The junk within…

25 07 2006

Hey folks, this is nothing but a random scribbling of current events or random comments on my feelings. so, it was hard to find a title for this post. but at the moment, i am interested only in the main text of the post, not the title itself.


So, nothing particular happening in Pakistan at the moment just the same crap that happens on daily basis, the mighty "MUSH" is visiting Karachi now a days and all the roads are sealed off to let his convoy move briskly. but do you know how the common man suffers when the lord of the country is passing by, every single person who is stuck in a traffic jam is cursing that ignorant persident of ours who jeapordises the lives of a lot of people for the safety of his own..


Now, i am going to say something about the most talked-about international event. Its about the most recent Venture of Israel into Lebanon. Initially, my ignorant mind was of the view that this is just one of those minor invasions that isrealis commit every now and then, but the situation has worsened. On the day before yesterday, i got a couple of mails and one of them contained a URL. The URL revealed a site which contained a fairly ‘R’ rated highly graphic pictures. The pictures contained by the site are those that no CNN would dare to telecast. I came to the realization that the situation is far from grave. This is a total proud display of barbarianism. They don’t even realize that the infrastructure that they are destroying would take a lifetime to be rebuilt (if there is an attempt to rebuild that devastated area). And the people they are bombing are innocent civilians who have nothing to do with this whole conflict. Indeed every Muslim supports the Palestinian Cause but unfortunately they don’t feel like acting seriously towards the resolution because they understand that any such attempt would let them face the wrath of the Mighty USA and its pet Israel. But what they don’t understand is that each and everyone of them will be invaded no matter what.
One day will come when the US will rule the world, when every nation will be a colony of the US. Isn’t this great ? We’ll be US citizens by then (isn’t this what we always wanted ? huh ?)

Anyways, we cannot understand the sufferings of those people by sitting here. Just pray to God that those innocent people may be released from their sufferings. May Allah bring more courage to them. Indeed they have more courage than any other nation on the planet. They have suffered for so long, yet they stand tall.

Praise be on you. You make me feel proud.

Click this link to see the reality:


Last evening, I was listening to a radio show. When the RJ signed off, he left the listeners with a highly emotional song and dedicated this to the people of Lebanon. Just read the lyrics and experience for yourself what the singer meant.


The song is titled : "Leaving Beirut"

Artist: Roger Waters


The text colored in Blue is the actual singing, the rest is a background voice that leaves a sudden impact on one’s heart.



So we left Beirut Willa and I
He headed East to Baghdad and the rest of it
I set out North
I walked the five or six miles to the last of the street lamps
And hunkered in the curb side dusk
Holding out my thumb
In no great hope at the ramshackle procession of home bound traffic
An ancient Mercedes ‘dolmus ‘
The ubiquitous, Arab, shared taxi drew up
I turned out my pockets and shrugged at the driver
" J’ai pas de l’argent "
" Venez! " A soft voice from the back seat
The driver lent wearily across and pushed open the back door
I stooped to look inside at the two men there
One besuited, bespectacled, moustached, irritated, distant, late
The other, the one who had spoken,
Frail, fifty five-ish, bald, sallow, in a short sleeved pale blue cotton shirt
With one biro in the breast pocket
A clerk maybe, slightly sunken in the seat
"Venez!" He said again, and smiled
"Mais j’ai pas de l’argent"
"Oui, Oui, d’accord, Venez!"


Are these the people that we should bomb
Are we so sure they mean us harm
Is this our pleasure, punishment or crime
Is this a mountain that we really want to climb
The road is hard, hard and long
Put down that two by four
This man would never turn you from his door
Oh George! Oh George!
That Texas education must have fucked you up when you were very small


He beckoned with a small arthritic motion of his hand
Fingers together like a child waving goodbye
The driver put my old Hofner guitar in the boot with my rucksack
And off we went
" Vous etes Francais, monsieur? "
" Non, Anglais "
" Ah! Anglais "
" Est-ce que vous parlais Anglais, Monsieur? "
"Non, je regrette"
And so on
In small talk between strangers, his French alien but correct
Mine halting but eager to please
A lift, after all, is a lift
Late moustache left us brusquely
And some miles later the dolmus slowed at a crossroads lit by a single lightbulb
Swung through a U-turn and stopped in a cloud of dust
I opened the door and got out
But my benefactor made no move to follow
The driver dumped my guitar and rucksack at my feet
And waving away my thanks returned to the boot
Only to reappear with a pair of alloy crutches
Which he leaned against the rear wing of the Mercedes.
He reached into the car and lifted my companion out
Only one leg, the second trouser leg neatly pinned beneath a vacant hip
" Monsieur, si vous voulez, ca sera un honneur pour nous
Si vous venez avec moi a la maison pour manger avec ma femme "


When I was 17 my mother, bless her heart, fulfilled my summer dream
She handed me the keys to the car
We motored down to Paris, fuelled with Dexedrine and booze
Got bust in Antibes by the cops
And fleeced in Naples by the wops
But everyone was kind to us, we were the English dudes
Our dads had helped them win the war
When we all knew what we were fighting for
But now an Englishman abroad is just a US stooge
The bulldog is a poodle snapping round the scoundrel’s last refuge


"Ma femme", thank God! Monopod but not queer
The taxi drove off leaving us in the dim light of the swinging bulb
No building in sight
What the hell
"Merci monsieur"
"Bon, Venez!"
His faced creased in pleasure, he set off in front of me
Swinging his leg between the crutches with agonising care
Up the dusty side road into the darkness
After half an hour we’d gone maybe half a mile
When on the right I made out the low profile of a building
He called out in Arabic to announce our arrival
And after some scuffling inside a lamp was lit
And the changing angle of light in the wide crack under the door
Signalled the approach of someone within
The door creaked open and there, holding a biblical looking oil lamp
Stood a squat, moustached woman, stooped smiling up at us
She stood aside to let us in and as she turned
I saw the reason for her stoop
She carried on her back a shocking hump
I nodded and smiled back at her in greeting, fighting for control
The gentleness between the one-legged man and his monstrous wife
Almost too much for me


Is gentleness too much for us
Should gentleness be filed along with empathy
We feel for someone else’s child
Every time a smart bomb does its sums and gets it wrong
Someone else’s child dies and equities in defence rise
America, America, please hear us when we call
You got hip-hop, be-bop, hustle and bustle
You got Atticus Finch
You got Jane Russell
You got freedom of speech
You got great beaches, wildernesses and malls
Don’t let the might, the Christian right, fuck it all up
For you and the rest of the world


They talked excitedly
She went to take his crutches in routine of care
He chiding, gestured
We have a guest
She embarrassed by her faux pas
Took my things and laid them gently in the corner
"Du the?"
We sat on meagre cushions in one corner of the single room
The floor was earth packed hard and by one wall a raised platform
Some six foot by four covered by a simple sheet, the bed
The hunchback busied herself with small copper pots over an open hearth
And brought us tea, hot and sweet
And so to dinner
Flat, unleavened bread, + thin
Cooked in an iron skillet over the open hearth
Then folded and dipped into the soft insides of female sea urchins
My hostess did not eat, I ate her dinner
She would hear of nothing else, I was their guest
And then she retired behind a curtain
And left the men to sit drinking thimbles full of Arak
Carefully poured from a small bottle with a faded label
Soon she reappeared, radiant
Carrying in her arms their pride and joy, their child.
I’d never seen a squint like that
So severe that as one eye looked out the other disappeared behind its nose


Not in my name, Tony, you great war leader you
Terror is still terror, whosoever gets to frame the rules
History’s not written by the vanquished or the damned
Now we are Genghis Khan, Lucretia Borghia, Son of Sam
In 1961 they took this child into their home
I wonder what became of them
In the cauldron that was Lebanon
If I could find them now, could I make amends?
How does the story end?


And so to bed, me that is, not them
Of course they slept on the floor behind a curtain
Whilst I lay awake all night on their earthen bed
Then came the dawn and then their quiet stirrings
Careful not to wake the guest
I yawned in great pretence
And took the proffered bowl of water heated up and washed
And sipped my coffee in its tiny cup
And then with much "merci-ing" and bowing and shaking of hands
We left the woman to her chores
And we men made our way back to the crossroads
The painful slowness of our progress accentuated by the brilliant morning light
The dolmus duly reappeared
My host gave me one crutch and leaning on the other
Shook my hand and smiled
"Merci, monsieur," I said
" De rien "
" And merci a votre femme, elle est tres gentille "
Giving up his other crutch
He allowed himself to be folded into the back seat again
"Bon voyage, monsieur," he said
And half bowed as the taxi headed south towards the city
I turned North, my guitar over my shoulder
And the first hot gust of wind
Quickly dried the salt tears from my young cheeks



Now, finally going to the lighter stuff to cheer you and myself up!

I listen to radio on frequent basis. (Depends upon whether the batteries of my radio are working or notJ). So, I usually listen to different radio shows from early night till midnight, sometimes even later on the weekends. What I have noticed during the whole period is that whenever there is a program where people are supposed to call in and request or discuss something, only the ladies call in. Majority of the callers are ladies whether the program is being broadcasted at 9:00 PM or 2:00 AM. Why ?

Why  ? WHY ? WHY ????


Do the ladies have enough of this *SPARE TIME*  that they call in to every radio show.. ?

Or do they want to sooth their tongues (the WMDs) by calling in ?

I have seen more women calling in for a Rock show than men.. For God’s sake, Rock is THE Men’s music, yet females are more interested than the dudes.


Now the question is, why do men do not call in ?

Perhaps they don’t consider it necessary to call in….. Yeah maybe.

At nights, the men are probably so busy in either hanging out at parties or at clubs that they don’t even bother to listen to the radio. The rest of them like me are lying in their beds with headphones on their ears and listening to the radio while staring at the ceilings… waiting for the Sleep Fairy (known as “NINDIA-PARI”) to come to them and give them a blow Job 😀

 but the Nindia-Pari doesn’t come to them and hence the word “Insomnia”.


So, coming back to the topic…..

Why chicks call in and dues stay away ?


Any one ? Anyone ? with the answer ?

Arghhhhhhhhhhh no one. Not even me.


But why don’t I call in myself ?

Because calling them is a waste of time and money… hahaha

Yeah, this could be a valid reason of not dialing in.


Ok folks, time to go, its almost night. And I have to have my dinner, listen to the radio while I wait again for the millionth time for the Nindia-pari to come to me and give me a BJ.

Let’s see, when my Sleep Fairy comes and temporarily takes me away from the sufferings this world has brought to me.





Action News for the week

17 07 2006

Yeah baby, its action time in the Land of the Pure…


We impure Pakis, by nature are a bunch of extremely agile and action loving bunch, let it be the game of Cricket (where at the time of this writing our boys are having their ass spanked by the Brits), let it be the action in Baluchistan or the Western Tribal areas (where our PAK FAUJ is invading and conquering our own land) or be it any ordinary street crime. No matter what the ground is, we care about one thing only – Action.


So, its time for some action news for the past week…


Our action loving National Airline tried to do some acrobatic stuff during a flight take off and eventually, the action ended with a bunch of 45 passengers lying dead: burnt beyond recognition. What caused this incident is still a mystery but some high profile people were traveling in that plane (2 Military Brigadiers, 2 Judges of the High court, VC of a local University, a few good doctors, some hardworking professionals and a few others – maybe unknown to the society but certainly the heroes of their lives and lifeline for their families.)

Now, a question that pops in my head is that “was it a conspiracy? Or was it a coincidence that a few high profile people eventually ended up traveling (and dying) together? The answer to this question might still be beyond the thinking capacity of my dumb mind but I think that It could be a co-incidence coz its only the high profile personalities that travel frequently by plane. The rest of the public can only think about flying. They fly when their bus driver drives the overloaded bus at a speed of 100 Km/hr J


Second important and noteworthy event of the past week was the drama that started after a prominent religious figure died under rather un-explainable circumstances.

The mentioned figure reached home after an anti Israeli rally and was blown up by a suicide bomber who greeted him on his doorstep – Killing himself, the scholar and a kid.

A bomb attack (a rather common tactic to sabotage any peaceful stretch of time in our country) is enough to let the public know what’s going to happen in the next few hours (and possibly the next few days). And things progressed just as they were perceived. An angry mob started off from different places and started to hack and burn public property. They burned a few cars, a few shops, couple of banks, a local outlet of Pizza Hut and a couple of police check posts, thus leaving a trail of wrecked property and desolation. So, again my dumb mind asks me stupid questions like “Why did they do this? Why Pizza hut has anything to do with the killing? Why do they call for a strike when they know it won’t help their cause? Why do they destroy public property while they fucking clearly know that a common man in the country is as concerned about the stability of the country as any political or religious movement?

The answers to these questions still go beyond the level of my intellectual capacity but one immediate response that comes to my mind is that whatever is happening in the country is utterly unfortunate. It takes years to construct or to invest in something that that angry mob destroys in a matter of seconds. If you hate these so called multi-national chains of restaurants or multi-national companies then why the FUCK do you beg their managers to give you a job at that company? Why do you wait for fucking hours to get a table at a foreign restaurant? You are no different than that suicide bomber, in fact you are worse that him because you are like a loose cannon who is going to blow and take a larger mass of people with it. You are as brainwashed as the condemned suicide bomber, yet you feel proud to demolish and burn.

Why ?

Why ?


… the answer is still beyond my thinking capacity and beyond yours as well!


Tales from the Other side

5 07 2006
This post is supposed to be a sequel to my post called "ELVIS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING"
Greetings earthlings!
I hope that my fellow earthlings are enjoying their time like a goddamn party, we are trying to enjoy ourselves at Mars. yeah baby! I am at mars.. mars mars mars….
i boarded a rocket to mars more than 2 weeks ago and landed on the red planet a day later to be greeted by the martians. they looked and dressed like the citizens of earth and talked the same way as we on earth used to do.
So, here is the first hand informatoin from Mars which the IT industry calls PLEXUS :
  • Martian’s day starts precisely at 9 in the morning (local time). If you are not around or come late, you are confronted by the leader of the tribe who stares at you as if he is going to zama zum you to death…
  • Martians are not allowed to use tools of satisfaction. They are not allowed to use IM’s, Social networking sites like ORKUT or even check third party email services.
  • Martians However, do allow you to check your personal email checking and blogging and chatting and scrapping during the sacred spiritual ritual that we used to call lunch. this ritual takes place precisely at 1 PM local time and ends at 2 PM local time.
  • Martians end their day at 6 PM to go back to their dens. We being former earthlings are accustomed to work longer and slower so we sit there till late.
  • Martians observe every second saturday as a holiday.
  • Martians are fewer in number, so there is a more sense of unity and broherhood. Because everyone is a martian, they belong to a single race.
  • Martians love to move in packs, they hunt in packs, they eat in packs, they go home in packs and they go to parties in packs. Yeah baby, P.A.R.T.Y !!!  They love to devour good meals and go to theaters and go to pool houses and they party all night long…
  • Martians are supposed to deliver a work sheet to their leader of the tribe on the last working day of the week. This sheet is supposed to contain the truth (and lies) of what one has been doing during their stay.
  • Mars comprise only of male martians. I am still wondering if mars even has any female population or not? but the legends say that in early days, the beauty queens from the VENUS used to live there but they sailed away when they heard about impure earthlings planning to inhibit the planet.
  • Martians are given the energy drink (on earth they call it TEA) twice a day.
Ok honey, at this time its all that  i could think of Mars. Although it seems like an exile, you we all know that i chose this exile myself. how could i have visited mars when i had not left earth ? huh ?
Life is both tough and fun here at mars. and I am missing you.
Till next time, this is Johnny signing out 😉

Song for the Working Class :)

4 07 2006
The sun is hot and that old clock is movin’ slow,
An’ so am I.
Work day passes like molasses in wintertime,
But it’s July.
I’m gettin’ paid by the hour, an’ older by the minute.
My boss just pushed me over the limit.
I’d like to call him somethin’,
I think I’ll just call it a day.
Pour me somethin’ tall an’ strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It’s only half-past twelve but I don’t care.
It’s five o’clock somewhere.
Oh, this lunch break is gonna take all afternoon,
An’ half the night.
Tomorrow mornin’, I know there’ll be hell to pay,
Hey, but that’s all right.
I ain’t had a day off now in over a year.
Our Jamaican vacation’s gonna start right here.
Hit the ‘phones for me,
You can tell ’em I just sailed away.
An’ pour me somethin’ tall an’ strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It’s only half-past twelve but I don’t care.
It’s five o’clock somewhere.
I could pay off my tab, pour myself in a cab,
An’ be back to work before two.
At a moment like this, I can’t help but wonder,
What would Jimmy Buffet do?
Funny you should ask that because I’d say:
Pour me somethin’ tall an’ strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It’s only half-past twelve but I don’t care.
Pour me somethin’ tall an’ strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It’s only half-past twelve but I don’t care.
He don’t care.
I don’t care.
It’s five o’clock somewhere.
What time zone am on? What country am I in?
It doesn’t matter, it’s five o’clock somewhere.
It’s always on five in Margaritaville, come to think of it.
Yeah, I heard that.
You been there haven’t you.
I seen your boat there.
I’ve been to Margaritaville a few times.
All right, that’s good.
Stumbled all the way back.
OK. Just wanna make sure you can keep it between the navigational beacons.
Bring the booze, I tell you.
All right. Well, it’s five o’clock. Let’s go somewhere.
I’m ready, crank it up.
Let’s get out of here.
I’m gone.
Let’s get out of here.
Sung by: Alan Jackson
Title: Its Five o’clock somewhere