach !
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