Yeah. I wish I can tie my sister to the back of my car and drag her around Dubai until she catches fire from the friction.
When I was in university, one of those days my friend Hamza was told he would be entering the ACM competition in Cairo or Kuwait or wherver it was, that was not important. Before he left, he introduced me to an oddball by the name of HK, and not, that’s not a fashion brand. Immedietly we hit it off, and as everything that sparks quickly, it ends even quicker.
This guy had serious, serious issues, all of which are unfortunately in his rather intelligent head. When you hear him tell you his story you cannot even agree to comprehened the amount of shit this guy went to, all before the age of 17. I mean, no offence to Oprah, but this guy’s issues could beat hers everyday. But unlike Oprah, who took an active role in changing the universe, all this guy managed to change is the casing of the battery charger on his laptop (techinically he just taped it). He kept to his room, protecting himself from the throat-drying, coarse atmosphere of the Earth. He’s probably sensitive to all the CFCs and ozone depletion, although the grave of a vampire dating 1,000,000 BC would have fresher air than his room. Eventually this guy became the Ghost of the Dorm, and his infectious sleeping disorder has spread through whatever ventilation was there and rendered all the resident of the dorms wakeless puppets. Resident Evil indeed.
The only friend (other than me) who the Ghost had is Sa3adet El Safeer (translation: His Excellency) Kilo Gel. Imagine Al Gore. Now imagine Al Gore going into a gel factory and directly pouring that day’s harvest onto his pulp of hair. Now groom it with the finest brush into a mullet and you get an overweight dildo with a fancy hairdo you can only find in high-quality European porn. His Excellency Kilo Gel is also a pedophile as he preys on unsuspecting freshwomen. He is now sadly married to a woman who probably is so desperate she would marry Al Gore. The Gore in the name is there for a reason, you know.
If he isn’t the one preying on the freshwomen, it is Mr. DJ-WannaBe-OMG-Look-at-my-hair. If His Excellency had hair problems, at least it was on his head. WannaBe has body hair problems. He has only one string of hair which wraps around his whole body in a disgusting black cocoon. Being deprived love and affection in childhood tries his best to impress everyone with what he assumes is DJ. He needs to update his dictionary or he’s probably looking up the word “Fucked Up Loser” and following the definition. Heck, we might as well suggest to Oxford to have “Fucked Up Loser” as a definition to his name. I mean, if Rachel Ray can get a word as ridiculous as EVOO into a dictionary (what was she thinking?) we probably can coin a much more useful word to be used in and out of the kitchen.
WannaBe has his own circle of friends, all of whom are more mentally handicapped that a 1 hour old fetus. Two in particular are VW-On-Fire and PMSing Unpaid Bitch. VW-On-Fire has serious ego problems, and is the opposite of Wannabe. This guy got SO much attention in childhood and he doesn’t even consider the possibility that he is more worthless than a piece of dry shit with 99.9% discount in the $1 store. Talk about walking with your nose up high – this guy’s nostrils are aimed at a 90 degree angle from his body (that’s horizontal if you’re still calculating). Since of course his face would be positioned so that he only looks up, he probably hit one too many archs, mailboxes, glass doors, and a WannaBe that a brick has more IQ than he does.
Of course, each campus needs a news broadcaster, and this is where PMSing Unpaid Bitch comes into play. She literally has no former life, and she lives on other people’s miseries, and if they are happy she would make them miserable. She would create dramas that put Spanish soap operas to shame and center then around herself. Then she expects sympathy out of everyone so that they tell her their secrets, then she goes and broadcasts them like a military loudspeaker. And don’t start with when she doesn’t get laid. ROCKET FIRE!
There are just too many to mention and keep track of in one blog. I’d write about the rest some other day maybe. Till the next episode of the celebration, don’t be like any of the above people. I’d hate you. I’d hunt you down and let you eat your own placenta. Even if you’re a guy.
Anyway, so I have had this big roach invasion when I first moved in. I then realized I was the one who invaded as they were already beyond settled in the studio and have already colonized into tribes. I was greeted by the official runner from one of the tribes but, unfortunately, he never made it back.
Enraged at the loss of their runner, the leader of one of the tribes met the other leader in a summit beneath the kitchen. “We are to poop on the food and spread our germs and eggs where we can,” says one of the elders. “Soldiers, inseminate your women, we go commando.”
And so it happened. Impregnated female roaches infested the kitchen while the kamikaze soldiers raided the counter top.
After a month of battling, and many lost lives, I called in the exterminator. Apparently they have new technology now, and instead of spraying they just bait the roach with poison, and when it goes back to the nest it kills everyone there.
It didn’t work, and, in fact, for a while it decreased. Then winter came, and the reign of the roaches is over. Defeated, they migrated to another place. I emerged victorious.
Little did I know they went to regroup and call on friends.
The came back, recently, in large numbers. Sending their children to raid the kitchen and having an all out war against me.
I have had it with them. I mass massacred families of roaches in a mere few days. I want to go to the kitchen for once without being terrified.
I called on the official exterminator, my friend. He came, and, for 4.5 hours, we obliterated all tribes. Vacuumed, scrubbed, and cleaned with lots of Ariel and Clorox…. lots and lots of Clorox… and then naphthalene and silicon.
Unfortunately, there was one survivor. A most dangerous one. A mother. She escaped, last sighted scurrying to the bathroom.
The bathroom was cleaned and sealed up with silicon. But she survived.
Till this morning.
Hopefully I won’t be seeing any of them anytime soon, except a couple of survivors, if they manage not to suffocate in the silicon and naphthalene.
This New Year was awesome, although it didn’t beat last year’s at all. Last year I spent it with my entire family attending my friend’s engagement, AND the house was in the middle of the square where the New Year event was taking place. It was totally awesome.
This year was quieter. My sister went out with her own friends and I went out with mine. Instead of trying to beat traffic and fight for bookings and such, we went for a more subtle way. We went out to the beach, camped in a spot from 5 PM all the way to midnight. Had lots and lots of fun – danced, BBQed, I was made fun of as usual, took some photos.
It was incredibly cold and our bonfire was barely keeping up. It was fun, and the best part is that I spent New Year’s with people I love, not people I don’t know.