Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Let’s laugh a bit while we still can

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Have you read the Lebanese version of ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’? Did you hear about the scandal that shook the country’s posh neighborhoods? Are you familiar with SMIS, the new syndrome most Lebanese suffer from? 

If the answer is no, stop everything you’re doing and read this.

Why?

Because The new year started with bloodshed and calls for war, with the fragile prospects of peace in the Middle East rapidly fading away, with men giving away to their fears and their madness. Because in Lebanon the start of 2016 looks very much like 2015 – season 2: same lies, same corruption, same absurd divides, same denials, same tiny little wars and same ridiculously superficial cast.

Because we need to laugh a bit while we still can.




You thought that the sadomasochist sex games in “Fifty Shades of Grey” were hot stuff? Think again. Handcuffs, masks and whips are nothing but child’s play compared to the true S&M experience I’m inviting you to discover.
First, the foreplay.
Turn on your TV and sit through the news broadcast of all local channels. It starts at 7pm and ends at 9pm. During this time, you’re not allowed to move. Not allowed to look away. Not allowed to take a Panadol against your growing headache, or a Primperan against your overwhelming nausea.
You’re horny now? Good.
Turn off the TV and go to the bathroom. Undress. Get in the shower. Open the tap and let the water flow. Cover you entire body with soap and your hair with shampoo. Your eyes closed, reach for the tap and find out that there’s no more water. Open your eyes and let the shampoo burn them. Step out of the shower. Run to the kitchen and grab a bottle of mineral water. On your way back, lights go off. Power cut.
Wait few long minutes, naked, covered in soap and shampoo, for the generator to start. It obviously doesn’t. Rush back to the bathroom in the dark. Slip. Fall. Let the bottle escape you. Hear the water splash as the bottle hits the floor. Stand up and return to the kitchen. Hit a wall on your way there. Look for another bottle of mineral water. Find one. Wait in vain for the generator to start. Then go on anyway. Walk slowly this time. Reach the bathroom. As you can’t see a thing, tear the curtain as you step into the shower. Rinse as much soap and shampoo as you can with the 1.5 liter the bottle holds. When you’re done, the generator starts and lights come back.
Enjoying it so far? Excellent. It’s only the beginning. (Read more)




SEVEN MINUTES INDIGNATION SYNDROME 

Are you familiar with SMIS? SMIS: Seven Minutes Indignation Syndrome. This new syndrome can be easily diagnosed as most Lebanese suffer from it.
SMIS can only be detected when something shocking, unfair or unjust makes the evening news or creates a buzz on the Internet.
Suddenly, within seconds, everyone ignites. Angry statuses are pounded on Facebook. Outraged tweets fly all over the country. The web is on fire. The world better watch out.
Everyone takes up the cause, raises its flag, and swears he or she will do everything in their power to ensure that this horrendous thing, whatever it is, will never be allowed to happen again. The whole nation becomes an army of glorious Jedi knights, invincible, unbreakable and unstoppable, marching under the same banner, chanting the same chants, drumming the same drums.
When Lebanese are under the influence of SMIS, it is strongly recommended that you follow the stream if you don’t want to be crushed by the enraged lynch mob. The use of brain is utterly pointless, but the nod is of paramount importance. (Read more)





Now that our garbage is out in the open for everyone to see, many Lebanese “comme il faut” discovered with horror that the whole world noticed how ordinary their trash bags were.
“We were taken by surprise, we were not ready”, says an Ashrafieh resident, still traumatized by her ordeal. “Trash is not something people usually look at, so we never made any special effort about it… But it turned out to be a mistake of disastrous proportions for us”, she sighs, barely containing her tears.
“When they saw our ordinary trash, many of our friends stopped answering our calls, confesses a Rabieh resident, they even unfriended us on facebook.”
“How can you drive a Porsche Cayenne, live in a villa or a duplex with a built-in Jacuzzi, send your kids to the most expensive schools, go to the plastic surgeon as often as you go to the bathroom, buy your shoelaces from Aïshti and neglect your garbage bags?", wonders a prominent socialite who asked to remain anonymous. “If your trash is similar to any other ordinary Lebanese, what’s the point of living?”, she asks. (Read more)

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