An overdue letter to AUC

Dear AUC,

Where to start? You suck. You are hands down the most corrupt and least efficient organization that I've ever been part of. Registration pains, pointless courses, too much money spent, and shallow students. You overload us with midterms and give us little to no time to prepare, and you insist on giving us our holidays in the most annoying times when all the rest of Egypt are still taking their exams, so we're forced to spend most of the holidays at home. We spend half our college experience on the bus to and from campus, or running around all over AUC to register courses because your online registration also sucks. Most of your food is overpriced and ranges from unhealthy to poisonous/inedible. I was one of the last to witness first-hand the life at the Tahrir campus, where you could also add "crowded" and "way too small" to the nice list I wrote above.
But damn it if you weren't the most important chapter in my life so far.

Through your intense suckiness, you've taught us to depend on each other. I'm not exaggerating when I say that my second family is in AUC's Petroleum Engineering department, where I know from experience that everyone will do everything they can to help you through the rough patches. I'm singling them out because they're my family, but it's not just the PENG department... even though I've met my fair share of fuckwits who I'd rather never see again, I've met amazing people worth twice their weight in gold.
I've made friendships I know will last forever. I had a second home.

I came to you a self-conscious, insecure, socially awkward teenager with a bad haircut, and I'm leaving you as a confident, insanely hot guy (sarcasm) who understands his self-worth and who is not afraid to speak his opinion, and for that I will be eternally grateful. And for all my friends - nay, family- at AUC, whether they've graduated or if they're still going through the character-building maze that is AUC, I appreciate everything you've done for me and I will miss you all, but I'm sure we'll still see each other around. And as much as I hate to admit it, I'll miss this Goddamned place more than I thought I would.

Farewell, AUC. Thank you for making my decade.
But seriously, fuck you still.

Sincerely,
Bondok (2008-2013)

Frozen

Let it goooo, let it go! Can't hold it back anymooooore

Naaaah, just kidding.

*******************************************************

I look around, but I only see
Gloom and grey and shades of white
Why does this sight fill me with glee?
Do I not fear the freezing night?

For I am lost in a wrathful storm,
Snows cover all and cold winds rage
They attack my skin, like a vicious swarm
Of angry bees, in a war they wage

"I shall not fall", I swear, I vow.
"I will not die both cold and alone
I fear no winds, I'll not move now!
My roots are deep and hard as stone"

I feel the cold, it gives me hope
And power and strength and an icy grin
For the cold is me... and I shall cope
With the furious sea of pain within.

"Storm, do your worst, I fear you not!
I've been through far worse storms than you."
The storm replies "You'll die and rot"
And the winds of vengeance blew and blew.

Curse my pride, what kind of man
Would challenge a storm and still survive?
Chased by bees, though other men ran
I walked right up and kicked their hive

Though I am strong, I've made mistakes,
For those I'll pay, for years and years.
Though my regret would fill all lakes
It would not dry their endless tears.

Winter's child and forged from ice,
I was so proud of my cold heart
I had not thought that the price
Would be paid most dearly by their part.

With that, I did kneel in the snow
"My sorrow does not appease their pain"
For every breath I take is a blow,
To the happy memories I have slain.

And thus, I shall await my fate
The king of cold and ice shall freeze
I'd make amends, but it's too late
For me to apologize on my knees.

Some men might wish for a noble death,
With the glow of the Sun, in which they bask
But I'll call for the winds with my last breath,
For a frozen death is all I ask

And though it seems so, it's not mad
For a man to pay for what he's done
and though I freeze, do not be sad
Fulfilled; I'll smile until I'm gone.

*******************************************************

For everyone I've ever hurt. I am sorry.

*******************************************************

Hollow Sapiens

"My liege, I've done it! HOORAH" Screamed Melvin, barging into the throne room unceremoniously, stumbling over his cape.

Melvin. Besotted, poxy, thrice-damned Melvin. The king had had enough of him. And who the hell still wore capes? He rolled his eyes... It was so 12th century.

"What is the meaning of this?" Asked King Hazelnut, visibly annoyed. He had no time for Melvin's shenanigans.
"My liege, I have invented a mechanical bird! Man shall take to the skies in this invention and we shall explore realms far and wide!"

Typical. Leave it to Melvin to make the most unorthodox crackpot inventions imaginable when he wasn't under adult supervision.

Melvin Whatshisface was an eccentric younger brother to one of Hazelnut's powerful lords; Lord Whatshisface. One day, said lord requested that Melvin be granted any position in the king's retinue, to "honor the family name and strengthen ties between the families". Seeing as they were very close personal friends, the king accepted, but was now beginning to suspect that Whatshisface had more sinister motives to want Melvin as far away from his castle as possible. If it wasn't for their friendship, he would have had Melvin flogged, himself.

For one thing, he was always in his "lab", working on prototypes for inventions no one asked him for. More often than not, he blew up his chamber, and sometimes they found him passed out in a pool of what looked like vomit and smelled like apple pie. Once, they found blue smoke streaming from under his door, and when they walked into the room they found him upside down in a cauldron full of ale screaming "SPRING BREAK WOOOHOOOOOO". The man was insane. Bearing that in mind, you'll understand why the king was skeptical about his revelation.

"CHARLES!" called out Hazelnut.
"Your Majesty!" A burly pikeman kneeled in front of the throne, looking apprehensive. Last time he was asked to handle Melvin, they found him sprawled face-down on Melvin's bed five hours later, wiggling his feet and talking about boys. He still had no idea what Melvin had given him.
"Escort Melvin to his quarters. It appears he has been drinking his urine again." yawned the king.
The Queen cleared her throat.
Charles was just starting to get up when Melvin pushed him. When you're wearing steel armor that weighs 50 kilograms, and a man pushes you, you fall. And when you struggle to get up, you look comically like a cockroach trying to get off its back. As Charles wiggled on the floor trying to grab hold of any edge to hoist himself up, Melvin continued his speech like nothing happened.

"My liege, I beg the honor of escorting you to the courtyard, where my invention is ready for your highness. I assure you, I've already tested it several times, and it is almost as safe as being flung from a catapult. You have my word."
The Queen cleared her throat.

"Melvin, if you pick on Charles again I will have you flung from a catapult and you can tell me how safe it is, then. He is the captain of my guard for God's sake, and if I have to overhear him complaining to William again about how "mean" you are to him, I'll have him flung with you."

"But my liege, the mechanical bird awaits! The sky's the limit! Literally!"
The Queen cleared her throat.
"Is my Queen well, or should I send for the physician?"

Queen Latifah smiled, and said: "I thank you for your kindness, your majesty, but there will be no need for that. Perhaps my liege would like to inspect this contraption for himself? Surely it would be more entertaining than Charles's worm dance"

The king groaned. Of course she'd say that, her last name was also Whatshisface.

"Very well. Charles, I command you to stop wriggling."

Out of the hall, down five flights of stairs, through an entrance hall and out into the courtyard they went. Hazelnut paused at the entrance of the courtyard, taken aback at the strange sight before him. It looked like an immense white tube, with what looked like fixed wings on either side.
"Melvin, where did you find this?"
"During one of my experiments, I tested the hydrodynamical resistance of the coefficient of-" Melvin began, but the king cut him off
"You have no idea how you summoned this, do you?"
"Not even a slight one, my liege" He seemed very proud of the fact.
"How have I not noticed this before?" Asked Hazelnut.
"My liege, I've been leading a huge workforce to flatten a very long patch of land to create a port for this device. I have flown it three times over the past week alone, and its shrieks are loud enough for the devil himself to bang his broomstick on the roof of hell yelling "SOME OF US HAVE WORK IN THE MORNING". I would not presume to give offense but you are not a very attentive king, your grace." Melvin smiled. Hazelnut wanted to punch him.
"And how have you learned to fly it?" He asked, dumbfounded.
"It came with an instruction manual!" Said Melvin with a note of derision, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
"Does anyone else know about this?" Asked the king.
"Surprisingly not, your grace. The middle ages are a very fun time to have a secret; people thought the shrieks were coming from hungry dragons and no one seems to look twice at the bird. I believe it is invisible to everyone else unless I point it out to them. Hey, don't look at me, that's the crappy story the writer came up with to justify this"
"What writer?"
"Never mind your grace, would you like to ride the bird?"

And so, the king boarded the plane with Melvin, and they took off to parts unknown. The Queen mourned her lost king for years and years, not knowing that he was living far away in the arms of five other hoes, partying all day and night with Melvin and being the old-timey equivalent of a rockstar. True Story.

The Queen blamed herself. He had disappeared the minute she asked him to see Melvin's invention, and she couldn't believe she was the reason he died. The fact that her name was Queen Latifah was no longer funny. Anyway, if she knew where he was, it would make no sense for her to mourn, right? He was alive and well, so what's the point?

Now think of the plane as a metaphor for death, and reread the story because it's funny as hell.

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Why do we hate death?
Fear of the unknown.

Think about it. If there was a way for you to contact your deceased loved ones, you wouldn't fear death. And why would you? About 3 centuries ago, travelling overseas was equal to a death sentence. You couldn't contact your loved ones, and the distance was so great that families said their goodbyes to their travelling relatives, fully expecting never to be reunited again. Does that mean that those relatives died the minute they boarded the ships? As far as their families were concerned they did, because they would never see them again... and yet they still lived in some remote corner of the planet. Far and unreachable... but alive. I, for one, want to board the ship. It can't be worse than reality. I believe that the dead live on in a place unknown to us, much like the Americas were unknown to the Europeans in the 13th century... We just don't know how to reach them. Yet.

As JK Rowling once said (through Albus Dumbledore's lips): "For the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

Modern human beings pride themselves on their rationality. We think, evaluate, and make "logical" decisions and judgments. Yet for all our intelligence, we have an irrational fear of the unknown. Death is final. Death is real. Death is a part of life. We don't seem to want to understand that... ignoring a hard truth is easy. We want to believe that we are invincible, untouchable, unyielding... But the fact of the matter is we have a very constricting limit called "death". In fact, it is a testament to sheer human willpower that we have managed to thrive for this long without imploding (well, I wouldn't say "thrive", Egypt is imploding already. But you get the gist). We survive. We build. Our species stares death in the eye every day, roaring its defiance, determined to survive... and this is why death has gone from being our limit to being the ultimate source of our strength. But even though we have left our mark on death, it will win every time. No one beats death, least of all humans, with our insignificant life spans.

We are fragile. We are weak. We are hollow.
We are human.
Embrace it.

Need For Speed: Da2ery

A very narrow opening between the car in front of him and the car to his right... He floored the accelerator, taking a sharp swerve to the right at the last second, barely slipping between them and zooming off.

Ever careless, heedless of his own safety, he never really considered the danger his reckless driving posed to himself and others. He was aware of it, of course, but it always seemed unlikely for something bad to happen to him. Much like we all choose to ignore inconvenient truths and convince ourselves that it would never happen to us, he never really gave it any serious thought. He didn't do it to look cool. He didn't do it to endanger others. No one understood.

He turned up the volume on his iPod.

People underestimate the mood-lifting effects of driving like an idiot. Sure, it's dangerous and you could kill pedestrians and you could crash your car and blah blah BLAH BLAH BLAH but oh GOD the feeling is unrivaled. Going as fast as your car would go without crashing into other cars or breaking the sound barrier is more invigorating than any drug or pill. You reach this moment of clarity where you understand that your life is in your hands... Literally. To live or to die depends on your skills, your judgement and how well you know your car.

He lifted his foot off the accelerator and banked hard to the left, using the car's momentum and centripetal acceleration to carry him past the car in front of him, and then slammed the gas pedal as hard as it would go as soon as he passed it.

Our parents are liars. They made us think we have a choice. The illusion of choice is more cruel than having a predetermined role in life, because as soon as you realize it, your life is never the same. We fool ourselves into believing that we control our destiny, but do we? We are metaphorically given a choice to either swim across the ocean, board a ship, or fly... But no one ever asks us if we want to cross that ocean in the first place. It's always assumed, because it's "the cycle of life". We are born, we go to school, we study hard to go to a good college, we study hard in college to work for a good company and buy a car and a house with a white picket fence. Then we get married, have children, have them go to school to repeat the same cycle, while we slowly age until our lives are over, leaving nothing more than a skid-mark on the highway that is life... if we're lucky.

A radar camera was coming up to his left... He was going too fast. He glanced in his rear view mirror, and there was a car behind him so he couldn't brake as hard as he wanted. He made a sharp turn to the right and slammed on the brakes, barely steadying the steering wheel with both his hands. He barely made it to the speed limit as he screeched past the camera.

Nothing steadied his nerves as much as a dangerous gamble with death. It was up to him. He was in control. No one could tell him what to do. If he were to want to crash into a wall or a truck, he would do it and bear the consequences. The stakes were high, but it was his call. His car. His life. Once he made a decision, he had to live with it. At these speeds, you can't go back. You either speed up and take the opportunity, or you slow down to a speed where you can think. You are committed to your decision. There is no middle ground. To hesitate is to die.

A Nickelback song came on shuffle. It ruined his mood. He clicked "next" on his iPod, and replied to a text message on his phone.

But as much as he loved driving, he also hated it. He hated it because he hated not knowing if today would be the day he finally took it too far, giving a random stranger the chance to deliver the worst news in the world to his family as his car lay crumpled on the side of the road. He could not be trusted with a car, especially when he was in emotional turmoil. It always made him at least thrice as reckless.

He'd always thought driving was a lot like life. We're not all equals. Some people have better cars than others, and hence they have a head-start. Literally. Also, you can let obstacles such as road bumps or traffic rules hold you back... or you can achieve your full potential. In some ways, he found driving to be a better, riskier version of life... Your every decision counts. During those few, adrenaline-charged seconds when you notice a window of opportunity up ahead and you decide to take it, you make your own reality. Rational thinking, logic, emotion... they all take the back seat and instincts take over. You're a fighter pilot, maneuvering your way out of a missile lock... or a hawk, taking a deep dive to snatch a fish from under the waves.

Say what you will, but he felt more alive doing five minutes of that than he did "living" for a few weeks.

Of course, human instincts are not always accurate.

He started gathering speed to overtake a car. As always, his car made that angry rumbling noise as the RPM cranked up and the motor tried to deal with the extra fuel input. He was just about to take a left when he noticed a car behind him on the left, right in his rear view mirror's blind spot. But he was going too fast now, he couldn't brake in time to avoid slamming into the car in front of him. He could either go left or go right. He was getting closer. He had to make an immediate decision. To hesitate is to die. He knew there was a car to his left, and there was no time to look in the side view mirror... so he banked right at 80 MPH, hoping for the best.

There was a car to his right.

__________________________________________________________________________
In the memory of Maged El-Gaweesh.

PS: This post in no way promotes reckless driving. It is purely a work of fiction, meant to portray the speed junkie's point of view. Please drive responsibly... the protagonist dies.

Mirage

There is something oddly comforting about seeing the sea, stretching out before you in all directions, cutting you out from the rest of the world. Floating on a boat made of rotting tree bark and uncertainty, held together with weeds and prayers, you truly begin to grasp the insignificance of life and the futility of our made-up struggles. You see no chance of salvation, no way you can get out of this alive.... but somehow knowing this makes it seem easier to accept.

You are lost at sea.

They never discuss this part in the movies. The traditional lost-at-sea movies usually portray hunger and thirst as your biggest enemy, but it's really your mind that you've got to watch out for. It's easy to forget how destructive one's own thoughts can be when there are no distractions around. Our modern life style has made us so used to having distractions that the prison we've come to fear the most is the prison within. Forget food or water; the physical pain is nothing compared to the havoc your own brain is probably wreaking at this point.

For one thing, you're imprisoned in a wide, open space. You can escape, for there are no bars or chains or gaolers... but where to? The sadistic irony of being able to escape but having nowhere to go is somehow even worse than being tortured in a dungeon. Before long, the calming aspect of the blue waters and the fresh, salty air is lost... to be replaced by an influx of irrational fear where you start thinking of all the possible ways you can still get out of this, much like a mouse would in a mouse trap. But it's OK, you're still calm... you take a deep breath, and start to think of anything else to take your mind off your slow-coming doom.

Well-played, brain.

Guess what? Remember all those repressed feelings and emotions you had locked up? With no one to talk to, they came waltzing back, laughing manically while metaphorically screaming obscenities about your mother. Remember that time your dad told you that he wasn't proud of you? HAHAHA HOW FUNNY WAS THAT? Or the time when your mom asked you for help and you let her down and had to deal with that look of sad disappointment in her eyes? Or that time the girl you thought you loved cheated on you? Ooooooooooh I'd hate to have been in your shoes. Every single repressed memory comes rushing back in HD quality, and you've got nowhere to run... No TV shows to immerse yourself in, no friends to complain to. Nothing.

Trapped inside, you struggle to find anything to busy yourself with, but there's nothing you can do apart from taking a swim around your boat. Your food is almost out, and you've drunk your last gulp of stale water hours ago. You're starting to panic now. You're nowhere near any signs of human civilization, and you haven't seen any boats or airplanes anywhere. You'd read somewhere that seagulls are a sign of land, but all you've seen so far is a flock of migratory birds, flying purposefully overhead in a direction unknown to you. You'd long since given up on trying to use the stars to guide you, because you were not born in the tenth century and therefore don't have the necessary skills to do that. You chuckle at your own wit for a second, and then remember again that you're slowly dying so you start panicking again.

But what's that you see? Is that a tree-top in the distance? That couldn't be an island, could it? Suddenly you get an influx of inexplicable energy, and a renewed sense of purpose. Maybe there's still a chance. Maybe you can still live! The lazy pace at which the boat is drifting is not enough anymore. You lean forward and you paddle with your hands left and right, conserving energy be damned. The harder you paddle, the further the tree seems to get... It's like the least fun game of tag in the world. You stop paddling, and the island seems to stop moving. You start feeling that you're the butt of a cosmic joke, where an all-powerful being of insurmountable power is playing cat and mouse with you. Somehow you're not laughing.

It dawns on you... It's a mirage. It's your Goddamned brain at work again. Your worst enemy.

You lean back and you collapse, exhausted and sweaty... and you can't afford to sweat. The minute you get dehydrated and start drinking seawater, it's over. The sea is as vast as ever, and the land was a lie. You stop panicking, for you've accepted your fate. Seawater is starting to seem like a good idea...

Maybe if you hadn't used up all your energy chasing a shadow, you'd have survived long enough for the passenger ship that would pass in a few hours to save you. What? You don't like the irony of it? Bleak irony's kind of my thing now.

Sometimes when you're lost in a sea of your own thoughts, unable to see land, your mind feels obliged to give you what you seek. But it's not helping you. Sometimes the lesser of two evils is a slow, painful realization rather than temporary relief at the prospect of salvation, followed by a 10,000 foot drop to reality.

Your mind is not always your friend.

A Parent's Wisdom

You know who you are. When you read this you'll feel offended, but know that this isn't directed at you, or at anyone in particular. It's just a life lesson that I'd been choosing to ignore due to its harshness.

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Storks are migratory birds, meaning that they have fixed migration patterns at certain times every year, depending on the bird species and its life cycle. For example, the White Stork lives in warm climates. It spends its winters in the African Savannah, where the temperature is warm enough, and it travels to its European breeding grounds in the summer.

One such stork was born in the winter, in the African Savannah. All the little stork knew was Africa; it had never been anywhere else. It was in its nature to migrate, but the stork had not yet been old enough to have migrated even once. The prospect had always scared the stork, because it couldn't understand why it had to uproot itself from its home every winter and go to Europe for the summer, braving dangers and predators and exposing itself to the wrath of nature, all for no reason.

The stork's best friend was a swallow, and they enjoyed each other's company. As soon as they were both old enough to fly, they soared together in the skies of Africa, ignoring their parents' frantic cries as they tried to warn them of hawks. With the bravery of the blissfully young and ignorant, they routinely got themselves dragged into tight spots. It got to the point where they were grounded twice a week, and if you had wings, you'd understand how a cage can be the worst punishment for a bird.

The stork routinely fought with its parents, trying to make them see that they didn't have to migrate. Their whole life was in Africa; their friends, their family and their home. Its parents would argue that the whole family would be coming too, and that they would be back home in a year anyway. When the stork brought up its friends, its father sighed warily with the patience only a parent can muster, and said: "We come into this world alone, and we leave it alone. Live your life, my son, and don't plan it according to other people. They won't change theirs for you, no matter how strong your relationship is".

The stork didn't believe its parents, as kids are wont to do. Its parent stressed the fact that it was not personal, but it was the circle of life, and that the stork should not be offended because its friend is leaving, because the swallow had no more hand in it than the stork... It was simply its life cycle. "Your friendship will endure, but don't expect anyone to change their life for you" was how its father put it.

And sure enough, a few months later found the flock of swallows going their own, separate way. Like the stork's father had said, the swallow had had no say in it. It left with its family, with promises that they would meet again the following summer. But words are cheap, and no one knows what would happen in six months... For all they know, one of them would die hundreds of miles away from home, and their friendship would end painfully.

The stork was devastated. It could not face the fact that its friend would just up and leave, without a second thought. Was their friendship worth nothing? Surely he could have stayed if he'd wanted to! His parents had been right about that, it seemed... life goes on, and if you don't roll with it, you'd be the sad bird in denial, left behind alone while people got on with their lives.

In a few weeks, it was time for the storks to migrate as well. The stork didn't put up much of a fight, because there was nothing left for it in Africa; its friend had left, its family would be coming with it, and Africa would be left behind, forgotten for a year.

Except fate had other plans.

His father had a close run-in with death, in the form of a hawk that almost killed him. Even though he managed to escape, the hawk had broken his wing, making migration impossible. A bird without wings is a dead bird, and the fact was not lost on the young swallow. It's mother declared that it would stay with the father, to hunt for food and feed him in his weakened state. The stork promised it would stay behind and help, but its parents refused point-blank.

"Life goes on. We will survive for weeks, maybe even months. What then? We are but two storks in the wild, and we won't last very long. We've done our part; we've raised you and your brothers, and our lives are of little import. You still have your whole life ahead of you, and we won't let you stay behind to die. Life goes on, and so will you. Go now, and who knows? Maybe when you come back next year, we'll still be here."

With that, the stork left its home, world-wary and grim. Life had made no exceptions for its parents, and it wouldn't for the young stork.

Life goes on and no one can stop it.

It's always easy to overlook this fact, because it's a harsh fact. People pretend their relationships matter; that their friends and family would always be there for them, that life is their own little Sitcom. But at the end of the day, no one would stay behind for anyone else, just like the swallow abandoned the stork, and just like the stork abandoned its parents. Because it's not abandonment.

It's life.

An Ant's Plight

An ant’s plight

It took me several hours of intense bullying to force myself to sit down and write this article. The political scene in Egypt is depressing; warring factions have turned the country into a barely functional warzone where life is put on hold every evening at 7 PM due to the enforced curfew, and tensions are running high everywhere. One can’t run into a single person who doesn’t alienate the other faction and calls them traitors, and I’ve just about had enough of it. To drive my point home, I’ve decided to construct this analogy, in the hope that it might wake someone up from the confused coma our corrupt leaders have put us in.

<PS: for all the nerds out there, this is a work of fiction and I’ve taken some liberties with the ant colony. I’ve tried to be as accurate as possible, but for the sake of the analogy, some intentional oversights have been made. Please focus on the story as a whole rather than the details.>

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An ant lives a short, hard life. From the moment it’s born, the ant slaves for its Queen, collecting food for its larvae and defending the anthill from invaders. Never has the ant questioned its existence; it lives in service of its masters, and only does what it is told. When the time comes, it is expected to gladly lay down its life for them, as well. In return, the Queen… nothing. The Queen does not bother repaying the worker ant in any way, and the poor ants are forced to live off the leftovers even though they collect all the food themselves.

Our hero is one such ant, born into slavery and raised for the sole purpose of serving the Queen. What’s a good ant name? Let’s go for Andy. Actually, worker ants are all female, so let’s call her Angy. It’s all academic, of course, since worker ants aren’t allowed to have names in this universe… they are referred to by serial numbers. However, seeing as its easier to refer to the ant as “Angy” rather than “Ant number 13246”, please humor me. Anyway, Angy wakes up every day in the early hours of the morning, heads outside the colony where she spends all day braving dangers and fending off predators much bigger than her, all to locate a food source that it can point out to the other worker ants so they can bring it back to feed the Queen and its spawn.

Working conditions were phenomenally bad. Ant colonies symbolize the epitome of Autocracy -or the “None for all, all for one” ideology, as I like to call it- and this colony was no exception. The ants worked in horrible conditions, faced cave-ins that killed tens on a daily basis, worked around the clock with barely the minimum amount of sleep required to keep them functioning and they only fed on the colony’s left-overs. However, the ants were peaceful and patient, and they did the job that was expected of them nonetheless.

On one fateful day, Angy got rudely awakened up by a soldier ant. In a dialect that consisted mostly of rough grunts, the soldier ant demanded that Angy “get back to work”. It was an interesting way to phrase it, “back” to work. Like work was the default state for Angy to be in. Angy got up, stretched, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and made her long ungainly way through the tunnel leading to the surface.

Angy had long since gotten used to the gruesome sights she saw on her way to work. Accidents everywhere; fatal ones that cost many lives. In fact, “Pile-ups” were a frequent enough occurrence that they were no longer surprising; a cave-in would happen in one of the smaller tunnels, some poor worker ants would be thrown in there to drag out the survivors and rebuild the tunnels, only to have some new section of the tunnel come crashing down, killing them instantly. Rinse and repeat. But it was OK, of course, since Angy and her ilk were all expendable… For the good of the colony.

After a tiresome journey, she was finally out in the open air. More importantly, she could see the sun… the sight always filled her with an unfamiliar emotion. Was it warmth? Hope? She didn’t know, for she had never known either. It was reassuring to see the sun, cheerful and bright and majestic, way up there in the sky. She had heard tell that the male ants, who had wings and could fly, couldn’t even reach the sun. No matter how high they soared, they never seemed to get close enough to snuff it out. It was good to know that no matter how hopeless and gaunt things might look down in the dark, bleak tunnels below, there was no way the clenched fist of corruption and oppression could reach the sun. As long as the sun reigned supreme in the sky, defiantly ablaze, there would be hope for them yet.

Angy roamed the lands all day, scouring them for food. It was almost noon now, and Angy felt the familiar twinge of fear she usually felt at that time of day. Each ant was expected to bring home a certain quota of food every day… If one ant failed to collect the amount it was ordered to get, it faced progressively harsher punishments, starting with food deprivation and ending with expulsion from the colony… Or worse, being eaten to make up for its failings.

So blinded had she been by the sun’s light that she walked into a deadly trap; a spider’s net. Angy knew that the more she struggled, the more she’d get entangled in the net. But she also knew that the spider couldn’t be far… She had to get out of the net, or her life was forfeit. Worker ants weren’t important enough to send rescue parties after.

It wasn’t long before she heard the tell-tale hiss of the spider. She started writhing in her trap, panicking now. The spider was inching closer, and she could see no way out of this. If she’d had some more time, she might have bit her way through her silken shackles… But it was too late now. She closed her eyes and awaited death’s loving embrace; a release from all her worldly worries...

Except death didn’t seem to be keen on said embrace. A bird swooped in and snatched the spider, saving Angy at the last moment. Hardly believing her luck, she struggled against her bonds and broke free, taking a few minutes to compose herself. It was hard to believe that the entire struggle only lasted for a few seconds. Shaken and scared, she got back to work. Try as she might, there was no way she could collect the food now. Out of the fire, and into the frying pan. She briefly considered defecting to another colony, but she decided to go home and face the consequences anyway.

It was no surprise that she was scolded for her lack of work. She tried to explain what had happened, but they told her all the other ants had to work under the same conditions and that there were no exceptions. She was sentenced to die. How ironic, it seemed, that fate would save her from being eaten alive, only to serve her up to her own colony on a silver platter. There must have been a reason why she had been spared earlier... "This can't be the end" She thought.

Her holding cell was a grim thing, a place for the disgraced and the damned; the place they’d been warned of since birth. To stay here for even one night was akin to being killed; no one would accept her again… she was doomed, without any chance of redemption. The soldier ants threw her into the cell and left, their footsteps receding into the darkness until she was left in the throes of her own miserable thoughts.

A voice greeted her: “Lighten up, pumpkin, it isn’t the end of the world!”

 She turned around, and gasped.

A male ant?! Could it be? Male ants’ sole purpose was to live until they were old enough to mate with the Queen, after which they mysteriously disappeared. That a creature so majestic and powerful was thrown in the holding cell was an insult to the universe… Such wings were not built for restraints.

“Are.. Are you real?” She stammered.

“As real as the Queen, may her majesty burn in hell.” He growled. He seemed friendly enough, so she deemed it safe to reply.

“That’s blasphemy! How could you say such a thing?” She asked, disbelieving what she was hearing. The Queen was a diety; whoever antagonized her was a heretic and deserved to die.

“Get your head out of your arse, pumpkin, she isn’t going to shed any tears over you, and I’d pay her the same courtesy if I were you.” He yawned, seemingly unconcerned with their impending death. “What are you in for?” He asked, scratching his back.

“I’ve failed her majesty”, She wailed. “I haven’t collected the amount of food demanded of me!”.

“Oh no! God forbid the Queen should have less food to stuff her giant abdomen” He drivelled. He had a high-born, sardonic attitude about him. All male ants were royalty, since they were needed to fertilize the Queen… Which made it all the more puzzling to see him in there. She risked a question of her own.

“Since you seem to think so little of my crime, what are you in for?”
He laughed outloud. “Is it not obvious? I’ve failed my Queen. Get it?”

Puzzled as ever, she replied: “Not really.”

“You’re going to have me spell it out, aren’t you?” He groaned, exasperated. “I ‘ve failed in my manly duties. So would you, did you see how she looks? She hasn’t exactly been paying attention to her weight lately, and for God’s sake don’t google her or you’ll hate me forever.”

She blushed. “Seriously? That’s why they’re killing you?”

“Well, it didn’t go exactly like that…” He sighed patiently. “I didn’t exactly fail her, I just told her to go… inseminate herself. I’ve always thought there was more to my life than mating with that ugly ghoul, and I stood by that belief. Should I not shape my own destiny? I told her there were plenty of other willing males, and if she could just let me leave that would be great. She was not amused. Her Fat Majesty told her guards to seize me, and here I am.”

And for the first time in her life, Angy thought. She reflected on the injustice of it all.

Why was she expected to work non-stop every day for the sake of royalty who didn’t appreciate her sacrifice?

Who was the Queen to order even the other royalty around?
Why should that defiant male pay his life for not wanting to touch that hideous creature?
Why were there no other ants revolting or questioning the system?

It was because they were raised that way, from the minute they were born. Every ant had a predetermined role in the ant society, and no one was allowed to question theirs. It was blasphemy, heresy… But is it really heresy to want to determine one’s own fate? Why did it always have to be for the greater good? WHY?

Suddenly, she was no longer scared.

Next day, she walked into that room, ready to die. But she would be damned if she didn’t have anything to say about it first.

The Queen gave the order. The soldier ant inched closer.

In a deceptively calming, sweet voice, the Queen asked: “Ant number 13246, you are hereby sentenced to die. Have you any last words?”

“Yes, my Queen, I would be heard”.

There was a collective intake of air in the room. Even the Queen looked surprised; it was just a show, being given last words… no ants were ever expected to use them. Condemned ants were usually too occupied with their own shame to want to talk.

However, since the Queen had asked the question, she had to hear Angy out for the sake of saving face.

“Speak then, and be brief, my child.” The Queen said, a cold, calculating look in her eyes. She really was ugly, Angy thought, barely suppressing a laugh.
Angy turned, facing the crowds that had gathered to watch the execution. Many jeered and booed, but she didn’t care. She would not die a minion... She would not be another worker ant, dead and forgotten. She would give them a show.

“My people! Hear me, and hear me true! For I am a worker ant, the lowest of the low, less than dirt and twice as cheap! Who am I to fail my Queen? Had she not assigned me a job?

I went out this morning, blasphemy pouring out of my every pore, resigned to defy my Queen, seeking to let her down! Who among us would turn down a chance to die painfully at the hand of their own people? Would you not have done the same?”

The crowd was shuffling. The jeering ants stopped. She would be heard, it seemed.

“Forgive my sarcasm, for I was proving a point. I went out this morning to work, and work I did. And why not? Is it not my duty to die in agony in service of my Queen? Do we not go out every day, seeking our deaths and braving the impossible for the Queen's glory?

Except today, I ran into a spider's net. I was THIS close to death, and I embraced it, for the sake of the Queen! I thought there could be no greater honor! But alas, cruel fate chose to rescue me in the form of a bird, snatching away the spider and saving my life. But is there an end to my blasphemy? No! I dare to NOT bring Her Majesty the food she demanded, after almost losing my life! Who am I to defy the Queen?

The lowest of the low, and twice as cheap."

The Queen was furious. She knew she would be tortured to pay for her insolence, but she was past caring. The crowded ants were nervously looking at each other, wondering how they could quietly slip out of the room.

"Yes, I have the courage to say it. Is it not true? Our lives count for naught! We are but pawns, to be sacrificed for the greater good of the colony! We all die that they might live! Is it not our duty?

BUT WHO MADE IT OUR DUTY?

They did! They bred and raised us like pets, a means to an end! We are not worth her pity!"

The Queen had had enough.

"Enough of this blasphemous talk! Guards, take her away!"

The guards started towards Angy, But the crowd booed at the Queen... As well as some of the soldier ants. Unprecedented. Visibly shaken, and desperately trying to control matters, the Queen told the guards to stand down, and spared a look of pure loathing to Angy, silently promising a very long and painful death.

"You see! You see the oppression and hatred flowing from her eyes! Her Majesty expects us to do as we're told, sparing her no effort, yet she refuses to pay us for our work! We brave dangers and die by the hundreds every day, yet do we get appreciated? Do we ever get forgiven for missing a day's work? When was the last time you had a sick day? Is it not our right? ARE WE NOT FREE?

OF COURSE WE'RE NOT FREE! SHE ENSLAVES AND CONTROLS US! RISE UP, MY BRETHREN, RISE AND FIGHT FOR OUR FREEDOM, THAT WE MIGHT SEE BETTER DAYS!"

Faster than she believed possible, a guard was on top of her, his mandibles a millimeter from her face. Then he was gone, replaced by the dashing figure of the male ant she'd met in the holding cell... But the soldier ant was coming back.

"GO!" Roared the male ant, buzzing towards the soldier ant. 

The room was chaos. The soldier ants were overwhelmed, the crowds viciously attacking their masters, riled up by Angy, determined to stand as one against the oppressor. They fought them out of the room, recruiting other ants as they backed the soldier ants towards the entrance of the anthill. They took many casualties, but they pressed on until the soldier ants disengaged. The Queen sneered, and said: "You haven't seen the last of me", before the soldiers carried her out of the entrance and out of sight.

Now it was time to build. It was time to make a new name for themselves.

But Angy did not want to be in power, and there were no larvae ready to assume the role of a Queen.

It goes downhill from here.

Ants from a rival colony decided to install their Queen instead, waltzing into the colony one day despite all opposition. Even so, the worker ants -glad for an end to the confusion- let her assume the role and hoped she would be an improvement.The new Queen turned out to be as bad as the old one, in the sense that she gave promises and never lived up to them; at least the old queen gave no such promises. It made deals with the rival ants, and it was only concerned about consolidating its own power by expelling the ants that rebelled, who faced certain death once exiled and alone.

The ants hated this new queen so much that they eventually decided to overthrow it as well, and bring back the old queen. But the new Queen had had a taste of power, and it wouldn't budge. It called in the colony of rival ants, leading to a violent clash where hundreds of ants were killed.

In the corner, we can see Angy and the unnamed male ant crying over the failed uprising. Through petty deals and treacherous intentions, the old queen and the new queen stubbornly destroyed both colonies by refusing to back down, and insisting on using the uprising for their own benefit. Now the colony was shattered; its once united inhabitants now divided and destroying each other. Perhaps that was the Angy's fault; one cannot go against their destiny, for an ant is an ant, destined to forever have a tyrant queen. Had they had gone against their purpose? Did they deserve to be doomed for daring to decide their own fate?

Somewhere along the road, the other ants had forgotten that it was never about the game of thrones; it was about freedom and equality. It was never about removing the Queen; it was about fixing the tyrannical system. It was never about revenge; it was about justice.

And now the ant colony was too busy murdering itself to notice the giant anteater looming outside... It had always been chased off, but now the colony was in no position to defend itself. Salivating at the chance it had always been waiting for, the anteater went for a snack.

Fairy tale

A lad he was, carefree and young,

So full of life, so full of joy!

So why is his story about to be sung?

Was he not but a foolish young boy?

For all you know, his name was Jim,

His heart was pure and bright as gold

He loved his life; it was not grim,

The life of a seventeen year-old

Until one day, he met a girl,

Her smile was sweet, her eyes were blue

Her hair was brown with a slight curl

Oh, how she moved! With grace, she flew!

He was in love; a force so strong

an endless maze, with no escape

It was no crime; it is not wrong

for love to take any form or shape

Slow and sure, his love for her grew

I know it is cheesy, but bear with me

He said he loved her, and it was true

He couldn't believe it when she did too

He'd had no clue; if only he'd known

He'd have run so fast and never looked back

He was entranced; his mind was blown

His heart paid no heed to its gaping crack

And sure enough, with no delay

The beautiful devil, in human form

Broke his heart like a pot of clay

And left him alone, in a vicious storm

He asked himself: "Was it my fault?"

"Should I not try to forget and forgive?"

But his shattered heart was no vault

For him to store her betrayal and live

With a heavy heart, he blocked her out,

Tired of the painful lies and games

He was too weak; for there is no doubt

That a moth cannot embrace the flames

For years and years, he was in pain

A pain for which there is no cure

And though he tried, it was in vain

"Will I survive?" He was not sure.

"Beware of love", it was once said,

"For it is fickle and vain and blind...

Don't follow your heart; and think instead,

For the sake of health and peace of mind"

"But wait!", you say. "How does this end?"

Fairy tales do not end in pain and tears!

I say you're right, my attentive friend

But alas, there were no laughs or cheers

For life is hard and the years are cruel

They heal not a man's deepest wounds

For what is time, if not a tool,

To fuel the fire as one's heart fumes?

And so it ends, with due regret

And a heart destroyed beyond repair;

Where she still lives, and will not let

His heart get a single gulp of air.

*************

Five things you can tell about the Egyptian people from the current state of affairs

First of all, I’d like to start off by wishing you all a happy Ramadan and hoping it was the spiritual and socially active month we’ve all come to know and love.

The past three years have had so many events crammed in them that the future Egyptian Schools’ curriculums are probably going to have entire school years dedicated to studying them and learning from the mistakes made (or so I hope). What I’ve come to notice, however, is that a lot of what happened sheds a light on the Egyptian persona. Through all the ups and downs, Egyptians have consistently reacted the same way to everything, to the point where you start suspecting that someone, somewhere, is handing them scripts.

This article is objective and will in no way discuss politics, but rather point out five very obvious things you can tell about Egyptians just by watching the news.

PS: Of course it will discuss politics. I am Egyptian, after all.

1-      Egyptians are sarcastic and funny

To start with the most obvious one first, anyone who was anywhere near Tahrir Square or even Facebook would know this. We Egyptians excel at looking at everything in the most sarcastic way possible, joking our way through life’s major crises when other peoples would probably be crying at home. However, this also makes it difficult to follow authority figures when they adopt certain policies –no matter what political ideologies they follow- and that would be problematic should a national crisis arise where the people just need to flock behind a leader.

Do you think Churchill was a popular leader? Think again.

The media makes it look that way because all British people supported him as their authority figure, and they put their differences aside and focused on the war at hand. However, Churchill was a heavy drinker and bat-shit insane, as obvious from the fact that he wanted to restart WWII by arming the defeated Germans and pitting them against the newly victorious Soviet Union. The freaking operation was even called “Operation Unthinkable”. Churchill was removed from office months after the war was over.

My point being that with the general atmosphere, we would never support a national leader like the British did in WWII, and when you really think about it, it’s our loss.

2-      Egyptians forgive and forget easily, and they like being lied to

Barely a year ago people were protesting against SCAF. All of a sudden, because the armed forces removed a wildly unpopular president, people became very eager to support them and forget all the crimes they themselves had accused them of doing. Suddenly everyone believed all claims that everything bad in the country was the Muslim Brotherhood’s doing, and the old regime started making a gradual sneaky return to the political scene, blaming all their failings on the Brotherhood. And what’s worse, people are buying it. I’m not here to state a political opinion (yeah I am), but this showcases that we, Egyptians, live in denial, and we’d rather bury our heads in the sand than face our problems. We’ve taken “it’s easier to hear a sweet lie than a bitter truth”  to the whole new, Egyptian level of ”HAHAHA I LIKE BEING LIED TO, ba2ollak eh, sme3t 3an Q-net?”

3-      Egyptians like gossip and rumors

We’ve all heard them, and we’ve all probably mindlessly shared one or two pieces of unconfirmed news on our Facebook walls. Things like “Khairat El-Shater was paid 8 billion dollars to sell the Sinai to Israel” or “Morsi is Jewish” or “El-Baradie received a billion dollars from the Israeli Prime Minister to buy him toilet paper”, You name it. Before you know it, the rumors spin wildly out of control and get blown way out of proportion, morphing into giant ugly lies armed with a huge shotguns, which they pummel you over the head with rather than shoot you, because they’re also very stupid. Over time, the rumors become cold hard facts, engraved into every Egyptian’s brain, and people would calmly recite the facts and figures as calmly and nonchalantly as if they’d studied them in history class.

 If there is one thing you can be sure of, it’s how far rumors can spread in Egypt –to the point that the armed forces have to outright deny some of them- and how creatively destructive those rumors can be.

4-      Egyptians are world-class conspiracy theorists

We all know Egypt is a very strategically important country. However, we Egyptians tend to believe that everything is a plot to destroy Egypt. If two Iranians came to Egypt on vacation, for example, then they’re automatically preaching their Shiite beliefs to bring down Egypt. If army generals talk to American officials, then they’ve agreed on some diabolical plan where Egypt becomes an American puppet state. If Netanyahu were to blow his nose in the general direction of Egypt, then Israel is plotting to invade Egypt. This is also where rumors make an outstanding debut in the Egyptian society, where warring factions dub each others “traitors” or “heretics” and spin wild, game of thrones-style tales of betrayal that are rarely true.

5-      Egyptians want to have a pharaoh.

We all want someone we can blindly trust and follow in times of crisis. However, we Egyptians take this to a whole new level, where that person barely comes short of being a deity and his/her (mostly his) supporters would go to insane heights to make sure they come out on top. Proof? All the “Supportive demonstrations” we constantly have all over Egypt, which I’m sure are unheard-of anywhere else in the world. It’s OK to trust your chosen leader, but to blindly refuse to hear any criticism of said person is to create a pharaoh, an art we seem to have perfected. 

We’ve lived in an autocratic state for so long that people didn’t know how to behave when they were presented with democracy. When the cage’s door was opened for the raging lion that is the Egyptian people -instead of leaping out of the cage and roaring its defiance for the whole world to hear- the lion whimpered and dragged the whip to its fallen tamer, shuffling pathetically back into the cage of its own accord. The old regime is back, the police state is back, the army has the country in a firm grip… and the people are out in the streets, cheering and celebrating their imprisonment.

In the words of the great Egyptian leader, Saad Zaghloul: “Mafish fayda” or “All hope is lost”.

6-      Egyptians don’t know how to disagree with each other

Plain and simple. I, for example, support El-Baradei. If he were incompetent, I would support his removal. Sounds logical, right? If it does, then you’re not Egyptian, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE YOU TRAITOR, EGYPT WILL NEVER FALL TO YOUR MALICIOUS PLANS.

Egyptians do not, and cannot, understand that it’s OK to disagree. As a general rule in Egypt, you either agree with someone, or you’re their mortal enemy and they would raise a giant mob and burn your house down. Seriously, it happens. 

If all I said was right, then the following would hold true:

Point 1 would mean that the liberals are currently making fun of the Muslim Brotherhood leaders, and the Muslim Brotherhood supporters are making fun of the liberal leaders... And the whole world is laughing.

Point 2 would mean that people are buying up any excuses the Armed Forces come up with.

Point 3 would mean that each side is coming up with destructive rumors about the opposing side.

Point 4 would mean that everyone is saying that the US and Israel are orchestrating all the unrest.

Point 5 would mean that half the Egyptian people are supporting El-Sisi, and the other half is supporting Morsi and Badei’.

Point 6 would mean that everyone hates everyone, and no one accepts any opposing opinions.

Isn’t that kind of EXACTLY what we’re doing?

Ice-cream Swirleys

"I think she likes me. Doesn't she? I think she does. What do you think?"
"Stop being a wuss and man up."

Ha. Brian Brody just called me a wuss. The guy whose unfortunate initials were B.B - which inspired his creative high-school class mates to nickname him "BeeBee", "Baby", "B-cups" and "Boobjob" (which had more to do with his flabby man-breasts than his initials) - thinks I should man up. The irony. I started to formulate a witty retort, but I was overwhelmed by the vast array of names I could call him and  ended up responding with an elegant, timeless "Shut up".

I'd just met my long-time friend/crush/almost-girlfriend/I-don't-know-what-to-call-her after a couple of months of chilly conversations of decreasing frequency, and even though I'd moved on (or I'd thought I did) a long time ago, every time I met her it was like there was all this tension and unresolved feelings left hanging in the air, and the fact that Brian kept doing the Gangnam style dance behind her back to force me to laugh didn't help. It had always been an unresolved story-line, a will they/won't they kind of dance that we did every few months, only for one of us to get in a relationship and start being distant, which was OK since an explosive break-up usually followed and the cycle started all over again. I wasn't even sure I liked her that much, but the thrill of the chase and the intimacy of the dance kept me hooked. That time, when we met, I could definitely feel something. Maybe I was having feelings for her again. Or maybe I shouldn't have had that last burrito. At any rate, I still couldn't shake off the feeling that maybe that time something might happen.

"I thought that went great, Ben!" Piped up the ever-happy Sarah. She was the only girl who willingly hung out with our band of inappropriate, that's-what-she-said-joke-abusing, online-game-playing geeks. Each of us had a separate life on his own, with other friends and girlfriends, but when we got together we always reverted to the fifteen-year-old teenagers that we were at heart. Four years at college hadn't helped with our immaturity. In fact, the older we got, the tighter we seemed to cling to our old ways, refusing to accept the responsibilities that came with adulthood.

"I say you move on, mate." Suggested Kirk, always Captain Obvious. "It's been years, and honestly, you could do much better, you're too good for her". Tut, tut, tut. Kirk... Sweet, lovable, idiotic Kirk. Again, always stating the obvious. Kirk was the relationship specialist in our pack. Even though he was five foot five, balding, and of square build, none of which (as I was told) was very appealing to females, he'd been in more relationships than all of us combined, Sarah included. Or as he liked to put it- or rather, boast at the top of his lungs to anyone who would listen- "I'd get more tail on a deserted island in the pacific ocean at 3 AM in a bomb shelter 50 feet underground than you'd all get at a fat cougar reunion with an open bar". Hmm, maybe next time I could make a joke about the tail he got on that island being of the variety usually found attached to squirrels. I made a mental note to snap that at him the next time he brought it up.

"Don't listen to him, Ben, go get her.. you'd be great together" Said Damon.
"Oh, what do you know? It's not like you've been with a girl in five years." Snapped Kirk.

That was uncalled for, and way below the belt. Damon's long-time girlfriend had dumped him a few months before they went to college. Even though he'd been a high-school jock and a pretty boy who was extremely popular in high school, he never picked on anyone. He was the kind of guy all the girls wanted to be with, and all the guys wanted to be like. When she'd outgrown the whole high-school-jock boyfriend phase (even though he was much more than that), his girlfriend had preferred to move away to a far-away college, where she'd hoped she'd find a rich douche she could eventually marry. Damon had never got over her and stopped dating ever since. It was a low blow from Kirk; he knew it was a sore spot.

"Come on, Kirk" I said. "Let's keep this civil. Just because he owned your arse with a sniper rifle in Call of Duty on your own X-Box, in your own living room, doesn't mean you get to lash out at him."
Kirk was an extremely sore loser. I could see that he wanted to reply, but he bit back what was probably a hurtful retort and shrugged.

"Who cares? I know I don't". Said Mitch, the final member of my entourage. Yes, it's my entourage. No, I'm not a self-centered narcissist. You know what, do you want to hear the story or not? No? Too bad, I'm talking, anyway. And I'll have you know that it's very funny story. Oh, NOW you want to hear it? Fine, but not another word out of you... <crickets chirping> That's better.

Mitch was the most entertaining of all of us. He was the weird, sardonic loner who nobody really likes but who admittedly makes outings a lot more fun. He practically lived in that weird part of YouTube, and frequently came up with those weird videos you'd have restricted access to if you have a life. A master of spontaneity, he'd randomly disappear at times and turn up an hour later, drunk out of his mind, with an Iraqi passport in his back pocket, no recollection of where he'd found it and no idea whose it was. The last name in the passport was Hussein, though, so it might have belonged to someone related to the late Iraqi president. You did not hear this from me.

It was ironic, Mitch giving relationship advice. Mitch was the bluntest, meanest, out-rightly-frankest bloke you'd ever meet. His father was in the army, and that's the kind of upbringing he'd got. And as we all know, blunt honesty with females of the human variety tends to go rather.. unappreciated. In other words, it was a running joke that Mitch couldn't get laid in a women's prison with an armful of pardons. Mitch maintained a healthy, albeit slightly abusive relationship with his right hand, which he acknowledged, adding that he sometimes cheated on it with his left hand. Yeah, we didn't like the joke when we heard it, either.

Presently, no one replied to Mitch. Rather uncreatively, faced with the daunting prospect of choosing a hurtful nickname for Mitch, we'd opted for "Bitch". Sometimes more obvious equals funnier. As it were, if you'd just heard a negative remark from someone you called "Bitch", there's often no need to voice a retort at all. His name is "Bitch". There's no competition, he'd lost forever.

We walked in silence, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. Unwillingly, Mitch had brought to my mind something I'd been choosing to overlook. This relationship, if it were to ever happen, would never live up to my expectations. I don't think I'd even wanted it. And the more the ordeal dragged on, the more crushed I'd eventually be when I finally had to move on. As painful as it had seemed, I would have to call Rachel (her name was Rachel, something which BeeBee seemed to find very funny. He called me "Ross" for weeks after he'd found out) and tell her that this chapter of my life is over. "There's plenty more fish in the sea" I thought. Although a lot of these fish are either in inaccessible areas of the ocean, or carnivorous, or too small, or too poisonous, or too big. Come to think of it, that's a terrible metaphor. "There's plenty more ice-cream flavours" seemed like a more appropriate choice. I'd always thought Rachel tasted like a quite unorthodox blend, like "Cinnamon and grass ice cream" or "Tuna-Banana swirleys". Is there a kind of ice cream called a "Swirley"? I think it sounds rather ice-creamish, don't you think? There should be more swirleys in the world of ice cream. I should make a mental note of that. Hmm, too many mental notes. I should write this down.

Now what should I do? Oh I know, my blog!


Well, that ended rather abruptly. Very unaccommodating of me. Dreadfully sorry, I'm sure. In the interest of providing even a little bit of closure I offer you this: " I moved on and the girl got incinerated in a terrible fire which may or may not have been started by our very own Mitch. You did not hear this from me."

No? It seems like an appropriate ending. Well, your opinion doesn't count, I'm writing the story. Don't you take that tone with me... Fine, I'll work on the ending. Seriously, some people just don't understand theatrics. There might be more entries in this story, so stay tuned. Or, more appropriately, bookmark this page. Ha ha.

(I have no idea why I'm being British. But I think it's a rather appropriate development, don't you agree?)

Salmon-chip Cookies

Never thought I’d see myself
(A giant in red and white and black)
Reduced to a flag on someone’s shelf
For them to trade me forth and back

For years and years, I’d grow and thrive
The banks of the Nile were a fertile land
Like ants in a hill and bees in a hive
My men achieved goals great and grand

They reaped the fruits of what they sow
My men were tall and dark and proud
With a sword and an axe and a shield and a bow
They gave not an inch of sacred ground

Not long ago, in ages past
The world would look at me in awe
I never doubted I would last
Until the end of time and law

Pyramids and a sphinx stood guard for a while
By Ebn Al-‘as I was then claimed
For a new dawn on the banks of the Nile
And scholars studied and soldiers trained

For centuries, I was the Arabs’ shield
Helping them in peace and war
For proud Egyptians would never yield
As long as an enemy remains at the door

But in modern times, I have grown ill
Plagued with men both vile and lame
Traitorous men, who for a dollar bill
Would defile me and destroy my name

They use religion as a means
To move the masses as they please
They make less sense than a tin of beans
Or a batch of Salmon-chip cookies

So Egyptians everywhere, hear the plea
Of an Egypt in most dire need
Of loyal men, both strong and free
To put an end to lust and greed.