REMEMBER ME WHEN I'M GONE...

After two days of feeling like there is a fist clenched in front of our collective faces, the city cautiosly gathers itself up again. Lines at the Petrol Stations are still immense, as if Armageddon is coming and we all can outdrive it if we just have one more litre.

Sitting at work after two days of doing nothing and actually feeling more productive as a human being, even if there is nothing to do but check email play Bubble Snooker (it's like pixellated crack that game).

Trying to convince Saad to let me do some new material at the next open-mic. He isn't averse to me trying new stuff out, just not to keen on it being the bit I have merrily titled: CHRONOLOGY OF WANKING.

Will post portions of it here if it never makes it past the Family-Friendly barrier of Open-Mic Night.

In the meantime, been thinking about what I want my obiturary to read like in the newspaper. Bored with the usual "Loving husband" bollocks. Really. If the obituary is to be the final description of me to the world it should be something more exciting.

Here is my first draft:

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Sami's hair was a vile toxic orange. As were his large, unblinking
eyes. As, indeed, was his penis, painted in a sticky antiseptic
emulsion to defeat the various Shagging Diseases that remained rife in
the Sexual Underworld.

Sami's business card proclaimed his vocation to be Colossal Pervert.
And all on the Scene knew that Sami pursued his hideous trade with the
zeal of a priest. If a priest's holy chores involved projecting his
lunch into the anuses of badly confused teenage girls from Hungary.

Sami's penis used to cast a shadow over the Adult business. Quite
literally, if when he stood on high ground at noon. Strong men would
weep and cut themselves in bad places when Sami demonstrated arcane
penile skills learned in Japan and Tibet, using his warrior's member
to snap wood, bricks and sports utility vehicles. Several starlets --
three of whom have been since removed to asylums by their families --
claim to have seen it conduct lightning. Some producers had begun to
sheathe the member in large burlap sacks previous to performances, to
prevent other participants prostrating themselves in Religious Awe,
and also to stay the occasional manifestation of Miracles in its
presence.

Sami is a Hero of the Humping Industry, loved by the twinks and the
coprophages, adored by the size queens and the gangbangers, cherished
by the gonzo and the semen shooters. His kindness is the stuff of
legend, and the whores kissed him in the street since that mythic day
when he crushed a pimp's spine using only the frighteningly
overdeveloped muscles in his buttocks.

Sami is a Superhero of modern pornography. He was Omnisexual, and
could obtain erections of historical significance with no more
provocation than the sight of naked fungus. He is a countercultural
God in Iceland, where the band Múm's song "Takk Sami" became a massive
hit following his specialist videos for that country's market, "Sami
Gives It To Various Species Of Tree That Don't Grow Here Anymore" and
"Sami Fills The Volcano."

Sami lived alone in a quiet area of Karachi. He was addicted to
Vicodin and never had a girlfriend. And now never will.

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Heh. I know I know...I'm a bizarre pervert. In the words of Oscar Wilde, "A dirty mind is a joy forever."