Disclaimer: This piece was written in the summer vacation, but uploaded during winter time. Cuz Barack Obama wouldn't let me make a Blogger account back then. Not at least during summer.
What’s good, folks? I come up with my 3rd piece, written on, err, on the back of a notepad.You see, basically, I write on anything which will accept ink from a pen or a quill, like sandpaper, banknotes, and even lottery coupons. Technically, it’s the 43rdpiece I’ve penned so far, counting by hand from the shoebox I like to keep my shit in.
Okay, so it’s summer vacation! Yay?! When the vacation hadn’t started yet, everything so cramped. You didn’t actually have the time to nail your lady. And naturally so, none of us could wait for summer vacation to rush in. But guys, I’ll give you God’s honest truth. For me, summer vacations have always been 2 and a half months of a trip packed with, not fun and games, but guilt and remorse. And like I said before, summer vacations are never the way I ever thought them to be. Matter fact, you actually get to see your mates less often, since everybody’s indoors trying to win the title of some sort of sleeping competition. You had the chance to meet up and smoke weed on normal schooldays. Geezur, I miss them. And let me tell you man, every summer, I repeat, every fucking summer, there has to be something which is bound to crush all your fun planned for the vacation, well, at least that’s the way it is for me. You see, last year, our family planned to fly back home, which would’ve been fun since I’ve got 2.5tonnes of friends there. But the thing is, at the last minute, mom got fell ill, diagnosed with something something, and was rushed to the hospital. Which all brings an end to all plans and shatters my ideas of having fun when we got there. FML. But hold up, I haven’t got the sweetest part, yet. Catch is, something shattered our plans to fly to BD this year- yet again. Keep thinking, I’ll be back with a beer.
Sluuuuurp, back! Time to know what happened this year. Well, last August, on Eid, my chick best friend decided to meet up. I know, “meet up” doesn’t sound all fancy for a speciazl occasion or festival, but since we both reside here in Riyadh, K.SA., the whole boy-girl tiring issues are a bit, not a bit, very difficult with innumerous cops on the lookout. Word goes, you’re spotted with your lady, and you’re fucked for life. I ain’t kidding, this shit happens for real all the fucking time. Anyways, back to the story. So, on my way to meet her, I dropped my National ID, which I realized after I’ve been hanging out for like 15 minutes. I tried looking for it, but considering all the modes of transportation here in Riyadh, the probability narrows it down 55,000 cabs. And that digit right there, made me give up on my search. So, I applied for a new National ID.
Conclusion is, I haven’t received my new ID, yet. And so, I’m rendered sort of “illegal”. Whenever I inquire about the progress, they keep telling me that it’s in process. What I’ve gathered so far about their meaning of the word “process”, is that they’ll start off by taking in all of your basic details and tell you that they’d be done in “less than two weeks.” But what they really mean is that, since you’re no citizen or a Saudi, you ain’t getting Jack Squat till 6 whole months. And by Squat, they mean Diddly Squat. And all of this puts things in a way that I might have to stay undercover for the time being. The “undercover” bit somehow sounds cool to my 14-year old sibling.
Okay, at the moment, I feel like letting it all up. I partially blame it on the excessive tequila shots from last night. But it’s all good now, since I’m listrning to “Apologize” by OneRepublic and Timbaland. One of my all time favourites. And believe it or not, this morning, I woke up only cuz Dad dragged my head out of the keyboard, since that is where my head lay resting for the entire night, and that too without my conscious knowledge. You see, the bad part is that I haven’t hit the bed, where all the “magic” goes down, yet, is cuz I’ve got this invitation to a stupid ass party. Even worse, they’ve got swimming at the party, which means that, the dudes I’ll even know there will be half-naked, trying and failing their backflips and shit. Truth be told, I’m already high on the rush of adrenaline since I can feel the fear of swimming kicking at my scrotum. Let’s hate on them, swimmers.
But at the end of the day, when it all goes down, you may be able to swim on water, or as Basshunter has it, walk on water, but my man Chuck Norris, he can swim on land.
True fucking story, and I'm not kidding.
See you guys later, yo. Marzoukeh, out.
