Friday, September 22, 2006


Was watching TV tonight and a panel of Mullahs were justifying their squashing of the Hudood Ordinance. That's when I realized the real issue here:

Everyone in the MMA is ugly.

I'm not talking hook nose or unsightly mole. I mean really truly f*ugly.

These are a hideous group of men. One of them had an overbite so severe, if he tried kissing you he'd scrape your lips off. Another looked like the unfortunate child of an illicit union between a troll and an ork who just happened to be first cousins.

And that explains everything.

First the beards. Those aren't grown out of piety or tradition, they are an attempt to hide as much of the offending growth (head) as possible. If I looked like a member of our Religious Party I think I'd be rubbing Rogain on my forehead and cheeks as well as my chin.

Secondly, the hatred for women. We all ask, "Why do they hate women so much? Why? Why? Why?" And the answer has been staring us in the face all this time, except we never noticed because we were too busy shielding our eyes. Women keep turning them down!

Don't agree? Skeptical? Okay...visualise this:

You are 14 years old. Puberty just hit you like the Bubonic Plague in Mumbai. Nipples are hardening. Underarms are sprouting. Crotch is itchy. That uncomfortable growth under your Shalwar doesn't seem to be going away no matter how many times you hit it and dammit sometimes hitting it just seems to be making it stronger. It's like the Incredible Hulk rampaging up towards your naara. And then you see her. Your first girl. They aren't easy to come by in the small town of Chak 42, but here one of them is. All long hair and bouncy jiggly parts. And all of a sudden a small flower blossoms in your chest. Running a finger over the three strands of manly mustache that adorn your upper-lip you call forth on every bit of courage that God can provide you with. You look to heroes of the past. Heroes like Timurlain and Saladin, heroes your teachers at the Madrassah taught you about while you sat on their lap focusing very hard on everything but the wrinkly liver-spotted hand that's been climbing up your thigh. There will be time to scream into the pillow later. Besides, say the older boys, it's all a part of growing was happen...oh yes! The girl in front of you! She walks with a grace that makes the goat that was your first lover seem ungainly and awkward. You wish she had horns you could seize, a beard on her chinny chin chin that you could grip. Lacking that you promise yourself a search for placeholds on her later. First to talk. Then to...

You walk up to her. A group of friends hoot and whistle at you from the corner. It's getting harder to tell if they are mocking you or hitting on you these days. Better talk to her quick. You stand in front of her, hands clasped behind your back. Then...then you ask her:

"Would you like to become my first cousin?"

Her laughter is cruel. She catches her breath just long enough to tap her long fingernails on your
upper row of horizontally protruding teeth, then bursts into another fit of giggles. Two days later you see her making out with that muscular army cadet from the military training camp down the road.

You will get back at her. One day. You will get back at her.

And then, several years later, when the wound has festered and ripened, along comes a man named Zia-ul Haq. A military man. Unlike you. But an ugly man. Just like you. And with his power and your hatred, vengeance is had.

A tad extreme I admit. But possible. Heck, looking at those Mullahs you can see they've never gotten an affirmative response to a request for a dinner and a movie. And so they hate the women that hurt them so.

So how do we fix things? Am I suggesting women start sleeping with the members of MMA. I would never condone such an action. But still,that would be an interesting NGO Charter now wouldn't it...

Thursday, September 21, 2006


It's 6 in the AM and I've just spent the last 4 hours writing Stand-up. Haven't written a word in months and then tonight my mind turns diarrhetic.

I'm sure when I get a chance to edit this stuff it'll turn out to be mostly useless, but dammit if I'm not having fun right now. Synapses are going off in my cerebellum like firworks at a Memon wedding.

I can hear traffic on the main road that runs past my neighbourhood starting to increase. Used to be birds chirping or a rooster crowing would signal dawn. Now it's the cacaphonic blast of a Truck horn.

Two more just sounded.

Diesel burning tin whales in heat. Their blow-holes jetting plumes of black smog into the Karachi morning.

I guess I'll just sleep at work.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006


Things to say:

- Finally a new Stand-Up show coming. After months of procrastinating I am finally setting up a show at LUMS. If Saad hasn't left for holiday by then he will perform as well. If he has, then I go solo. End of this month at the earliest. Time to rehearse new material. Let the anxiety begin.

- Watch The Wire. Go get the DVD sets now. I wish all TV was this good, but the fact that this exists makes up for the rest of the shit out there.

- I am still waiting on my damn DSL installation.

- Ramadan is almost here. And then Eid. I am already dreading hairy-lipped aunties and lumpy desserts.

- Watch The Wire.

- Go now.

- I you're in Lahore help me spread the word about my coming show. Will post details as soon as I get them.

Monday, September 11, 2006


Metallic stink of fever-sweat. Neural chaff causing static on the brain. Dull throbbing ache in my shoulder.

Either I played too much X-Box last night or I'm in the early stages of flu.

Probably a combination of both.

Saturday, September 09, 2006


So it looks like Maxcom is my new DSL provider. I feel so nervous. After the way Worldcall hurt me, it's quite unlike me to be jumping into bed with a new provider so soon, but I need to do this to heal the pain.

Plus Maxcom apparently picks up after itself and is gone in the morning. Lets see if it leaves a breakfast of waffles and boiled eggs or just steals my watch and silk underwear.

I have no clue what I am talking about at this point.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006


It's time for me to switch DSL subscribers. My current WorldCall connection has become about as fast and reliable as Reagan in his Alzheimers-riddled latter years.

Whats the word on good DSL subscribers in the KDA area? Orbit, who everyone sings praises of, isn't available here, which leaves me with Maxcom and Cyber Xtreme. The former is hideously expensive and the latter is Cybernet owned which makes me doubt its reliabilty.

Any advice would be appreciated. My stunted porn-collection thanks you.

Monday, September 04, 2006


Raise your hands if you work in a bank.

Raise your hands if you are in any way affiliated with the world of Banking.

Wow. That's alot of people. Okay, here's what I want you to do:

Fuck off and die.

No seriously, go to fuckery and die while there. And try to make the death a painful one.

For example, if you are using a noose to hang yourself with, try to substitute the rope with razor wire. You combine hanging and garroting. If, maybe, you decide to insert air bubbles into your blood stream, add some acid into the syringe. That'll do things juuuust right.

I have never, never in all my life, met a more repulsive and loathsome group of professionals than those associated with the Banking world. Banking is a system designed specifically to destroy any joy in your life and rob you blind of any dignity you own.

For starters, who in a bank is actually doing any work? Everyone I talk to forwards me to someone else who is even less involved with any day-to-day work processes. It seems like Banks are just a building that provide free seating to any moron off the streets who can wear a shirt and tie in the correct order.

Their work hours are ridiculous. My bank still functions on the same schedule laid out by Jebediah McBank, the goat-humping child molester from the hills of Scotland who in 1654 decided he was tired of going out and finding people to torment and would instead create a system that required innocent hapless victims to come to him. The schedule requires that doors open at 9:00 A.M., however no employees be found in any working capacity till 11:00 A.M. Those employees will mince churlishly for a full 4 1/2 minutes and then disappear bank into the dark gimp-cellar from which they had been released to feed on children's souls and the blood of virgins and rabbits.

Their fiendish policies include charging you money for not having money (even the Mafia has the decency to break your kneecaps or cut off your fingers - those I can provide when lacking money, how am I supposed to give you money when I don't bloody have any!), forwarding your call to an infinite number of drooling reprobates whose only real-world skill is not defecating in public and answering any question aimed at them with a sneer or a savage animal grunt.

The latest creative method of tormenting you that Pakistani Banking has devised it out-sourcing their call-centers to a group of lonely rapists whose only way of getting off is to hear you scream in rage at 11:30 at night. That's right. 11:30 at night. That's the time that Standard Chartered sales people decided to call me two days ago to sell me a credit card. Upon reminding them that I already have a damn credit card of theirs they then asked me to pay my bill. When I pointed out that the bill had not yet been mailed to me they said that it's my responsibility to pay it before the due date or suffer late fees. When I pointed out the due date is not for another 20 days they told me they will send someone to my office in the morning to collect cash! When I told them they can suck a weasels cock in hell they thanked me for my time and then called me half an hour later to offer me a credit card.

In the words of Bill Hicks: "Hitler had the right idea, he was just an underachiever."

I can't take it anymore. I am a calm guy who has almost never lost his temper. In the last month I have thrown a bankers keyboard across the bank floor until it smashed against a wall. I have cursed like a Punjabi in heat at two bank managers and I, just this morning, promised to beat a banker so hard his as-yet-unborn-children would have bruises.

I am also informed by friends who work in the system that Banks have policies that include kidnapping and black mail. That's the Pakistani Banking system for you. They actually will have your child kidnapped if you don't pay back the loan on their ridiculous timeline that causes your future generations 20 centuries down the line to incur interest costs.

I am hereby keeping all my money in a mattress. I also solemnly swear to treat any banker I meet as the scum of the earth that they are.

9 years ago I made an observation: Every banker I knew, graduated IBA, was grossly overweight, had thinning hair, masturbated to BMW's and was dating a girl almost 10 years younger than him. My understanding is their mating rituals involve hanging around outside the Kindergarten branch of Convent of Jesus and Mary and then emotionally tormenting little girls until they can cop a feel.

I have yet to see any evidence to the contrary.

Fuck of and die. Really.