Monday, January 30, 2006


Yes yes, rub my nose in it why don't you. The concert was great. I was wrong. But wouldn't have it been fun if I was right?

The crowd was fantastic. Bryan Adams was great and a Nokia Brand Manager got boo'ed off the stage which truly made my night.

Lots of love for Karachiites going on right now. We did our city proud. By not rioting, raping and pillaging. If we were vikings we would be ashamed of ourselves right now.

Still, I swear I almost teared up at "Please Forgive Me", You moved me Mr. Adams, your really did.

Oh and Shehzad Roy stuck a microphone into his belt which looked fantastically phallic.

What more can one ask for. Really.

Friday, January 27, 2006


Brian Adams tomorrow.

I can't believe I'm going. What's worse is that I am actually excited.

I think it is the morbid part of my personality that enjoys trauma (the same aspect that convinced me to watch HASH videos on IM) that is making me do this.

Prediction: Shehzad Roy will sing 2 songs. Realize he can't shut up with just 2 and go on to sing 6 more. Adams will come on and half-way through "Summer of 69" will either be hit over a head by a bottle or catch the eye of some Feudal's son who will kidnap him and whisk him away to Balochi or Sindhi lands for a week of buggery.

Shehzad Roy will take this opportunity to return and sing 6 more songs, this time all of them Brian Adam's.

The religious fundamentalist segment will sneak a terrorist into the concert who will blow himself up, albeit close to the gate where the only damage will be to the finely-manicured grass and perhaps causing terminal deafness in security guards.

The Canadian Govt. will demand an apology. Instead, President Musharraf will combine his two favorite topics and just go ahead and start raping journalists while using Canadian Passports as a condom.

War shall ensue.

India will take this opportunity to nuke Pakistan.

Two years from now, when the nuclear radiation that has infused the land has diminished to tolerable levels, U2 will come and perform a concert for the refugees huddled in tents made of EVERYBODY WANTA QUANTA? billboard skins.

At least we get Bono.

Or not. Either way, should be fun.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006


Worked on advertising campagn till 3 in the morning last night.

Have yet to edit an article for NEWSLINE that was due yesterday.

Have yet to write an article for SPYDER that was due last week.

Have lost feeling in my brain.

Have become obsessed with Google Earth.
Why do I need to find the houses of everyone I have ever known in grainy satellite imagery that is 4 years old?

Have heard some fascinating stories about Shehzad Roy asking to be made "fairer" in the concert advertising.

Have just figured out why Brian Adam's hair is orange in the advertising.

Have to make an appointment with a dentist.

Have to spend time with loved ones.

Have to start writing new Stand-Up material.

Have to get some sleep.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006


Conversation had while sitting at a coffee shop:

Friend: I think the lady on the table next to us is listening in on our conversation.

Me: So? It's not like we are discussing terrorist plots.

Friend: Still. It's rude.

Me: Lets freak her out. Lets talk about something really disturbing and she will stop listening.

Friend: go first.


Friend: ...Now I'm disturbed.


Just testing the new Blogger widget for my Mac.
If this works I can now update my blog at work no problemo.

I *heart* Apple.

In related news, I have decided the price of complete happines for me is $3000:
$2499 for the new MacBook, the sexiest sleekest laptop known to man; and
$399 for the iPod Video (60GB) in Black.

That isn't too much to ask in life is it?

Anyone want to donate cash to a struggling comedian?

Sunday, January 15, 2006


Bakra eid just passed us by. The wife and I went out and met some 700 relatives on the first day of eid, manouvering my compact Cuore between macabre obstacles like goats heads and cows intestines. Somewhere during this all I came to the realization that we are actually celebrating one mans willingness to behead his son because the "voice" told him to.

How is that sacred again? I only point this out because my Uncle Rahim was locked up because the "voice" told him to touch his thingy. While standing on Main Shahra-E-Faisal. Naked. And yet, he still wasn't killing anyone.

Wrote the bit below on Bakra eid for my "NOBODY MOVES..." show and it'll only ever be relevant once a year so might as well dust it off and put it up here.

I like how it turned out. Wasn't sure it would work, a friend told me it is too morbid but the audience liked it just the same.



I'm not a big fan of Bakra Eid.
The whole road covered with goats entrails thing just isn't my idea of fun. And kids generally don't look forward to bakra Eid. It's just not the same...getting money and getting fresh meat. You buy a goat, and fatten it up for the kill. The goat thinks its in an
all-you-can-eat buffet for a while at least.

"You mean all this food is for me? Just me? Wow!"

My dog is sitting over there going "Suckah!"

You just keep feeding it. You turn into the witch from Hansel & Gretel, "Some some more candy. Some more. You look delicious....I MEAN GORGEOUS! Not delicious at all..."

When I was young I always thought the Goat was our pet.

"You mean we have a goat!? Really? How cool is that! He and I can ride around town."

I'd name him Billy. And then the next morning...Mutton Biryani! The dogs and cats
go on a starvation diet right away, "Uh uh! Not us!"Then next year a new goat.
Same thing again. Billy the 2nd. Billy the 3rd. When I started running into the
double digits and I decided something was up. So I asked my mom what was going
on. And she sat me down and explained the whole story of Abraham and his son and
he has to sacrifice his son to God and at the last second God replaced the boy
with a sheep. And so we commemorate it by killing livestock of all fashion.
Goats and cows and camels. Not chickens though. Just not as satisfying. The
Kasai would be roaming around with a swiss army knife. But what scared the crap
out of me was...what if God had let the kid get sacrificed? So then would we be
sacrificing the eldest son? Babies coming out of the womb going "I'm not the
first am I? Am I the first? Don't let me be the first!? Oh, I'm


Saturday, January 14, 2006


Marriage season has wrecked me.

I am a shattered and defeated shell, a husk that has congrtulated so many people and shaken so many hands that it is all i can do now. All social interaction for the last month has been under a large tent, seated at round tables like some Arthurian knight. Except had Arthur experienced some of the weddings I did he would have thrown himself onto Excalibur. Camelot be damned.

Yesterday was the last wedding. No more. I am done. If you are getting married and want to invite me then know that I shall walk up onto the stage, vomit on the brides over-priced gaudy outfit, beat the groom with a plate of sheermaal and possible make lewd gestures using my hands and groin in a creative-expressionistic manner until all have fled. Just so you know.

Haven't been posting much because of lack of time and things to say. The deal that will see me touring Lahore and Islamabad in March is being finalised. So that is good. Did some stand-up at the Black Fish 3rd anniversary show. Will paste it below.

Written some articles recently. Did a piece on alternate-music distribution possibilities of THE HERALD. Two reviews (one music and one documentary) for NEWSLINE. Both are out on the stands right now. Plus SPYDER, the local tech mag has asked me to write a series of humour based articles on computing. Should be fun. Haven’t written articles for a few months now and it is good to flex that part of my brain again.

Anywhoo…you folks don’t come here for my meandering thoughts, this much I know. You want stand-up comedy transcripts and you want them now (atleast that’s what people have communicated via email). Very well, your clown shall now entertain you. This was the bit I did to open to the last Black Fish show:



So wedding season is upon us. Shaadi season. Everyone getting married. I don’t know, maybe it’s the weather. Maybe this is the only way people in Karachi can come up with feeling warm. So many weddings too. Everyone one you meet, “I have three mehndi’s, two valimas and a shaadi to go to today.” I wish we could swap them. Trade shaadi invites like those sticker books we would get as kids. You would swap stickers with your friends to complete the book. I wish we could do that now:
“I have two shaadi’s and one valima. What do you have?”
“I got a mehndi, a nikah and a dholki.”
Oh, I’ve been low on dholkis this season. I’ll swap you a valima for it.”
That way, if you can complete a full set of Nikkah, Mendi, Shaadi and Valima then you get to go on the honeymoon.

Why is it still called a dholki? I have yet to go to one all year which had an actual dhol. Dj’s are there, dance floors. I keep waiting for the DJ to bust out with a dhol. Never happens.

Food at weddings isn’t the same anymore. Its all swanky now. Chicken Teriyaki and fried shrimp. What happened to the good old shaadi ka khana. Y’know. The real heart stopping, arteries-clogging stuff. I miss that. The ghee-ka-salan. The sheer maal so thick you could use it as a speed breaker. And in the end they would have ice-cream for desert. In winter. I miss that stuff.

Mehndi’s are the best. Everyone loves them. If it was just mehndis all wedding season long there would be no complaints. ‘Cause people love dancing. Whether or not they get to dance is unimportant. As long as someone, somewhere is dancing, people are happy. I love watching the dances. They always seem so exciting at the start of wedding season. Y’know what I mean? Early December, weddings are just kicking off. Everyone loves the dances. The new track selections, the new popular songs. Great dance steps. Everything seems well done. It stops being so exciting by early Jan though doesn’t it. By then you’ve become a seasoned critic. Poor girls synchronizing their hearts out. You’re standing there like an Olympic swimming judge:
“I thought the execution was a bit lacking.”
They’re up there bhangra-ing to dhol bajay and you’re sitting in the front row whispering “I’ve seen better.”

I love how no dance is ever perfect. It will always be that one girls fault. One girl who just sabotages all dances. She’s is like a mehndi-gremlin or something. The girls in front are dancing their hearts out. Everything is perfectly synchronized. This is their moment to shine. They spent the last two weeks hating each other trying to get this right. Every practice was brutal. Girls take this stuff so seriously.
“I hate you.”
“I hope you die.”
“…and thomka thomka and then the hands.”

They are looking as slim as they ever will. Girls who have spent the last two months starving themselves to fit some unrealistic ideal of beauty that only exists in African nations struck with famine. Flies buzzing around them. They start dancing and vultures get confused. All that to finally get up there and dance. Every move synchronized to perfection. Everything except for that one girl. Usually situated at the back or on the far end of the line. She’s the one who does this the entire dance like this [mimes looking self-consciously at the other dancers and poorly imitating them]. At that point all the girls want her dead.
“I hate her.”
“I hope she dies.”
“…and thomka thomka and then the hands.”