Friday, February 25, 2011

A Brothel in Egypt?

Now I don't know about you but something tells me Egypt has been pretty busy these past few weeks! I know because I graduated from the AUB with a doctorate in identifying the obvious and sciences.

While everyone is focused on what is going on in Egypt politically, we seem to be giving no attention to what Egypt is most famous for; legends and food poisoning. I'll just deal with the legend side for now as I have a legend to share!

In 2007 I visited Egypt to be a guest on a show on MBC called "Adam". It was an incredible show of titans and legen- it was a talk show. You can actually see the video posted on my YouTube channel! Visit and checkout not only that video but tens of others! (don't you love shameless plugs?)

I was assigned a driver to show me around at the time and as I understand as much Egyptian dialect as Israel understands basic human rights I was in for a heck of a drive.

At one point he asked me if I wanted to see anything in particular in Egypt, suggesting I visit "Al Haram", haram pronounced with a weak h means pyramid. I thought it meant harem, which is a glorified brothel.

So I quickly replied no thank you as I have a girlfriend. He looked very puzzled and asked what having a girlfriend has to do with going to the haram? "Obviously you've never dated a Lebanese woman" I replied to which he stared at me blankly. "Why don't you show me the pyramids?" I quickly asked, motioning a triangle with my hands.

"That is the haram" he replied. "The haram is in the pyramid?!" I exclaimed. "Yes! Yes it is!" "How do we get there?" I asked. "By Horse!", he replied excitedly. I should mention at this point in time we were both a bit confused. My mind was racing wildly picturing going into a brothel on horse back in a pyramid as men chose their woman and retired to one of the many lavish chambers.

I dashed to my phone and called my now past girlfriend, "Listen", I said in a compassionate tone, "I don't want you to get mad, but I'm going to a brothel and before you go crazy the only reason I'm doing this is because here they have brothels IN the pyramids! And you go on horseback!" She enthusiastically urged me on and made me promise to take pictures, of course that was all I was permitted to do.

We then rushed to the haram and I paid a ridiculous amount to rent a horse but i didn't care! The horse's name was Rambo, what a fitting name for such a manly adventure! We galloped towards the pyramids; my guide, Rambo and I, and within minutes we arrived.

My guide stopped his steed, as did I, and stared at the pyramid. I stared at him blankly. "Where is the haram?" I exclaimed. "This is the haram" he said confusingly pointing to a gargantuan pyramid right in front of me. "Where are the women?!" I shouted feeling cheated and betrayed. "Women?!" said my guide even more baffled than before.

"Yes the women of the haram! I was promised I would see women inside the pyramid!" I shouted back. "This is the haram" said my guide pointing to the pyramid, "why are you..." then we both realized what had happened. Definitely not of the highlights of my life as a cultured human being, but it was legendary!


Read my column every Saturday in the Daily Star! Pick up the next one Saturday Feb 26 2011: They're on Acid so they must die.

Friday, February 18, 2011


I don’t live, I live love, love through bicentennial romance of a quintessential song dance, a reminiscent globe trot inside an incandescent rose blot. A forty-year-old joke fought with a twenty-year-old hoax over a tab in a car left by the coat jock.

But only one man rose from the ashes to claim his prize and his name was serenity inside his eyes. He lived long but prospered little, in the ways of women he was considered fiddle. Crimson thunder streaked ‘cross the sky and in her name was rendered shy.

Like mizu to a mirage, wakarimasita-ka? She was out of reach held asunder by a pushup bra. Supporting nothing more than a vivid dream in a brazzers seam and a pristine gleam, suddenly, life more obscene was just a proper angle shot in a movie scene.

A profile picture and a tweeting twitcher, orchestrated to the finest pitcher, inside a fork of twang and the thighs and fangs of a gleaming twilight blunder.

Oh how life deals decks of cards and sex but never falters to leave the steps of wonder beyond us. What could have been or what would have been, questions left to haunt us as the mind creeps up inside our steel plaid cups left half full or half empty, but never plenty.

A curvaceous figure none beg to differ but many plot to quiver. In seeking heat and passion’s feast all shall sacrifice their liver.

Do not despair there is no care nor wonder left to fondle, as long as seats will ground their chairs and whip their emotional strong-hold. Through denial’s state we fluctuate like market crises reverberate, I do not care I have no hair but my bank account follicles.

And sometimes there, over there, far, far away, the sheep cried wolf and yet it hugged the assailant. Holding tight it feigned the bites of the eyes that reigned to taint it. But love was strong and so the bond broke through conventional stroke and chatterbox folk in geriatric paced derangement.

And the result? A wolf is tamed but born again inside his answer.

How often we seek and in friendship defeat the purpose of our masked intentions. To only find we are trapped and confined inside a hopeless concession. A disowned ghetto a Jared Leto and dolled up steel stilettos, all one and the same some true some bane but all deserve attention.

If life was but a memory, a collection of thoughts in felony, stolen moments in fleeting cars and convertible Molotov bizarres, how simple a measure of worth would be if scales tipped and sexes dipped in tea-bag like fixed hegemony.

She woke one day and to her dismay her infatuated state of concern had run astray, inside her mind she was at bay but never felt the blunder; or was it just the memory that stung like misguided tremory from a tectonic shift in a plate imbalance of wounded personality? An ego booed is an ego fooled but thicker in the fire. Once it burns it trickles ferns yet crackles in desire.

So in simplicity I lay and wonder how easy it is to live love when love is smarter, detached from emotional understanding of what is proper and in tune with intelligent understanding of what is emotion. And in that light I do respite as I can simply manifest, it is no secret when I confess, that damn it I love booty.

Happy Valentines Day


Read my column every Saturday in the Daily Star! Pick up the next one Saturday Feb 119 2011: A Brothel in Egypt?

Friday, February 11, 2011


…‘Cause I’m a highly evolved mutant symbiotic organism and that’s where my ears are, in the palm of my hand.

Some people might find this disadvantageous, and indeed it does have its drawbacks, but the positives far out weigh the negatives.

I think it best to begin with the drawbacks. I would have to say probably the worst consequence is the inability to enjoy the seemingly popular act of the “high-five”, the slapping of the palms of two distinct individuals in celebration of a recent victorious occasion, such as the apprehension of a woman in one’s chambers in the case of a man or a parody of the shallowness of man in celebrating the apprehension of a woman in one’s chambers while in fact the man slept alone with a blow up doll in the case of a woman.

However, shaking hands can sometimes be enjoyable, especially with a Lebanese man with sweaty palms eager to show his pseudo-alpha male status through a needlessly firm grip that threatens the very foundation of the molecular structure of the receiving end’s metacarpal structure. The sweatiness and vacuum of air make for an enjoyable listening experience, sort of like the sound of the ocean in a seashell.

I greatly dislike drinking sparkling water or soda of any kind.

Push-ups are incredibly frustrating as are most upper body exercises, resulting with my boasting a fantastic lower physique but practically non-existent upper torso significance. This not only makes it difficult to attract females of the human race but mating becomes even more incredibly awkward for a myriad of reasons I leave to your skillful imagination.

However apart from those major flops in the movie of my life the rest is a two-thumbs up Siskel and Ebert extravaganza.

Counting money is a joy in and of itself. However paired with the ability to both touch and hear the bills as they course their way through your hand is more satisfying than unchallenged dictatorship, and this pleasure would bring a healthy boost to the economy as all would be more inclined to hustle for a living instead of rely on quick money making schemes; bank transfers make no sound.

Fistfights also become the method of choice for settling disputes. Once the mind is set and the palm is closed the ears can’t hear the sound of inflicted pain therefore allowing one to complete his/her course of action without wasted hesitation due to pity. This not only decreases death but also burns calories decreasing the risk of heart attack.

Death of innocent bystanders in gunfights, drive by’s, or in states of war and strife are reduced to a probability of approximately 0.132% as guns are an open hand palm to stem mechanism that all will find undesirable; the recoil is a killer. This extends into the realm of handheld weaponry, or street coined “bludgeoning and stabbing devices”, such as the club, knife, sickle and steel girder to name a few.

This leaves me with the final scenario of the need to rebel to satisfy the need for individuality, versus the resulting conformity through rebellion to satisfy the need to belong and its obvious negatives.

Youth will be able to raise a clenched fist to the air showing dissent however clenching of the fist will render them deaf to the baseless words of so-called leaders who speak only to satisfy the need to make up for their lack of girth in the manhood department, as many currently do in Lebanon.

The above advantages will usher in an era of peace much needed in Lebanon.

Alternatively, a series of gentlemen’s agreements or charismatic wise speakers could do the same, however Tupac Shakur was killed in 1996 and Lebanon has yet to provide an answer.


Read my column every Saturday in the Daily Star! Pick up the next one Saturday Feb 12 2011: I Love Booty

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Naked Exposure

Exposure. Who would’ve thought one word representing an ever complex and growing concept could take this world by storm more than religion itself, be more desirable than a woman in our oldest profession could ever dream to make you feel, or grab you dead center like the weight of an anvil caught between your chest and the air.

Seems all everyone cares about these days is exposure, the secret ticket, the magic bullet, with exposure, everything is possible. Whether it’s Kim Kardashian or Paris Hilton literally laying it all bare to entice their careers or, hey wait a second, why the classic drawl on Hollywood superstars? Take a look at our Kim Kardashians and Paris Hiltons, and no they’re not just women, our male and female (just like our friends overseas) members of the so-called social elite do it all the time.

Whether you’re actually a signed artist or in the same league, seems all it takes to get you there these days is a methodical approach to popping bottles in the early hours of the morning in a club. It’s all about the hook up. Who you know and how fast you can get it, determines how high you’ve climbed, it also determines in many cases “who” you’ve climbed as well.

Please don’t mistaken this to be an attack, no rather this is homage, to the one social concept that underlines practically everything everyone does. Yes, everyone.

Everyone has an opinion and everyone isn’t content until its heard, and all anyone needs these days is presentation. If it looks good it must be legit, right? Think about it, if Kim was ugly who would care? And if a blog page, tweet or FaceBook status is ugly, or to bring it more into context is not “viral-worthy”, who cares?

The most legit are those who follow the flow of the status quo, the mass, those willing to bank on against the tide will often be screwed. And that’s actually pretty damn fun to watch, because sometimes it works out and oh boy what a shift in the tide it is!

But let’s get back on topic here, exposure. It sells the world, its what fills up the mosques and churches, sells the product, brings in the votes, accumulates the wealth, brings in the numbers.

Exposure, fame, notoriety, popularity, all one and the same, all finally measurable to a more or less extent in our brand new beautiful digital world, measurable by numbers and numbers achieve desire.

I used the word desire on purpose by the way, it has somewhat of a negative connotation but that was just to throw you off, desire can be positive. Some people desire good, desire change, some people use exposure as a means to an end.

Let me put it this way, everyone wants to be friends with the person most loved and admired because that person is the most seemingly inaccessible. However you could pop more bottles in a club than Ghandi spent days on hunger strikes but unless you accomplish something its all just a fad wave we’re riding.

Exposure, a propeller driving force behind most of what’s wrong with today and some of what’s right.

So in that light, I’d like to welcome you all to my weekly bit of exposure here at the Daily Star! Hope you like it, retweet it, and spread it in the blogosphere ‘cause this is going to be one hell of a ride. The more you do the more I can measure its success, and today, measurement has just made exposure infinitely sexier. Fantastic.