RuKsaK

It was filthy hot when this guy left the supermarket. He opened up the back of his car and put in the bulging plastic bags. Before getting into the driver’s seat he pulled off the empty paper cup some bored, shitty teenager had probably stuck on his left wiper. It triggered and flew the bits of his right arm into the air to slap in pieces around the bonnet and frying concrete.

In the old part of Jeddah, Al Bilad, it stinks well. Stacked spices, cheap samosas and dodgy meats surround you. The locals grin too much gum at you and think you’re rude if you accept their first price for their trinkets. A Swedish business man, wearing shorts, got his lower-thigh, upper-calf ripped open by a knife-clenching passer-by, leaving tendons dangling onto the road.

Just two months back a Frenchman was leaving the local supermarket I used to go to. He was shot. That gave him a dead body and sizzling tungsten where his chest had been.

Somewhere, non-Muslim wives and children were crying.
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I got an email from an old colleague in Jeddah thirty minutes ago:
‘Office is closed down. Drinking coffee, watching the smoke rise from the US Consulate.’
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I’m glad I don’t live there anymore. As I said, here, there and this place. The toilets in Zenit Stadium are more appeasing than the highlights of Jeddah.

I’m happy to sit up in the back of cars, to feel the taste of dead pig swilling in my mouth, get pissed legally, say ‘see you later’ to my wife in the morning and believe it entirely again.

At least I’ll say this politely – I urge you to go and have sex with Saudi Arabia.

The only in-fairness™:
If my early adult years had been polluted with never seeing a woman, never being drunk, believing others are unworthy, I’d maybe get my kicks cutting off the heads of those who had.

Nobody was killed in the making of this opinion, so don't get me wrong.

Monday, December 06, 2004

Fuck the K of SA