Tag Archives: Hotspur

Top 10 Responses by Stars Asked to Become the Face of Arab Celebrity Activism

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Darfur has George Clooney; Tibet, Richard Gere. With the people’s call for democracy, which celebrity could best serve as the Arabs’ star ambassador?

10. Paris Hilton, “Um, ya- like, anything, like, to help the Mausoleums.”

9. Victoria Beckham, “Do saline implants evaporate in extreme desert heat?”

8. Brad Pitt, “And adopt an Arab?”

7. Tiger Woods, “Can you sleep with ALL four wives at the same time?”

6. Justin Bieber, “Uh, underage boy in the Gulf? Let me get back to you.”

5. Tom Cruise, “If I get to play myself in the movie version & the sequel.”

4. Jessica Simpson, “I’d love to! I’ve never been to Mexico!”

3. Sarah Jessica Parker, “Sorry, busy writing ‘Sex & the City III: It’s Getting Almost as  Old as Us’.”

2. The Artist Formerly Known as Prince, “Hmmm…depends on how my name translates in Arabic.”

1. Lady Gaga, “Why not? It’s not like my meat dress is made of pork.”

 

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Deja Vu… Sarah Palin: I Can See Egypt from Alaska!

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As the crisis in Egypt comes undone at the seams, with people refusing to step down and the Morsi regime slowly losing ground, on March 28 10, 2013, Barak Obama summons all of the greatest minds in US media, finance and politics, of past and present, in hopes that such a non-partisan/private sector committee can solve the issue once and for all, in the very familiar and distinct Deja Vu fashion of US Foreign Politics:

Obama: Okay, before we start, let’s have a breakfast prayer, asking God to help us come to a solid solution.

Dick Cheney: SHOOT ’em!

G W Bush: Cheney, now, relax and hold on to your pace maker. First of all, we gotta figure out why all those people are protesting in Indiana.

Condoleezza: Sir, nothing’s happening in Indiana.

G W Bush: Conde, I think that Gheri Curl cream’s straightened your hair, and tangled up your head. There’s some BIG ASS protesters in some square down there in Cairo.

Conde: Cairo, EGYPT… not Cairo, Indiana, Sir.

G W Bush: Damn. Is that right? Then why all them people in Indiana pissed off?

Conde: Sir, that’s because we screwed them over economically. Indiana, along with the whole country’s pretty miffed about it.

G W Bush: (Giggling) Oh ya. Greenspan, man. Did you fuck up on that one.

Greenspan: Well, we could always set off the Weapons of Mass Destruction we found in Iraq and annihilate the Morsi regime once and for all. Wait- we can’t use them CAUSE THEY DON’T EXIST.

G W Bush: (Giggling) Oh ya. Man, did I fuck up that one.

Sarah Palin: I can see Egypt from Alaska, and everything looks just hunky dory there.

Colin Powell: No, you can see Russia from Alaska. Egypt is in North Africa.

Palin: Uh, HE-LLO. I can see Egypt from Alaska. On SATELLITE TV. DUH!

Katy Courek: Sarah, then how could you not see the mass protests all over CNN, BBC and FOX News?! What the hell do you watch?

Palin: Well, I watch ALL stations, you know… YouTube… and uh, ALL the… other ones.

Cheney: Shoot ‘em!

Powell: Listen, Cheney- take a beta blocker and chill the fuck out. This isn’t a weekend quail hunt.

Dan Quayle: (Jumps up and screams)

Bush Senior: (Taking Dan Quayle on his lap and stroking his hair) There, there, READ MY LIPS—you just woke up from having a bad dream.

G W Bush: Pussy.

Hillary: GOD DAMN IT. Can you people focus. I’m menopausal, having hot flashes and besides laying the laws, my husband lays every other woman in America but me! I don’t have time for this crap.

Biden: (Looking at Obama) HA! I win! Pay up Barak! Told ya Hillary was a woman!

Obama: (paying Biden) Gosh darn it! Michelle’s going to go bonkers at me for losing money on another bet.

Bill Clinton: (Doobey in hand, puffing but not inhaling) It’s sad Michelle wears the pants in the family. If she wore a skirt, you could give her a little action more often and she wouldn’t be so tight.

(White House Press Secretary, Jay Carney, enters)

Carney: Mr. President, the press is really up my butt to get some statements regarding the Egypt situation. They are especially curious to know what our stand is regarding the increased tyranny of the Muslim Brotherhood regime.

G W Bush: Barak, you gotta be tough with those Muhamedians. Just like I did with Sad Ham Who Sane in Eye Rack.

Obama: Perhaps I should make a statement myself. Hold on guys. Be right back.

(Exit Obama to Press Briefing Room).

Obama (to the press): We believe that Egypt is stable—the only thing that is unstable is the country. Therefore, we would encourage Morsi to resign, but not leave; to not use violent means, but to use force; to spread democracy, but to restrain opposing factions; Egypt has always been our ally, and will always remain our bitch. That’s all I can confirm right now. Thank You.

(Obama goes back to the committee).

Hillary: So, what happened?

Obama: Took a firm stand on spreading democracy. This administration DEFINITELY believes in democracy. Democracy is the very reason WE ARE HERE RIGHT NOW AS LEADERS OF THE PEOPLE.

Bill Clinton: (Doobey still in hand, giggling): Damn, imagine if Democracy REALLY WORKED? Everyone in this room would be so screweddddddddddd…

Colin Powell: Back to Egypt—how are we going to deal with this.

Alan Greenspan: If it were me there, I’d have just fucked up their economy and we’d have them by the balls.

Obama: Actually, we’re already accomplishing that through the IMF. By the way Christine Lagarde, as head of the IMF, we never did thank you for your efforts to break the country.

Lagarde: Well, I can’t take all the credit. The IMF is structured to screw them over.

Biden: Well, hey, if we nip Egypt—all that’s really left is Bashar and Syria and we’ll own the Aye-rabs, all of them…’Syria-ously’.

Conde: Hardy har har… ‘Syria-ously’…that is a good one, Joe.

GW Bush: Huh?

Hillary: (sweating buckets of water) GOD DAMN IT! It’s more humid in here than under Monica Lewinski’s dress! Someone turn on the GOD DAMN air conditioning!

Conde: Hillary, the humidity is really coming from Lewinski’s dress. Your husband’s been under it for the last 5 minutes.

Hillary: GOD DAMN IT, BILL! It’s like walking a poodle in heat that humps every lamp post he meets!

Cheney: JUST shoot ‘em! Just shoot ‘em! Just- (Cheney drops dead on the ground).

G W Bush: Well, lookee there. Cheney died…again.

Powell: I really think we have to handle this thing in Egypt very carefully.

Obama: POWELL! YOU ARE A GENIOUS! That is our strategy: WE WILL HANDLE THE EGYPT SITUATION WITH CARE.

Palin: Oh! I’m a Hockey Mom! A pit bull with lipstick! I can give you some really really neat tips from Home and Garden Magazine on how to handle it with care!

GW Bush: I still don’t get it. ‘Syria-ously’?

Bush Senior: For Christ’s sake nitwit, it’s a pun!

GW Bush: Really? Is that so? Like a buttermilk or more like a Kaiser?

Lagarde (to Bush Senior):  How many times did you drop him on his head when he was a kid?

Bush Senior: Once just once. He dropped himself a few times after that.

Obama: Great then. We know what to do. HANDLE WITH CARE. Now, let’s end this meeting with a group prayer.

(All together): “God, please grant us the financial power to corrupt the countries we can, and to oppress the ones we can’t. And please grant us the wisdom to know the difference.” Amen.”

Obama: Okay! Now a group hug! (They all gather and hug).

Conde: We’re missing Bill.

Hillary: (Totally relaxed and happy): No we’re not… FOR ONCE… he’s under MY SKIRT.

On Several Given Mondays…

She struggled with her romantic life almost as much as she struggled with her alarm clock come Monday morning.

Her alarm clock, though, did worked and thus, did not fail expectations.

Monday morning minutes were like dog years, each one equal to 7 more minutes of sleep. On Monday morning, 5 extra minutes to snooze meant just a little over 30 more minutes in bed. It wasn’t really her thing, Mondays.

And if an iPhone contact list was indicative of a track record, neither was romance her thing. In her mind, both were for the over-eager, the over-enthusiastic and the under-alcoholic.

It’s not like she hadn’t experienced what most romantics do; a quickened heartbeat, her stomach flipping and being swept off her feet, into a daze.

Romantics get that way after having been smitten. She got that way after being bitten.

By a tarantula.

But that’s a whole other story.

Fanning her garcon (cedilla on the ‘c’ omitted by her hairdresser as he proposed to her to try the avante garde do) fringe from her face, she threw up the duvet, slid sideways across the lower end of the bed and almost dropped to her wake, only to be saved by her feet landing in their slippers.

She so didn’t want to brush her teeth. But, unless she brushed her teeth, she couldn’t drink her coffee. If she didn’t drink her coffee, she couldn’t smoke her cigarillo. And if she didn’t smoke her cigarillo she couldn’t… do anything.

The internal ‘to brush or not brush’ dialogue was commonplace every Monday morning. You’d think she’d have ceased such a debate, learning at least 1020 Mondays ago that she always loses and that her anal self always wins. But no. She would forever be a goldfish circling fishbowl arguments in her head.

Which included arguments on romance. ‘To fall or not to fall in love’. The irony being of course, she was tackling a matter of the heart through the density of her mind. She may have taken her father too literally when he said everything was ‘mind over matter’, which she also applied to all things romantic. Little did she know that today, on this very Monday, not only would she lose the ‘to brush or not to brush’ argument, but that she’d also lose the ‘to fall or not fall in love’ one too. Except this time, it wasn’t her anal self who would win.

He would.

And a tomato, a left boot and a street vendor named Yacoub would bring about his victory.

Brushing her teeth with her left hand, she used her right hand to jack the rusty faucet open, eject the kettle lid ajar, and fill it with hot water. Her mother told her she should always fill it with cold water, because ‘they’ say it is better.

(When she gets minimally rich, she intends to hire a private detective to find out who exactly ‘they’ is. Because it appears they know EVERYTHING).

Placing the kettle on its plastic base and switching it on, the water boiled within minutes and moments later she was asymmetrically sprawled over her Velcro couch, sipping her coffee.

Before you cringe at the thought of a Velcro couch, you need to know she was only a secret shopper. Commissioned on an assignment basis to go to various retail establishments, resort hotels, boutiques, restaurants and the likes to evaluate their level of service, she wasn’t earning very much. Yet, it did get her access to many nicer things not made of Velcro. Case in point- her Ed Hardy lighter.

It was anything but light though. It towered on her wood coffee table and every time she reached for it to light up her cigarillo, technically it counted as a tricep rep. By the end of a usual day, she’d have done at least 2 reps of 15.

Completing the day’s first rep, she swung the top of the Ed Hardy lighter back and ignite a large torch-like flame with a blooming blue base that had tie dye hues of orange and yellows at the tip.

Ah. That first puff. The Monday morning cigarillo was a nebulizer; inhaling, she felt it expand her lungs.

This would certainly keep her continuing to breathe until Friday… a feat her asthma inhaler could surely not accomplish.

(Leave it alone. The last thing you want is to swim in her fish bowl logic).

She only had one assignment today. It was to go to a local cafe that had a soft-launch a month ago. She’d never heard of it, but then again, she wasn’t hip enough to really be qualified to hear about it.

Since she had scheduled to go there at lunch time, she figured that gave her at least 3 hours to go exchange the pair of boots she had received for free with her last assignment. Calculating time for traffic on her way there and then back to the cafe, she figured she had enough time to exchange the boots as she’d only be 35 minutes late for her lunch reservation.

Time was a cheap currency in this part of the world. Cairo’s convenient like that.

Gelling her hair took all of 3 minutes, 2:55 of which was spent on one cowlick lock in the middle of crown. She slipped into her Levis, smirking; though her anal self won ‘to brush or not to brush’, this time she had won ‘to change or not to change underwear’.

(Her smirk didn’t really completely distract her from her anal self’s disapprovingly reprimands for her triumphant stale choice).

Within a quarter of an hour, her toe rings were on her toes, her finger ringers were on her fingers and her feet were slung into their Birkenstocks.

Stepping into the street, before she could even hail a cab, one stopped for her. No, she wasn’t THAT attractive. But THAT is how many cabs the city was flooded with.

Cairo’s convenient like that.

Doing the opposite of a Lady Di legs-together entrance into the cab, she swung her limbs inharmoniously to balance herself as the driver pulled off with her left leg still in contact with the street pavement.

And just when you’d think she’d be thankful that she had gotten her left leg inside the cab while still attached to the rest of her, she cursed in broken Arabic, switching to English curse words that weren’t very English in their ending with a preposition.

The cab wasn’t air-conditioned!

‘Are you SURE it isn’t working?’

‘Lady, if it was working, would I not work it?’

Now, that is a logical response, but given logic was suspect as it was not culturally common, she persisted in her interrogation.

‘Is it on?’

‘You want me to turn it on?’

‘No, let’s see if it works in off mode.’

That’s what she said in her head. What she really said was, ‘Yes.’

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

The air coming from the conditioner sure sounded as if it was napping. But, at least it was exhaling cool air.

‘I swear, Lady, it wasn’t working a half hour ago.’

Denial. Okay, back into business. Finally, something culturally common.

‘Heliopolis, please.’

She settled in and pulled out her iPod, circularly moving her index finger left and right until she loaded the playlist that would carry her across town. Then, the cab driver ruined it.

‘You Egyptian?’

She was and she wasn’t. But to avoid having to go deeper into that, she opted for the short version.

‘No.’

‘Do you mind if I stop to get gas? It will only take a minute.’

She could mind. But then she’d have to find another cab. Which meant another opposite-of-Lady-Di cab entrance.

So she didn’t mind.

Pulling into the gas station, the driver got out to fill up the tank. She rolled down the window and pulled out her pack of Cigarillos. Tapping the bottom of the pack, one cigarillo was pushed to protrude its filtered head. She grabbed it, and fished her big red bag for a lighter that wasn’t anything close to being an Ed Hardy.

‘You shouldn’t smoke inside a gas station.’

Looking through the window’s opened crack she saw a posh man standing next to a BMW.

‘Thanks for the health tip. You’re 10,000 packs too late. But I’ll keep that in mind.’ She tilted her head down and drew the lighter towards her cigarillo.

‘It’s not that. It’s just dangerous.’

‘Dangerous? If I need to hear about dangerous, I’ll listen to Michael Jackson.’ At this point the lighter had made contact with her cigarillo.

‘Are you always a bitch, or just in gas stations?’

Surely, by now, you must know that this is the ‘him’. After all, the audience is always the first to know. And though, she doesn’t know…

Her heart does.

That leaves us with the tomato, left boot and street vendor named Yacoub.

Meet me back here Monday. We’ll finish where we left off…