A Short Break

After years of fighting for divorce with the Shareea courts, I lost my case against my ex in the second court, and starting all over again in the third court.

This is dedicated to my ex: with Shareea or without you will never mean anything to me but a pitiful EX

Sameera and The Forbidden Fruit (II)

A continuation
And what made the situation even worse is that Sameera’s mother started to doubt her daughter’s behavior, especially when she disappeared from the house for long hours each day. She did not believe Sameera’s lies, she was sure that her daughter is seeing someone. And every time she’s out her mother would call and question her. One call after the other, sometimes even bursting into fights through the speaker, and that drove Alberto insane. Why does a woman in her late thirties have to lie to her parents, when she is having a perfectly normal relationship?
Not to mention that the whole household was beginning a new trend in religiosity. And although this move eased the tension between her parents, its effect on Sameera’s private life was somewhat destructive. Sameera’s father started spending more time at home, and that satisfied the mother a bit, but not Sameera who started to feel monitored all the time. The father made sure not to miss a prayer in the nearby mosque, and everyday he’d come home lecturing Sameera and her mother about morals and women, insisting that he’d be burned in hell because of Sameera’s behavior. And he did not miss an opportunity to make her feel guilty for not wearing hijab. And whenever Sameera is out, even with her friends, her mom would call and ask her to get back immediately at the orders of the father.
Sameera loved her parents, but the new wave was completely out of place for her, she always remembered her father’s easy-going attitude, she also remembered that when she was young her dad used to drink alcohol, and her mom wore mini-skirts. And the more they got into religion, the more they planted guilt into her head. And the tip of the ice-burg occurred during their first Ramdan together.
Sameera never believed in religions, at least not the version spreading around in this era. But she believed that whatever you believed in is fine so long it satisfied you, and is directed to God. For her, it did not matter what you practiced, and practicing something that she knew was better than not practicing at all, at least once a year. It gave her a sense of tranquility as she put it in her own words. Yes she believed in God, and that was the most important thing in her opinion. She believed that God is mercy and that He’d forgive her sins one day, that’s if she had any. She also believed that one should forget this world and turn to God at least in the month of Ramadan. And when Ramadan was at the door, she voiced her opinion toAlberto and told him that she wouldn’t be able to see him during that month, not in private anyway. And asked him to stay in touch by the phone alone. Alberto, who was sensing the change in his lover’s attitude, did not comment at first until one day before Ramadan when his doorbell rang as he was preparing his dinner.
When he opened it was Smeera, resting her head on the palm of one hand where her elbow rested on the wall, while the other hand rested on her torso in a seductive gesture. And as soon as he opened the door she said “you better take advantage of me right now before you regret it” Alberto who knew that Sameera was PMSing which also meant that she was horny, tried teasingly to play hard to get. So he pushed the door until it was ajar and mumbled “ get out of her”. He gave her his back and went towards the kitchen. Sameera pushed the door wide open, and ran towards him only to end up on his back where he carried her to the kitchen and placed her on the table, between the dishes he was preparing for his meal. And as he went towards the stove to check it, she took off all her clothed, threw them on the kitchen floor and crossed her legs on the table where she first landed. And as soon as Alberto saw her naked body when he turned around, he got an erection, took off his jeans and ran towards her. He opened her legs and shoved his manhood into her. Sameera hands that were placed on the table, carrying her weight, slipped and she fell on her back and the damp rice that was in one of the pots ran all over her face and hair, a more reason for both of them to get more excited.
Right then her mobile started ringing in the bag she threw by the door where she entered. A disturbance that they wouldn’t care about if it wasn’t for Sameera’s alertness.”It’s my mom, I’ve got to answer that call,” she kept uttering. “va funculo” Alberto cussed out loud. But she pushed him away saying ”va funculo you, and your modre and your padre” as she tried to release herself and run to her mobile. But Alberto wouldn’t hear of it, he carried her to the bathroom, turned on the shower while she continued yelling and cussing.
But as soon as he started massaging her wet tits, she gave in, indifferent to the ringing mobile. She then took the lofa and squeezed some bath gel on and started rubbing all parts of his body that was naked now, purposely leaving out his genitals, and ordering him to stand still. And when she finished she went to the hardened little Alberto, placing it between her soapy tits. And with a devilish gaze towards his face, she started sucking it. Alberto now that had been excited for a while started pulling her head closer and harder, trying to get it all in her mouth. But she stopped right there, begging him to shove it inside of her. He immediately brought her to her feet, turned her around and tried to get it in the doggy style. And since the bathtub was a bit small, Sameera wasn’t able to properly open her legs, and his penis kept slipping out. He then directed her out of the bathtub and made love to her on the bathroom floor.
Their loud moaning, which was amplified threefold, did not escape his French neighbor who had his bathroom adjacent to Alberto’s. So next day the neighbor made sure to tease his friend by asking what was he doing the day before in the bathroom in a somewhat indicative way. “Singing” Alberto, replied. “ I didn’t know that you were into opera” his neighbor replied. “I’m Italian, you should have known better” Alberto replied with a grin.

To be continued

Sameera / the struggle of a single woman “XII”

Things aren’t always the way they seem
A continuation
Tahani once told Sameera that if one wants to forget the whole world, few days in Beirut is one hundred percent guaranteed to take care of that. Sameera wasn’t sure this time though, if it was Beirut itself or her busy schedule that took Alberto out of her mind completely. Or may be the beauties of Lebanon who made her talk to that image in the mirror, not to rediscover her beauty, but rather to find faults; few nasty white hairs that crept to that head attesting to the harshness of time, dragging along with it some ugly crowfoot wrinkles on the outside corner of the eyes every time she smiled to the mirror, and not to mention the wisdom lines of the forehead that attacked her femininity. No wonder Alberto chose that b#$% over her. How long had it been since she last looked in the mirror? It was this image and no one else whom she should worry about. And that thought pushed all others in her head. Tahani was right; Beirut does wonders, in many ways though.

As soon as her mission ended in Beirut, she fetched the plastic surgeon’s number she got years back from some friends in Kuwait to make an appointment for Botox. But she hesitated for a while; this doctor was famous in most circles of Kuwaitis. Chances to run into some familiar faces then, was high. And knowing how Kuwaitis exaggerate things was enough for her to expect a spread of a rumor in the country that she’s all fake. But nevertheless, fixing what time damaged took precedence in her decision, and she needed a famous doctor, it was her first time after all.

The reception hall of the Doctor’s office was huge and almost packed. The strange thing was that most patients were either teenagers or men. She grabbed a local magazine and started leafing its pages while waiting for her turn. “ Well, surprise, surprise, look who is here?” a familiar voice came to her ear range. When she looked up, it was Waleed. And although she got annoyed at his presence at first, the bandage on his nose started a funny conversation between them, he actually looked handsome with that thing on. Or was it Beirut? They didn’t stop joking and giggling the whole time. Sameera was beginning to find a different personality in Waleed, she almost cracked up when he mentioned how he got this nose complex after he French-kissed a girl, and she told him to shove it somewhere else instead of her mouth. They didn’t stop joking and giggling till the receptionist called her name. Waleed then invited her to dinner that night in an old fashioned Lebanese food restaurant in Solidaire, and she whole-heartedly accepted.

Inside his grand office, the doctor looked amazingly handsome for his age, which she guessed to be mid-fifties, but then again, who wasn’t in Beirut? He was very talkative and friendly, as if they’ve been old friends, yet he talked about everything except Botox. Her Roman nose desperately needed an operation, her lips did not have enough volume and her face needed some pumping. He also suggested an enlargement to her tits and butts to enhance her long narrow waist. In a nutshell, he was suggesting a whole makeover that sounded tempting to Sameera if it wasn’t for the 1500 dollar expense. But right after having those needles injected in her forehead and around her eyes, she felt much better and discarded any other thought, she was happy with the way she looked. And she couldn’t wait to see what Waleed thought.

The dinner was a blessing with Fairooz songs at the background and Waleed’s sense of humor. It wasn’t until the end of that date when she loosened up after having few drinks, and had the courage to ask about Alberto.

Waleed’s face changed right away as he broke the news of Alberto taking a leave and leaving for Italy to attend both his grandparent’s funeral, whom passed away immediately after a car accident about a week before.
The news fell on her head as if a tornado, her mood suddenly swung to a point that made Waleed regret that he ever mentioned it. Her thoughts started racing while she remained silent for a long time; things started falling into place, so that’s why Alberto never called. Poor guy was going through hard times and she didn’t know. But the shocking news was that his girlfriend also accompanied him on this trip.
Alberto had mentioned the day she last saw him that his girlfriend was in between jobs, and he was financially supporting her. He also mentioned that even when she moves, he had the responsibility to make sure that financially she is secure, until she gets a job. After all she had no one in Kuwait, and he just could not do that to her. And although this issue bothered Sameera a bit, but she did understand his position. Not only that, but she also secretively admired it. Yet, accompanying him to Italy was a totally different issue. Where did she get the ticket money? And where was she staying in Italy? And above all that, why would she go with him in the first place if the relationship was over? And again Alberto taking precedence in her thoughts, erasing any effect of alcohol she had that night, and the lovely presence of Waleed.

And in an attempt to change her mood, Waleed offered to take her to places he swore she’s never seen in Beirut before, but she politely declined and went to her hotel straight away. And before even changing her clothes, she opened her laptop, and started to write a long heart rendering e-mail to Alberto. At first she did not know what to say, but as soon as she started, words poured out. She wasn’t sure what she was writing, she was only venting all her feelings on that machine, a thing she never have done before, and she never knew how good it felt.

She never sent that e-mail though, she only kept it as a draft, knowing when the time is right, Alberto would speak up, and she was sure that there were more explanations to all her doubts that he will clear one day when he’s back, she felt it in her gut that he’ll be back, she couldn’t but trust Alberto. And for the first time in a long time she rested her head on the pillow and slipped into a deep sleep forgetting everything, but where to have lunch tomorrow with Waleed in Beirut.

The End

A Sequel to my Last Post

When my youngest was in his last year of high school he came to me one day with a big surprise. He said that to end the argument that started with women’s capability to assume major roles in the society, his religion teacher told him that science has proven that women’s brains are less developed than that of men (nigisat 3aql). And that loss of memory is a result of this malfunction. And based on this biological difference God did not allow woman to act as a full witness in court, how do we expect her to assume major roles in the society like being a judge for instance? God had not intended that. And my son was astounded to learn that this fact was known by Moslems almost a millennium and a half ago. Another miracles of Islam; as he put it. I advised him to google that before going any further with his wishful thinking, if he really cared to know whether science really proved this theory or not. And like most of our lazy youths today who are grown on ready-made-answers, he tilted his head to a side for a while in hesitation, tried to persuade me into changing my opinion. But finally he gave up when we reached an impasse. I assumed at the time that he never did google it, and that he just took his teacher’s word . Don’t we all do that? After all, officially; he’s the teacher. And like his peers; my son has to memorized his teacher’s words by heart, or else, failing religion would be an obstacle in the way of perusing his dreams in life. But I guess I assumed wrong, children do act funny at times.
Just few months back, when he started school here in the United States, and while we were discussing the difference between education in the States and back home; he reminded me of that incident and he told me that he actually googled that out, and that he could not find one, solid scientific evidence that the difference between men and women’s brains has any significance on brain performance. It is true that women’s brains are smaller in size in comparison to that of the man (and not less developed or naqis as Islam claims), and it is also true that women’s brains contain more cells which is a known fact now . But until now; there is not one proof that memory loss is solely dependant on gender type. The argument on which the whole role-playing of gender according to Islamic society and sharee3a is based has proven wrong, he agreed. But that was not the surprise.
The shock came from the military training that is going on behind closed doors from the people that we trust so much to leave our kids brains in their hands. Apparently my son told his teacher about his Net search, and instead of debating the subject, or showing evidence, the teacher insisted to lie, diverting the conversation to “how the Net is driven by the enemies of Islam, and how as a Moslem, my son has the responsibility to refute any claims of which the infidels and the evil West deliberately use to inflict harm on Islam”. He specifically asked him to monitor those sites and refute their claims, and all what he needed as canned answers were ready at his disposal; he only had to ask. Not only that, but the teacher mentioned this in the next scheduled class in front of the whole class, and added by even going into details; like if someone says so and so, you should answer him, such and such!!!!!Off course my son did not tell him what his mom thought, let alone telling him that I have a blog that is not exactly admired by Islamists. He knew beforehand that this would be like digging his grave with his own hands.
Military training and policing the public, especially the ones in the age of naivety, is one of the most dangerous tools the Islamists are using to create natural espionages in the society; a society that is well monitored from their point of view and according to their standards. Look at some blogs Like Ben Krishan’s or Nawafco who, according to their standards, have crossed the boarders, and see how much hate messages some comments contain, and how many Islamists drew their swards and shouted in readiness to go on a refutation battle, some even started their own blogs specifically for this reason. Not that they have much to say, but rather always come up with exhausted, ready-made answers that were used by others several times, only with a different make-up. Most probably, the source goes back to the same of that of the teacher. Which reminds me of the Islamic tradition (7adeath), by the way, and the way it was collected.
Military training and policing the public creates a generation of informers, much like the one created by the tyrant Sadam Husain.
Military training and policing the public creates hate in the family; any freethinking is not permitted in the family. We have seen how that divided families during the tyrant’s regime in Iraq and what’s happening now is the aftermath of such training.
Military training and policing plant hate in the society and kills free thought.

We have all been military trained; it’s within the very preaching of our faith. Islam has to guarantee that to survive. For whatever was based on false grounds can’t survive for long. But it changed some of us to a bunch of warriors, who have nothing more important in life than defending Islam. They are too busy finding excuses for its shortcoming that they don’t even take a break, and think if the person has something to say. Or; how come he’s thinking differently? all what they care about is to hit him with an answer, being relevant here is not an issue. You may call it brainwashing; but that’s a part of military training, just like those of any communist regime.
Military training of the public deprives human from their humanity; and now with the aid of our blessed parliament, and the passing of the most discriminatory bill in our constitutional history, even worse than gender segregation in Kuwait university, the stage is complete and ready for Islamic policing. And btw; I will never forget this for Alangiree.

On a related note
My post started as a comment on Edrak, but truly I did not know where to start. Actually Edrak’s comments on my previous post reminded me of the conversation with my son, and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he’s even younger than my son. He seems very well to be one of those Islamic little soldiers who have been (directly or indirectly) monitoring the Net; for sure his Islamic military training is not much different from that of my son. No offence Edrak; you are but a prey of this sick society. It is amazing how my stats counter shoots up every time I post something about Islam. My last post did not contain any anti-Islamic sentence, except may be when I mentioned an Islamic fact that provoked Mr. Edrak to open his fires on me. He raised his sward against the shameful, secular me and asked for a duel. And here I accept the competition, not as a duel, but as a general debate. Open to all of those holey solders that are looking for more deeds to deposit in their afterlife bank accounts. But I really wish that you’d stick to the subject and not divert if you have answers, and I also advise you not to go back to the dealers of canned answers, because I won’t be hiding a secret if I told you that they are selling you nothing but expired sardines.
The point of debate between Edrak and me takes me back to square one with my son. And I ask him (Edrak) the same questions that I asked my son:
-Did science prove that women’s brains are less developed than that of men?
-Does the biological difference between genders have any effect on memory? And in what way? Is it responsible for memory loss? Or perhaps gain? Could it be that the increase in the cell is responsible for sharper memory?
-If this biological difference causes memory loss in women in comparison to man; then give me the evidence? And please make sure that your evidence is solid. As far as I know; most women have far sharper memories than men. Some women can even remember little details of their childhood years while a lot of men can’t even remember what they had for lunch the day before. In general; details bore most men, while it delights most women. But if the argument above is false, then there is no bases on which women should act like half a witness in court. In the contrary; it seems to me that they are more liable than men to witness since they are better with details.
And this leads us to believe that the whole argument of role-playing of gender in the Islamic society, and the incapability of women to assume major roles, are based on false grounds. In other words the social system of alsharee3a is rusted, and was based on a theory that was created on the name of God but science defied. And still those little solders insist to tell me WHY women’s brain is still under construction, in other words, giving me reasons why God had created women with less brains, taking for granted that this is a scientific fact.
Quit fooling yourselves, and stop torturing women on the name of God.

Note; please refer to the comments of the last post, since this is a sequel 🙂

Ends Never Meet!

Did you ever have to fulfill someone else’s promises, when they thrash this responsibility at you because they couldn’t keep it themselves? Well; this always happens to me when I have to deal with issues concerning my children with their dad.

I am a type of person that can’t do without organization in my life; up to the tiniest bit. I have to know where I’m going beforehand, or else any slight disturbance or unwelcome surprise to the original plan might cause me to lose rational thinking ability. And could end up in disturbing situations.

I hardly make any promises I could not keep. And when I make one; I strive to fulfill it. And my promise to my sons when I last left them here in the States was “give me few months to sort things out in Kuwait and I will definitely come back here to live with you”.

And that’s what I exactly did; I planned a flexible working schedule for the period I intended to stay in Kuwait, took care of the leftover issues; including moving out of my apartment into my dad’s place, and all whathaveyou of packing and liaisons involved. The most important issue was setting a target date to be back, and doing it on my own, at my ease, so I would get to enjoy my last days with friends and family in the process, and have a relaxing flight back to the Sates.

And I think things changed to my favor when my errands ended a month before expected, which meant that I would get to see the boys one month earlier. Everything went better than the schedule; every thing is taken care of and on top I had two days to relax with family in Kuwait till departure time, or; that’s what I thought!!!

A day before I left Kuwait, I had a call from my ex complaining that he could not find a hard box for my son’s electronic guitar (he only went looking for one on that day, although his son had asked him to do so a month back), and that I would have to manage since HE promised his son to send it with me, knowing beforehand that I would not refuse to do so when it comes to my children, even if that meant getting myself into trouble.
To make the long story short; I ended up at the airport with my computer bag and a relatively heavy electrical guitar in a soft leather case with very uncivilized shoulder straps (ask my upper shoulders about them).

And to make the situation even worse; at the BA counter; I learned that I only can carry one bag beside the musical instrument. And since I couldn’t sacrifice my laptop, I distributed the contents of my personal handbag (purse) between my pockets (thanks God I had many of those pockets on my baggy trousers with secure straps), I also used the small compartment attached to the case of the guitar to slip in my digital camera, and the rest of the stuff I pushed in areas around my laptop which was already stuffed with necessities of the one-night stay in London (BA regulations required that I carry no more than one bag and that I had an exception for one piece of musical instrument).

And I have to admit that here I lost patience, as well as mental balance!!!
First; because every piece I had to take out of my personal handbag was organized for easy access during my long flight. And rearranging them in the last moment disturbs my mental ability to concentrate; a burden that I did not need when I’m traveling long distances alone, with stuffed, unorganized baggage. And, second; the responsibility to get the precious thing across the boarder in one piece. And that by itself was the biggest burden…. The guitar had to reach my son’s hands in one piece; I did not need any last minute surprises.

It was no problem in Kuwait airport since trolleys are provided, and one can use them up to the boarding point. Then I only had to carry it on my shoulders for a short walk leading to the plane door, and ask the first stewardess to take care of it in its right place of the first class compartments while I was seated in the back seats of economy.

No problem at Heathrow either; both the laptop and the guitar mounted the trolley and the almost half a mile walk in the tube leading to Hilton Heathrow was a blessing after sitting for almost six hours. And now that the guitar and the laptop are in a safe place; it’s time to go out and have some fun since I had almost half a day to spend considering the two hours I gained with time change in England.

I took out my roaming and dialed a UK number. This number was given to me only tow days prior to my departure to London by a childhood school friend, whom I hardly ran into, as each of us led a very diverse separate life as we grew older. And I happen to run into her particularly one day before her travel to London!!
So you can imagine how disappointed I got when I couldn’t get hold of her line. The other bad news I had from the front desk advising not to go to central London on that day, since it coincided with Bank holiday and the transportation on holidays could get tiresome, when most places are closed. So going downtown London did not seem like a good idea. I spent the rest of the day between writing long awaited replies to e-mails, having a light meal and retiring early with my book.

My flight the next day was at 10:50 AM local time. I called the concierge asking for the direction to get to terminal one, since the tube that led me to this hotel was at terminal four and I wanted to make my provision to reach terminal one on proper time. And he figured it as follows; if I have a wake up call at 7:30AM, fast-check out at 8AM, walk the tube back to terminal four and catch the express to terminal one will all take 20 minutes, where I could be at the terminal on the two hours required time for check-in before my flight time.

So, I set the automatic wake-up call of the hotel phone on 7:30AM, and for more reassurance; I set my mobile alarm on 7:00AM. Not to say that I have slept that night, I have a bad habit of attachment to my bed that for the first nights away; I could hardly go to sleep. So, I waited for the mobile alarm to go off between my tossing and turning all night. And when it did; I was already in the bathroom brushing my teeth. And checked out even before the hotel alarm had a chance to go off.

The English morning air was refreshing; I took my time strolling while pushing slowly the trolley ahead of me with the laptop giving support to the precious guitar. And about half the way to terminal four; it suddenly downed on me; I have forgotten my wallet, passport and some other valuables in the safe, up in the room.

Without thinking, I strapped the guitar around my shoulders, tightened the straps of the laptop around the trolley edge, and raced the wind back to the hotel pushing the trolley ahead as if driving a car on a speed track. Thanks God there was no traffic. The concierge took me back to the room, and I retrieved my valuables and fled back to terminal four, this time with the luggage on the trolley, so it wasn’t bad except for the fact that I could not waste any time and lose the express connection on time. And as the express approached the station, it suddenly struck me that the alarm on my mobile was set to Kuwait time, and that I still had two hours to spare. So you could imagine the big smile that broke into my face as I envisioned duty-free shopping.

Of all the countries of the world, nothing is more tempting to me than duty-free shopping in London. May be because I already have in mind what I want and know where to get it. I don’t know. But the bad news was that I could not carry my trolley beyond the check-in point of terminal one, and there were no trolleys at the other side. Which also meant that; I either collapse on a nearby seat guarding my valuables and ogling at the big screen to announce my gate, or carry the guitar on my shoulders; bearing the grooves formed on my skin by the nasty uncomfortable shoulder straps, and wheeling the laptop along, for the sake of spending some time in shopping. Off course I chose the latter, and had to pay for it later.

The shopping was successful; I came out with five sets of new age CD’s, one documentary (aninconvennienttruth) about global warming, that I have not watched yet. I also got a couple of PIMM’S for gifts, of which I had the landlady in mind. Which also meant; more things to carry, but I took my mobile and wallet and other small stuff I stuffed my trouser pockets with, and placed them in my shopping bags.

It was a bit of a relief really, because the stuff was dragging my pants down with their weight to gravity; I did not mind my back tattoo peeking once and a while, but just to imagine that, in my haste, I might find my whole lower parts on the ground sent shivers up my spine, and I had to slow down each few steps to pull my pants up. I must’ve looked a freak to the onlookers, ready to take a corner and start to play the guitar, especially with those IPod ear bits playing in my ears while I’m checking CD’s. Almost everyone I conversed with while shopping asked me to play the guitar. And I kept swearing that I’m just a carrier with good ears, but no musical talents beyond that gift; none whatsoever.

The flight to SFC international airport was extremely comfortable. As usual; the guitar was tucked safely in the first class compartment, and I had four seats at the back of the economy all at my service for the rest of the flight. And it was a good treat for my tiered shoulders while lying down across four seats.

All was well till I got to the shuttle that was supposed to take me to the apartment in Mountain View. And as the driver approached the guitar I was guarding with my life, I asked him to take his hands off, demanding that it should stay with me or by the driver in the front seat. The driver gave in after some hesitation and a promise to be generous with him for his favor. And I thanked my stars for there were no other passengers but another sweet old lady. Boy; how was I wrong!!!

Our station was the first station to be loaded with passengers, there were at least five other stops that the shuttle made around the airport and more passengers were loaded aboard. But that was no problem really, it should have been expected, but what was not expected is the stinky smell of the driver. He smelled like a coolie, who has not had a shower in ages. And to be in a small, closed and crowded area with such a smell could really get you where the famous CA weed won’t dare. And to my disadvantage; I had to be taken to my place after the shuttle was completely emptied except for the last passenger who looked Chinese.

I was so thrilled to have finally arrived, took my luggage up, handed the landlady her gift, and as my youngest hug me, my glance went to the eldest (the owner of the guitar) with a dragged face; I have forgotten the guitar at the front seat of the shuttle, and that was no less than 20 minutes back, the shuttle had already left. And my digital camera was gone with it. Here I started becoming hyper while my son reassuring me that everything will be OK and I just had to relax. But how could I relax!!!! I have developed a special bond to that guitar.

Don’t worry folks; I got my stuff after a big hassle, and more payment. And the first thing my son asked me when he got his guitar was ” where is the Pedals? Please don’t tell me dad forgot it!!”

Now the million-dollar question goes to the judge who asked me to find a way to compromise with the father of my children; does he really think that we could ever have a chance to understand each other’s language?

Why Ten Commandments?

With George Carlin

Come on….Kick His Ass

In NYC, New Yorkers had the privilege to kick Bush’s ass . If you had the chance to kick someone’s ass in Kuwait, who’s ass (or asses) would you like it to be? And please stay away from the premises of ilthat elameeriya (the Amir), it’s against our constitution 😉

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