THE PIGS! are Everywhere
At the tender age of seven, I was treading water during a swimming lesson and staring at a man. He was standing in the doorway of the men's change room watching us swallow and snort water in the name of 'treading'. He was also diddling himself.
He had his Boy Part (BP) out above his shorts and he was playing with it, much like one would play with a small cat. I didn't understand and so stared in his general area more mesmerized by his chosen combination of matching baby blue turban (a la Seikh variety, not Arab from the South - although am certain there are many wankers there, too) and baby blue shorts, the colour of his body serving as a sharp contrast to the chosen colour of his attire. I wondered if his mama had sewn them for him, so they would match.
In my early teen years, feigning interest in 'exercise', I was running through the Experimental Farm. Running toward me was a hairy fatso without a shirt on. Some ways away from me, he stopped running and pulled his BP out of his shorts and declared "Tu-DUH!" to which I responded with a gawky face that said "EW" and a full sprint.
In my later teen years, two things happened. First was during a crisp Fall evening while N and I were walking down Elgin Street. We approached the platform of one building (I believe it's the one that now houses the British Embassy) and looked up to see a man with his pants and underwear around his ankles and his shirt completely undone and blowing in the wind. With his bits out in the free air, he too was wanking. In some odd twist of mind, I imagined that if I kept my normal pace, the wind would carry the items soon to shoot from the BP and hit me directly in the head. So I ran.
The following summer, I was walking down Bank Street when I looked into a car where I saw - what appeared to be - a dying man. How else could I have explained the expression on his face? With terror gripping my heart, I edged over to the window intending to heroically tap and ask if he needed help. When close enough, I noticed that once more was a man with his BP out in public. Granted, this wanker was in his own car, but unless he is in his car, in his garage with door closed...his environment remains 'public'.
Finally, nearly eight years back, I was walking down a crowded street when a man brazenly reached out and completely cupped my breast. Without thinking and without hesitation, I punched him square in the side of his head and he dropped. He was holding the side of his face looking at me as though I were the dirty culprit. And because of this, I proceeded to lecture him on his inappropriate and unacceptable behaviour and how dare you look at ME like I'm the one to blame, that because my breast is HERE you can just reach for it without consequence? My girlfriend, who'd not understood what had happened, dragged me away as I continued on in English; she didn't want me to make more of a scene. This was in Gaza and within three minutes the entire Strip had heard about what happened to the granddaughter of YouKnowWhoAndSheHITHIM! My family made me my favourite dish that night to show me how proud they were of my right jabbing ways.
Que a few hours ago, when the story takes a slightly more insidious turn.
I was walking behind my dad's building en route to purchase some milk. I'd just parked Lulu and was carrying in one arm my laptop and in the other, my purse and mobile. The area I was walking in was an off-side alley, open at both ends.
A man called to me with a simple "Excuse me can I ask you something?". I didn't like it. I didn't like that I was alone with him. Something seemed odd immediately and gut instincts are always to be trusted.
"Yes?" and I opened my mobile to pretend I was making a call.
"Uhm."
"What?" Even though am not ever rude and usually go out of my way to be nice, something felt really wrong. He was 'safe' enough looking with clothes slightly tattered but I didn't like his yellow teeth. I later realized this because they were a reflection of his sick dead insides.
"Uhm. I want to ask you something."
"You already said that. What do you want to ask me?"
"Uhm. Uh. When you get off the phone."
"I'm not getting off the phone any time soon so ask your question or leave."
"Uhm. Uhm. Mmm. Mmm. Uhm. Uh. Is the phone ringing? Uhm. I'll ask when you're done..."
I noticed immediately that he was speaking in a what was becoming even softer and lower voice for some unsuspecting slop to move in closer. But I'm neither unsuspecting nor sloppy and so I actually backed away and said rather forcefully: "I think you're best to go."
"Uhm. Would you like to touch me?"
To which I promptly replied: "Yes. I would love to! In fact, that's why I'm wearing a suit, carrying my laptop and my purse and walking - it's all a lie and I'm playing hard to get. I've just been waiting for a really charming boy such as yourself to come along and ask me if I wanted to touch his - what will surely be - beautiful peni*. I'm so happy you asked and I'll get right to it, as soon as I'm done with this call, ok?"
Only it came out sounding a little more like: "NO I DON'T WANT TO TOUCH ANY PART OF YOU YOU SICK AND TWISTED DISEASED AND FILTHY INDIVIDUAL POOR EXCUSE FOR A PERSON WEIRDO A**HOLE LIAR. WEIRDO WHAT IF I WAS YOUR MUM. WHAT WOULD YOUR MUM SAY IF SHE KNEW YOU WERE THIS SORT OF DEMENTED PATHETIC? FREAKSHOW IT'S 6 PM AND COMPLETE DAYLIGHT AND WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT? AND YOU NEED TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH! GO HOME AND BURY YOUR SAD SORRY SELF AWAY FROM HUMANITY YOU COMPLETE AND TOTAL WASTE. SICK. SICK. SICK. YOU ARE SO SICK. CHEATER! YOU'RE PROBABLY A CHEATER TOO! I'M GOING TO REMEMBER YOUR FACE AND NEXT TIME I SEE YOU I'M GOING TO TAKE A PICTURE OF YOU AND SEND IT TO THE POLICE! YOU GET ON LINE AND MEET OTHER CREEPS LIKE YOU! GO! FACEBOOK'S GREAT FOR THAT SORT OF A HOOK UP, YOU PIG! PIG!
No. I'm not talking to myself. I'M TALKING TO A PIG!
PIG! PIGLET! PIG!"
He ran. Oddly, I was fine. I wasn't shaken up or feeling threatened or violated or anything like that...just more appalled and cursing stupid men, really.
Here's the slightly more amusing bit: I'd accidentally hit the Call button on my mobile and it rang the last incoming number: Mummy. This should explain to you the "No. I'm not talking to myself. I'M TALKING TO A PIG!" bit above. She'd overheard everything. I'm surprised she didn't magically appear in front of me with a cape, a wand and a machete aimed at THE PIG! because I hear it's what Mummy's do in situations such as these.
Right. So all this to say:
.1. You stupid PIGS. Keep your ugly bits in your pants. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? SERIOUSLY!!!!
.2. Girls. The phone trick is great - even better is if you point it at them and tell them you've just taken their picture and sent it to your friends.
.3. PIGS! You try the above and we WILL call the cops on your sorry a** as soon as you run away like the little b*tch that you are. PIGS!
(Please note: The above is likely filled with spelling errors - I have typed directly into Blogger and haven't bothered to spell check. Sorry.)
He had his Boy Part (BP) out above his shorts and he was playing with it, much like one would play with a small cat. I didn't understand and so stared in his general area more mesmerized by his chosen combination of matching baby blue turban (a la Seikh variety, not Arab from the South - although am certain there are many wankers there, too) and baby blue shorts, the colour of his body serving as a sharp contrast to the chosen colour of his attire. I wondered if his mama had sewn them for him, so they would match.
In my early teen years, feigning interest in 'exercise', I was running through the Experimental Farm. Running toward me was a hairy fatso without a shirt on. Some ways away from me, he stopped running and pulled his BP out of his shorts and declared "Tu-DUH!" to which I responded with a gawky face that said "EW" and a full sprint.
In my later teen years, two things happened. First was during a crisp Fall evening while N and I were walking down Elgin Street. We approached the platform of one building (I believe it's the one that now houses the British Embassy) and looked up to see a man with his pants and underwear around his ankles and his shirt completely undone and blowing in the wind. With his bits out in the free air, he too was wanking. In some odd twist of mind, I imagined that if I kept my normal pace, the wind would carry the items soon to shoot from the BP and hit me directly in the head. So I ran.
The following summer, I was walking down Bank Street when I looked into a car where I saw - what appeared to be - a dying man. How else could I have explained the expression on his face? With terror gripping my heart, I edged over to the window intending to heroically tap and ask if he needed help. When close enough, I noticed that once more was a man with his BP out in public. Granted, this wanker was in his own car, but unless he is in his car, in his garage with door closed...his environment remains 'public'.
Finally, nearly eight years back, I was walking down a crowded street when a man brazenly reached out and completely cupped my breast. Without thinking and without hesitation, I punched him square in the side of his head and he dropped. He was holding the side of his face looking at me as though I were the dirty culprit. And because of this, I proceeded to lecture him on his inappropriate and unacceptable behaviour and how dare you look at ME like I'm the one to blame, that because my breast is HERE you can just reach for it without consequence? My girlfriend, who'd not understood what had happened, dragged me away as I continued on in English; she didn't want me to make more of a scene. This was in Gaza and within three minutes the entire Strip had heard about what happened to the granddaughter of YouKnowWhoAndSheHITHIM! My family made me my favourite dish that night to show me how proud they were of my right jabbing ways.
Que a few hours ago, when the story takes a slightly more insidious turn.
I was walking behind my dad's building en route to purchase some milk. I'd just parked Lulu and was carrying in one arm my laptop and in the other, my purse and mobile. The area I was walking in was an off-side alley, open at both ends.
A man called to me with a simple "Excuse me can I ask you something?". I didn't like it. I didn't like that I was alone with him. Something seemed odd immediately and gut instincts are always to be trusted.
"Yes?" and I opened my mobile to pretend I was making a call.
"Uhm."
"What?" Even though am not ever rude and usually go out of my way to be nice, something felt really wrong. He was 'safe' enough looking with clothes slightly tattered but I didn't like his yellow teeth. I later realized this because they were a reflection of his sick dead insides.
"Uhm. I want to ask you something."
"You already said that. What do you want to ask me?"
"Uhm. Uh. When you get off the phone."
"I'm not getting off the phone any time soon so ask your question or leave."
"Uhm. Uhm. Mmm. Mmm. Uhm. Uh. Is the phone ringing? Uhm. I'll ask when you're done..."
I noticed immediately that he was speaking in a what was becoming even softer and lower voice for some unsuspecting slop to move in closer. But I'm neither unsuspecting nor sloppy and so I actually backed away and said rather forcefully: "I think you're best to go."
"Uhm. Would you like to touch me?"
To which I promptly replied: "Yes. I would love to! In fact, that's why I'm wearing a suit, carrying my laptop and my purse and walking - it's all a lie and I'm playing hard to get. I've just been waiting for a really charming boy such as yourself to come along and ask me if I wanted to touch his - what will surely be - beautiful peni*. I'm so happy you asked and I'll get right to it, as soon as I'm done with this call, ok?"
Only it came out sounding a little more like: "NO I DON'T WANT TO TOUCH ANY PART OF YOU YOU SICK AND TWISTED DISEASED AND FILTHY INDIVIDUAL POOR EXCUSE FOR A PERSON WEIRDO A**HOLE LIAR. WEIRDO WHAT IF I WAS YOUR MUM. WHAT WOULD YOUR MUM SAY IF SHE KNEW YOU WERE THIS SORT OF DEMENTED PATHETIC? FREAKSHOW IT'S 6 PM AND COMPLETE DAYLIGHT AND WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT? AND YOU NEED TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH! GO HOME AND BURY YOUR SAD SORRY SELF AWAY FROM HUMANITY YOU COMPLETE AND TOTAL WASTE. SICK. SICK. SICK. YOU ARE SO SICK. CHEATER! YOU'RE PROBABLY A CHEATER TOO! I'M GOING TO REMEMBER YOUR FACE AND NEXT TIME I SEE YOU I'M GOING TO TAKE A PICTURE OF YOU AND SEND IT TO THE POLICE! YOU GET ON LINE AND MEET OTHER CREEPS LIKE YOU! GO! FACEBOOK'S GREAT FOR THAT SORT OF A HOOK UP, YOU PIG! PIG!
No. I'm not talking to myself. I'M TALKING TO A PIG!
PIG! PIGLET! PIG!"
He ran. Oddly, I was fine. I wasn't shaken up or feeling threatened or violated or anything like that...just more appalled and cursing stupid men, really.
Here's the slightly more amusing bit: I'd accidentally hit the Call button on my mobile and it rang the last incoming number: Mummy. This should explain to you the "No. I'm not talking to myself. I'M TALKING TO A PIG!" bit above. She'd overheard everything. I'm surprised she didn't magically appear in front of me with a cape, a wand and a machete aimed at THE PIG! because I hear it's what Mummy's do in situations such as these.
Right. So all this to say:
.1. You stupid PIGS. Keep your ugly bits in your pants. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? SERIOUSLY!!!!
.2. Girls. The phone trick is great - even better is if you point it at them and tell them you've just taken their picture and sent it to your friends.
.3. PIGS! You try the above and we WILL call the cops on your sorry a** as soon as you run away like the little b*tch that you are. PIGS!
(Please note: The above is likely filled with spelling errors - I have typed directly into Blogger and haven't bothered to spell check. Sorry.)
Labels: Rant
posted by just a girl at 8:09 PM
5 Comments:
hi. i love you. seriously.
You are magic, Maha...your capacity to make me laugh & get totally pissed off & cheer, all at the same time, is remarkable! I'm sitting here reading this post, and recalling my own encounters with deadbeat wankers, and conversations I've had with friends about THEIR own experiences. By sharing this with us, Maha, you make us all stronger.
Glad you're back in kick-a$$ form!
You're my heroine.
oh my. I love you. I think that if I were to say that to my boyfriend as much as I say it to you, I'd be married by now.
I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! This is one of the funniest things I've evr read. It's magic - like Chantal says. You're magic, baby ;)
Maria
This entry is golden. You are an inspiration!
It's good that you didn't back down. Most men who approach women in this way try to look for weakness, so the best possible reaction is to be forceful.
Please be careful, anyway.
Colleen
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