Cairo. City of the Living. It’s where Indiana Jones got in
trouble. And so did Marc Antony, the original one, who banged out Cleopatra,
the hottest broad of ancient times.
Or maybe they were in Alexandria. Jesus, who can remember all this.
I’ve decided to leave the faux chaos of Europe for the real
chaos of Africa. While all of us Westerners run around complaining about how
people who are smarter and/or more cunning and/or simply more unscrupulous
(though, in their defense, they wouldn’t have the opening if it wasn’t for our
stupidity) than us have a shitload of money while the politicians we elect
continue to fuck over how much in taxes, other nations have real problems. Like
overthrowing dictators and military governments. Fighting for rights and freedoms
we take for granted. So yes, I’ve gone to Africa. But I’m not ready for the
craziness of the south, no. The warlords and Kony and Darfur genocides. No,
I’ve decided to make it to Tahrir Square where the people have bastardized
democracy. By that I mean they’ve
done the worst thing possible – they’ve elected a Muslim Brotherhood to the
goddamn presidency.
“Hey Bro, welcome to Egypt. How you doin’?”
“Good now. Jesus, I haven’t been to a Beerfest since that
hidden contest in Germany during Oktoberfest – but shit, I’ve said too much.” I
was at a massive beer-drinking protest marching on the Presidential Palace,
part of a societal pre-emptive strike against the newly elected Muslim
government.
 |
| Doesn't Mubarak just look evil? |
They’d been led by a crazy dictator for 30 years but with
the advent of Facebook and MySpace they realized that snarky comments and
drunken party photos is what life’s about. So they held a rebellion and finally
in February 2011 Mubarak stepped down after a mere 18 days of protests (eat
that, Occupy and Tea Party – no, wait, the Tea Party is infecting politics like
herpes is no doubt running through the cast of MAGIC MIKE), turning the
government over to the military, who ruled with an iron fist as they “tried to
organize elections.” Mubarak went to jail for killing protesters and is now in
a coma or something but even more, the party that ended up getting elected –
nearly a year and a half later, after an epic pissing match with big military
assholes – is a bunch of muslims.
“Next thing you know, it’ll be illegal to get tattoos – or
dress like sluts. And, like, if girls can’t dress like sluts or get tattoos or drink beer, why
the fuck did I get this fuckin Facebook page?”
My local contact isn’t an Egyptian. He’s a urfer from
Redondo Beach who’s been living here for a few years as an “Artist”. He says any
day his art will sell and he’ll be able to stop living on the credit card his
parents pay for. He’ll keep the trust fund, though, of course.
“Yeah, bro, this is revolution. Fuckin’ Muslims running the
country! Down with Muslims!”
“Jesus. This guy must be some backwoods Allah worshiper,
probably went to those terrorist camps for training where he rose through the
ranks, right?”
“Actually, no, President Morsi, I think he graduated from USC. Then he taught
at CSU Northridge. Actually I was friends with his son when we were kids. I
mean my parents said we were. But
they’re so – like, they just don’t get rebellion.”
“Jesus, so he understands our ways. I bet his first act was
to denounce the US and tear down any type of, like, group rule.” By now we were
passing back and forth a pipe of hashish.
“I mean, uhh, I think his first move was to try to bring
back Parliament.”
“But he wants to get rid of beer, right? That’s why we’re
protesting, right? I mean holy hell, the Egyptians invented beer. What right
does he have to ban it? That’s one thing about America, we would never ban beer.”
“He hasn’t banned it. I mean not yet.”
“So why are we protesting?”
At this point Dylan looked at me confused.
“Protesting?”
“Isn’t that the whole point?”
“Huh? Oh yah, I guess so. So here, have a beer.”
Next thing we were playing an epic game of Beirut, the irony
of playing it in a now-muslim country lost on everybody though I tried to slur
the significance to them.
I’ve woken up and it’s 3 days later. I seem to be in some
sort of harem. All sort of drunk and drugged folks naked and covered in fresh
tattoos. Apparently the high court just struck down the president’s parliament.
Good. Looking around, I can’t help but smile. Look at all these beautiful
naked, drunk, tattooed freaks. This, my friends, is the face of freedom.
Though somebody should tell these women they’re free to
shave their cooches, too. I haven’t seen so much ungroomed bush since I found
my dad’s collection of 70’s Playboys. And I think I have a hairball.
God Bless Rebellion.
- Oscar GAM, Foreign Correspondent
No comments:
Post a Comment