Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

Many Delays

This is for those of you who’ve wondered why I haven’t uploaded the sequel to “Seducing the Hypocrite”. Rest assured the ‘experiment’ was completed successfully and the disgustingly pathetic excuse for a human being was as big a frikking hypocrite as I had expected. A real sick piece of work, I’ll tell you that. Married too, which shouldn’t fucking surprise anyone, I expect.

The real reason I haven’t uploaded the sequel, just in case anyone is interested or curious, is because my life has been going through some major changes again and I’m back in Australia now. Really wasn’t expecting this but it’s a nice surprise and something I’m really delighted with. I expect to be here for another two years, possibly three, before going back to Male’. For good this time, I hope (fingers crossed). Of course I’ll make some short visits to Male’ but currently, money is tight so I’m supposed to “economize and organize”. Ugh!

This has of course been total disaster for my social life and I’m still trying to pick up pieces (sorry R, I know this is tough on you but you know how it was) left over from Maldives. Not easy. Moving really is a bitch.

So despite the expectations of some, no, I haven’t fallen for ‘Haabee charms’ and converted to a life as a non-entity, wrapped up and hidden under a mobile, black tepee aaaAND… I didn’t sleep with, have sex, kiss, hug, blow or grope the beardie who was the target of the “Seducing the Hypocrite” experiment. Although he did TRY to grope me, and more, several times, unsuccessfully I must add, during the whole ‘seduction’ thingy. But that’s a story worth telling from the beginning and in its entirety and I will do that once I’ve managed to get things a bit settled down here. Hopefully, within the next few weeks. Now off for some apartment/house hunting with Mom.


It Is, Whoever You Say It Is

Holy hounded hooraleens in a harem, will you take a look at the crapload of comments on Shadowrunner’s blog?!?

Number of comments aside, after wading through the shitstorm of comments I realised that some commentators had missed Shadowrunner’s point and just taken offence at the very idea that he had DARED to draw some doodles and refer to it as the Prophet. I mean, come on, seriously. Even he admits it was ‘crappy stickfigure art’. Just because he says it was a certain someone, doesn’t make it so, right? 🙂 Not unless you really want it to be. Maybe you just want to get the ol’ blood boiling and see what you look like with that huge big nerve on your forehead throbbing like… like.. hmm throbbing, hard like… ummmm what? Wait, I got sidetracked. Where was I?

Soooo… like, despite what many seem to believe, drawing the likeness of the Prophet isn’t something new. It’s been done for ages and often times by Muslims themselves. And some of the art is really breathtaking in beauty and style. Take a look at some here. Someone told me that one of the paintings is actually shown on TVM during ‘bangi’ time. Gasp! Blasphemy! TVM should be burned to the ground. And not necessarily because they show the painting but you know, just coz they are TVM.

Anyway, I seriously doubt the artists who drew those beautiful paintings were beheaded or drawn and quartered (or whatever tortures are reserved for those who commit such a sin) but what do I know, maybe they were.

By the by, I do realise that I’m late posting the second part of the previously promised “Seducing the Hypocrite” but I’ve run into some unexpected obstacles. Things aren’t going exactly as planned but don’t worry, it just means there will more interesting exploits to read about in the second part. 😉

Seducing the Hypocrite

It’s not pretty, but someone has to do it. Might as well as be me.

So it’s going to happen tomorrow night. Two weeks of discussions and I’ve finally managed to corner him into a private meeting. Tomorrow night I’m gonna see just how strong this bearded ones faith in his religion is and whether he actually believes in most of the crap he copy/pastes on MSN chat. I’m betting this will be a case of the little head leading the big fucking-empty head.

The fact that he has actually agreed to meet me (a ‘hiley anheneh’) privately is proof enough for me that this guy, who keeps sprouting scripture about the evils of ‘women going around half-dressed and uncovered’ every fucking chance he gets, is as full of shit as his child-molesting brethren are. Hypocrites, the whole fucking lot of them bearded bastards!

For those who are wondering, this is how it started:

I got an email from this guy who called himself “Salaam”. It wasn’t actually an email, more like spam with translated verses from the Quran; you know the kind of stuff that Haabees diligently post as comments on some blogs. At first it was amusing, but when he wouldn’t stop I emailed him back asking him to fucking stop parroting stuff and talk to me. I had thought that would be the end of it but turns out this beardy wasn’t all hair after all, he had balls too. Unshaved most likely, but definitely there.

So we emailed back and forth and eventually I got fed up listening to his high-horse crap and decided to put to the test if he really was as pious and righteous as he was pretending to be. That’s when I asked for a meeting. A private one at my place so that we could “more openly discuss and debate the religious issues regarding equal rights for women, paedophiles” and other things we had argued about in emails without distractions. As I expected, he agreed. Very, very quickly.

If by the end of tomorrow night he can keep his hands off me and his cock inside his pyjamas, he’s either gay or an eunuch. Now where is my black, lace panties and mini-skirt?

Oh and if you are reading this you know what’s in store for you tomorrow night. I know you read the blogs on MvBlogs religiously, so come prepared 😉

And yeah, dear readers, you’d better believe there WILL be a Part 2 for this, by gum! Place your bets.

The Third Wheel

It started with a random local guy I was chatting with on a mIRC room some months back. Not surprisingly, as soon as we were done with the ASL nonsense he got right down to it and asked to go a few rounds of cyber-sexing with him.

A little amused at his up-frontness, I told him I wasn’t interested in such silliness and that the ‘real thing’ was what I was after. Yes, I can be a bit of a tease with some of these jerks who try to feel you up through their PCs. Next he wanted to see a picture of me (yes, preferably naked) and ended up, with a little cajoling from me, by sending me a heavily photoshopped picture of his smiling mug. He was a nice looking fella, I suppose, a bit young (around 18 or so despite his assurance that he was 25) if I were any judge of being able to correctly see through the distortion filters but by then I was losing interest in chatting with him. He was exactly like the hundreds of horny guys you meet in a chat-room; the elusive and rare ‘interesting guy with a great personality’ was nowhere to be found that night, if he even exists.

So I said that what I was really looking for at the moment was a girl to… you know, “experiment” with. On hindsight, that was probably the worst thing you could possibly say to get a guy to lose interest in you.

“You’re a lesbian!?” he exclaimed.

Now, I will tell you right now that I am NOT a lesbian. I’m not bi either but it wouldn’t be too far of the mark to say that I’m bi-curious. I tried to explain the difference but he wasn’t really listening. Before I knew what was happening, he had practically invited himself over to my next “lesbo-session” and had promised to only “watch… unless… you WANT me to join you girls for some fun!”. He even gave me his frekkin phone number!!!


That first guy was some random guy in an Internet chat room that I don’t even know or care about. Even so, I was still reeling from the way his attitude towards me had changed in a heartbeat. In less than two seconds, I had gone from someone who was interested in “sexually getting it on with another girl” to someone looking to “have a threesome”! How in frikkin seven hells did he make that leap in logic? Was there some secret code involved that I didn’t know about? He even thought I was a lesbian so what the fuck was he doing inviting himself over? Wishful thinking that a lesbian would just keel over and convert into a bisexual woman at the mere sight of his cock? It doesn’t even make sense.

That was the first time. The second time was worse.

Me and three other friends (a girl and two guys; let’s call them Aisha, Ali and Ahmed) were over at the Mövenpick in Hulhule’ and just shooting the breeze. There was a foreign couple there too (Italian I think) and they were being all lovey-dovey, kissing and necking. One of my guy friends finally commented that the girl was really hot.

“Yes, she really looks like a super-model or something,” I contributed. And she really did look like she could be. For that I got teased about checking out girls and I decided to go with the flow.

“I wouldn’t even mind kissing her; she’s hot!” I shot back.

That’s when things got out of hand. These were friends I had known since school and probably the closest friends I had who were still in Male’. Except for Ahmed, who I became friends with when he hooked up with my friend Aisha a couple of months ago.

Aisha acted all shocked and disgusted, saying that she was feeling a little freaked and warning me not to ever look at her ‘that’ way! Ali and Ahmed on the other hand were looking excited and had this shit-eating grin on their faces. Long story short: Later that day I got a call from Ahmed. He’s like “soooo, I have this girl friend who’s looking for some girl-on-girl action. You interested?” Apparently the girl wasn’t looking for anything serious, just casual sex. Ahmed also offered us the use of his apartment, the video equipment in his small studio, and assured me that he would be downstairs and available if his company was ‘required’ upstairs.

I hung up on the bastard and seriously considered calling up Aisha and telling her. But I didn’t. And if she ends up reading about it on my blog… well then, I’m sorry girl. 🙂 Don’t tell me you never suspected.

So… it seemed to me that admitting that I wouldn’t mind kissing a girl that I found to be attractive automatically made me a slut, ready to get into a fucking threesome with just about anyone. How did that happen? WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!!!

There was another incident too but I won’t go into that, except to say that it was a married couple who were looking to spice things up in their sex life. And the spice just happened to be me. I don’t even know how they even got my number (apparently the word is out!) but I am really not fucking interested, literally. If I wanted to lock lips with a girl then I can very well find one on my own, thank you very much.

The really sad thing about this is that I haven’t even done anything. I admit that the thought of kissing a girl intrigues me but I’m wild by nature and I like the sense of embarking on new adventures and going through new experiences. It’s the thrill of living that drives me on. I’m attracted to black men too and the thought of being with a black guy thrills me, but I don’t just go over to any random black guy and fuck him. It would be kinda exciting, I admit, but I doubt any self respecting girl would do that unless you were really drunk or high or something. You guys need to work up a sweat if you want some of what we girls can offer. Same rules apply to everyone, regardless of gender.

So I wonder, what is it about some Maldivian guys that makes them think that just because a girl is looking to check out the other side of the pond, that they’ve been automatically invited to tag along and bring the picnic basket?

Finding the Perfect Mate of the Right Sex

Ok, so the title is a teeny bit misleading, I know, but bear with me on this.

I’m not that much into politics and I really don’t keep up with all the crap happening in the so- called Maldivian political arena but I do check up on new developments once in a while to see if anything of island-shattering importance had happened every week or so while I was preoccupied with things of lesser importance such as earning a living and enjoying life. But the last time I peeked in to the arena, I found out to my delight that SLP’s Ibra had landed himself a female running mate!

Oh my, I thought to myself. Now there’s a man who’s not afraid of shaking things up. Even the much hero-worshipped MDP ‘scapegoat’ Anni had developed a fucking yellow streak down his back (to match the one that hangs perpetually around his neck, presumably) at the last bloody second, bowing down to ‘religious pressure’ from the learned religious ‘scholars’ of his Party when it came to choosing a running mate of the opposite sex.

But back to the Bra-man: Pulling a McCain is one thing but Ibra has to do a lot better if he wants to secure my vote. Right now the only thing I know for sure is that there are some candidates I will NOT vote for: Maumoon, because his ugly mug makes me want to puke; Umar, because the tyrant-wannabe just freaks me out; and Gasim, because he’s the biggest perv I’ve had the displeasure of knowing.

The others all have an equal chance of turning me around. Yes, even Anni Dhivehiraajje. There’s still two weeks to decide after all, right?

After learning of Ibra’s choice, I have to admit I sort of naturally gravitated towards his camp, despite a rational part of me protesting and crying out for me to look at things objectively. Then last night, while watching TVM (a very rare incident, I assure you) I saw the ad for the planned debate between the presidential candidates’ running-mates. Imagine my surprise when Ibra’s running mate was glaringly absent.

I don’t know the real reason why she isn’t participating in the debate (so far) but the theories –rumours, I should say – among the public is very worrying. Some say that someone had played the religion card again, forbidding her from taking part in the debate with four men while others said that she’s just not qualified enough to take part in the debate with four other ‘intelligent and knowledgeable’ men who would totally destroy and embarrass her pathetic ass on public TV. Not surprisingly, the lack of qualifications theory was raised again and again by several of the people I talked to, and some even gave a funny example by saying that Umar’s running mate wasn’t taking part either since the man, Rizwy or someone, was no way qualified or experienced enough to take part in a debate.

I wonder how tough cop Umar would take to his choice of running mate being compared to a ‘weak’ woman.

I’ve heard several religious ‘scholars’ say that Islam is extremely incompatible with the concept of democracy. If that’s true shouldn’t having a presidential candidate itself be forbidden? I’m sure there is some verse in some dusty old book that forbids it. Someone recently told me that Umar’s Islamic Democratic Party was the funniest oxymoron he had ever heard. I said fine by me since Umar is the biggest fucking moron I’ve ever seen! It’s perfect.

But I digress.

Anyway, whatever the reasons, the decision to stay away from the debate is a bad one, from what I’ve seen and heard anyway. But, as they say, we’ll just have to wait and see how this plays out.

On a side note, I’m keenly interested in knowing in what poetic and ambiguous verse the learned ‘scholars’ of MDP had found the revelation which explicitly stated that a woman could not be the running mate of the declared presidential candidate of MDP. I’m thinking that for a bunch of people who are able to find fantastically precise details when it came to interpreting women’s fashion in religion, the verse that made it haram for MDP to get a female running mate for Anni must have been a real fucking doozy as far as exact details went. I wonder if their translation of the verse specifically mentioned MDP! Most probably.

The Soul Stealer

There are some cultures in the world that hold the belief that a photograph can steal your soul. Several years ago, while studying in Australia, I had the chance to witness firsthand the reactions of an old woman who still firmly believed in that outdated superstition.

I was taking pictures of a dilapidated old building when an old woman walking across my framed shot gave a shout of alarm, grabbed her son (or grandson, I’m not sure) by the arm and began dragging him away from me, all the while trying to cover her face with a leather handbag and mumbling something or other to herself. At the time, I had no idea what had happened and thought it was just some random thing.

Later, as I was packing up my gear to head back home, a man from the area came up to me and explained to me that the reason the old woman had beaten a hasty retreat was because she had been afraid I was going to imprison her soul in my camera. I quipped that there probably wasn’t enough room in my camera to hold her but my laughter withered and trailed off when the man stubbornly refused to acknowledge my brilliant wit.

After talking with the man at length about the superstition (anyone interested in it can wiki it or google it, since I can’t be bothered to provide a link) I began to appreciate just how much the old woman had feared me and my demonic contraption. Knowing about the old woman’s beliefs did give me a delicious thrill of power, and for a second there I really wished my camera could steal souls. Would have made for an awesome party trick, I wager.

Yesterday, while out for a coffee at West Park with two of my very best friends who were now working in Male’ after finishing their studies abroad, something happened that reminded me of that particular incident with the old woman and my soul-leeching camera.

We had just finished our coffees and were preparing to leave when my friend, who I will call “Marie” (hint hint, wink wink, nudge) got a call on her mobile phone. After the routine greetings, squeals of delight and how-dos she suddenly sat bolt upright with an incredulous look on her face.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Who uploaded it? How many pictures? With who?”

She hardly paused to hear the answers before firing off even more questions. After a few tension filled minutes she hung up and sat back, cradling her head in her hands and moaning, ‘oh no, oh no’.

Eventually, we got the story out of her. Someone had uploaded around 10 or so pictures of her onto some local online forum and now the same photos had appeared on a few Facebook groups too. Needless to say, she was taking it rather hard; fucking hysterical to be exact. To my abject surprise, my other friend “Fathun” nearly fell over herself in her eagerness to comfort Marie, sprouting such rubbish as, “Don’t worry, I know a Facebook admin. We’ll get the pictures removed!” and “We’ll get Ahmaddey to hack the forum and crash their fookin’ site!”

Now call me a fucking insensitive bitch, but I’m not really into feeding people’s hysteria, paranoia or even mollycoddling them with phony sympathy when I felt none was required. I tend to say what I feel and believe, and most times it’s hardly appreciated, although it should. And in this instance I drew the ire of two of my very best friends when I said: “So what? Let the pervs drool over your pix. No skin off your back, right?”

Apparently they were from some other sector of the universe for they paused long enough to spare me a look that spoke volumes about what they thought about the state of my mental health before one went back to sobbing and the other back to trying to comfort the former with highly impractical solutions. I really didn’t want to start an argument with them at a time like that and since it seemed to be a very sensitive issue (that I couldn’t even force myself to give a damn about) I decided not to press my luck with them and just leave it. But afterwards, I couldn’t help but wonder…

So someone uploaded her pictures on the big frikkin’ internet. Big fucking deal, so what? It’s not like she was naked in the pictures or bumping uglies with some ex or worse. It was just a few pictures of her walking on the road and some candid shots that she had uploaded on her Facebook account herself. I’ve had some of my own photos (and not flattering ones either) appear on local websites or Facebook groups after my brother’s laptop was stolen once, so I can tell you from personal experience that it’s really not an extinction level event. Sure I was pissed about the theft and felt sad for my brother since he had lost a lot of work, but when you really think about it the appearance of the stolen pictures on an internet forum frequented by lowlife creeps was absolutely the last thing I wanted to concern myself with.

Some years back when the local forums were just starting up and Facebook wasn’t even a random synapse firing off in some nerd’s brain, I could have understood it if a nuclear strike was ordered to vaporize the country after an embarrassing picture of our beloved dick-tator was leaked onto the net. Even a seminude shot of a Maldivian girl studying in Malaysia would make the rounds via email for months and every guy who got a hold of it probably gave it a special place in their private collection of digital porn, cleverly hiding it deep in some folder with an obscure and critical sounding name.

The point is that back then it was new and exciting, almost taboo, and your photo (usually naughty ones you’ve taken in your underwear for a private collection or for your boyfriend to drool over or more) would have provided some well-deserved exercise and a few minutes of accelerated heart-rate for a few pimply-faced pervs who had just found out what a big fucking treasure trove of porn the internet was.

But that was then, this is now. There’s a new homemade sex clip (usually shot on a mobile phone) leaked onto the net, or distributed via MMS and Bluetooth, almost on a daily basis. It’s almost impossible for a girl to walk down a street without some lousy creep taking a few snaps of her on his stolen mobile phone before she even gets to the corner of the block a few yards away from her house.

If a coronary hits every time a batch of your private photos gets leaked to some sleazy online forum, then obviously you’re living in the wrong century.

It’s a different matter of course if the photos in question are highly embarrassing ones, like those taken during a time in your life you seriously regret now. Then again, you should probably have thought it through before you posed naked for your sixth boyfriend in that many weeks, right? Being labeled a slut held no worries for you then so why fret when it’s confirmed.

The majority of the pictures of naked local girls found on local forums and websites seem to have been leaked by ex-boyfriends, or downloaded off stolen PCs or mobile phones. Personally, I can’t understand why any girl would allow herself to be photographed in the nude by her boyfriend unless she wanted the snaps to be seen by other people. Only a compleletly fucked up twit would believe that the photos would remain secure, private and safe in the hands of the “amateur photographer/current boyfriend” for any extended length of time, especially given the rate at which local teenagers change lovers. That’s just wishful thinking.

Hmmm, I seem to have gone off on a tangent there so let me get back to the matter of stealing souls. The way that my friends reacted to the incident of the stolen pictures, anyone would think that their immortal soul had been viciously seized, pulled out and repeatedly violated. I’m not even sure about how one would go about violating a soul but whatever. “It’s just a fucking picture!” I still want to scream at her and bitch-slap her until she saw some sense… or stars, whichever comes first.

Gawd! Some people just can’t get over themselves, even for a minute. They think the whole fucking world revolves around them when it’s clearly obvious that it revolves around me. Live with it.

The Sheer Arrogance of some Women

You know what bugs me? I mean what REALLY bugs me? The arrogance of some women, that’s what. It really gets my sexy black thong in a bunch.

Couple that up with utter stupidity, a total incapacity for independent thought and the propensity to preach about her beliefs (excuse me, someone else’s belief that she’s adopted as her own) and you have one of those fucking idiotic women who you see out and about in Male’ wearing huge black drapes covering them from head to toe.

Let me back up a bit and clear things up.

I was walking to a friend’s place day before yesterday, minding my own business and being thoroughly perved at by every perv out on the road (ok, so I admit that was partly my fault since I was wearing shorts that were a bit tight, so sue me – besides I rather like the attention as long as its restrained to drooling, catcalls and ogling) when I heard someone call out my name.

I turned around but couldn’t locate the source of the voice. Just as I was about to turn back this huge black thing that looked like it had lost a fight with a clothes store (which only sold black drapes for some reason) loomed up like Titanic and said: “Hey, Shiha! It’s me!”

“Who the fuck?” I said, involuntarily backing a step.

“Subhaanallah!” the Creature from the Black Clothes Store said in a voice that did sound somewhat familiar. Probably Optimus Prime, I thought and was about to say so when she spoke again.

“Neygunutha? Mee Nadhaa ey!”

It took a few seconds, but I matched the face to the voice eventually: a classmate from back when we were in Aminiya. One of the gang, actually. One of the girls from our gang that we labeled ‘enforcers’ – and I’m not being cruel here; this is just facts – since what she lacked in brains she more than made up for with brawn and size.

We spoke a bit and she kept insisting how surprised she was that I didn’t recognize her. I had to bite back several sarcastic retorts but after the fourth time I finally blurted out in English: “How the fuck am I supposed to recognize you when you look like a goddamn ninja who’ve put on all her costumes at one go and draped the rest around her for good measure. Fuck! You’ve even hidden your eyes. It’s a goddamn miracle you haven’t been run over yet. How the fuck do you even see where you’re going? How many traffic signs have you knocked over?”

The outburst got a few looks from the pedestrians on the road and I realized we must have looked a sight: a woman in full black hijab (or whatever the fuck it is called) talking to another woman clad in what can only be called ‘scanty’ by Maldivian standards.

Long story short: I calmed down, we exchanged phone numbers (a barb from me about the evil of using mobile phones was ignored as if I had never been uttered) and parted ways. Next day she calls me up and launches into a sermon about dressing conservatively and blah blah blah… you know, the whole works, the entire fucking narrow-minded, religious nine yards.

At first I was too stunned to do anything other than listen. Here was this one-time classmate, who I wasn’t that close to begin with and who I had only met for a few minutes just the other day, giving me a sermon on fashion and sexuality. Somewhere during the 10 or 20 minute discourse on the evils of women, how utterly helpless men were to womanly charms and seduction by women who left their tantalizing tresses uncovered, and how the fires of Hell just surged up, bubbling and boiling in a frenzy whenever a woman laughed out loud, I realized what a warped opinion she had of herself and all men in general. For one thing she believed that all men were entirely incapable of thinking with anything other than their penises (ok, true in some cases, but not ALL surely) and had no self-control over any of their basic urges. For another, she apparently believed all women looked like Playboy centerfolds. And I don’t mean figuratively or in their minds.

“You know, you really have a very high opinion of yourself don’t you?” I interrupted her as she paused to take a breath.

“Ey, keekey?” she asked.

“You say that if you don’t cover yourself up from head to toe you’re going to inadvertently seduce every man around you within a one-mile radius. Now, that’s self-confidence,” I told her, building up steam. “Let me tell you something you fat ugly bitch. Even if you took off all your clothes and walked naked down Majeedhee Magu, the only effect you would have on any hot-blooded man is utter revulsion. Or maybe someone will call a zoo to tell them that a pachyderm is on the loose on the streets of Male’. What you need is not a black curtain to cover yourself but to go a diet and do some aerobics instead of stuffing your face. Then you probably might end up with something that actually requires covering up in order to keep the rabid men at bay. Seduce men with your sexual wiles, indeed. You wouldn’t know a sexual wile if you ate it.”

I realized that I was shouting into a dead phone. She had hung up.

Ok, so I realize I had missed the whole point of what she was trying to tell me but trying to shove someone’s own warped version of religion down my throat just has a way of distracting me from the issue at hand.

Back to what’s bugging me: I really hate arrogant women who have no reason to be arrogant. Now me on the other hand, that’s entirely different.

I have no problems with anyone wearing anything (or nothing) but when they begin to preach their beliefs at me, that’s something else thing entirely — especially if their reasoning is so silly and their grasp on reality so tenuous.

The whole episode reminded me of something a friend had said to me once. He said: “I have no trouble with women wearing the hijab or moonuburuga… provided those women are butt-ugly, of course.” You know you are, you pig. 😛

Where in the world is D-Man?

Just a few days ago I was passing by the Dhiraagu shop on Majeedhee Magu when I saw a really f*cked-up version of the “Superman Returns” poster pasted on the window of the shop. When I say f*ucked up I really do mean f*ucked up! Asterisk and all! The unfortunate movie poster, as most people are now no doubt aware, had been viciously attacked, apparently by a possessed 4-year-old armed with Photoshop, and in the resulting chaos had turned the movie poster into an advertisement for a new Dhiraagu dis-service, or something.

I doubt even Superman’s mom would have recognized the Dhiraaguized version as he was now wearing a bloody red suit with a D symbol placed slightly off-kilter across his chest. And to top it off, he was wearing a black mask that covered his bloodshot eyes. Fucking D-Man on drugs, I wondered? Who’d have thunk? I chuckled, and even chortled, at the audacity of it all and wondered what the halfwit graphic designers at Wataniya and ROL would come up with in response. Probably Batman or Spiderman rip-offs, the lazy ass-faced bastards.

However, I really can’t say I was surprised; after all this wasn’t the first time advertising concepts and even whole advertisements in some cases had been ‘borrowed’, to put it gently, by Maldivian companies and advertising firms in their bid to be creative and original. But this was a first right? None of the really big advertisers in Male’ had ever been ‘inspired by’ or used such a well-known Hollywood movie poster to rip right? Well, I can’t bloody well remember any, in any case. It was like they had finally said to themselves “oh fuck that! We’ve fucking had it up to here with trying to pass off stolen ideas as our own. Just take a fucking movie poster and put our logo over all over it. Even the poster of that fag Yooppe on that stinking turd of a movie Yoosuf would do right now. These local cunts can’t really be smart enough to figure it out right?” Fucking brilliant, ain’t it?

Today, as I strolled past the same Dhiraagu shop on Majeedhee Magu, guess what huge poster was conspicuously missing from the shop window? I wonder if they took down the poster at the Dhiraagu shop near the Islamic Centre too. I should check. Wonder what the fuck happened?

Meanwhile, in a small room inside one of Dhiraagu’s office buildings, heads were rolling.

Selective Stereotyping

Isn’t it funny how a lot of Maldivians are very selective about stereotyping and hating the people from our neighboring countries? The following anecdote is a classic example:

A friend and I was walking down Majeedhee Magu when we saw a group of women, most likely Indians but I really don’t know, coming towards us on the same side of the pavement.

“Oh shit!” said my friend. “Hold your breath. Indians stink.”

“What? All Indians?” I said, automatically.

“Yes,” she says. “Ebedybun dows dad.”

“I didn’t, not really,” I said. “You really are xenophobe, you know.”

“Ab dot!” she said indignantly, as we passed the group of Indians by. “It’s just that they never take a shower or use deodorant.”

“You said the same about Sri Lankans,”

“Yeah, the ‘orin’ stink even worse!” said my friend, connoisseur of inter-regional aromas.

“See,” I said. “I find it strange that you consider all Indians and Sri Lankans to be mobile health hazards and yet you keep running off to the airport every time one of the Bollywood movie stars or TV stars come to Maldives. I think I would have to add hypocrite to your growing list of vices.”

“Oh that’s entirely different!” she says. “It’s Soojal. He doesn’t stink.”

“Forgive me if I disagree with you on that point as far as acting is concerned. But the fact remains he is Indian and as far as your personal universe is concerned he fits the bill of being a stinker.”

“He’s not an… Indian, really,” she says after a moments deliberation. “When I say Indians I am referring to those Indians you generally find in Maldives working in houses and those ‘kuni ukaa meehun’.

“And these… other… Indians, the ones you adore on TV and movie screens, they are an entirely different breed despite being the same nationality?” I venture.

“Exactly! So Shah Rukh Khan, Salman, John and the others aren’t really real Indians, you know what I am saying?”

“You’re saying that a real Indian will stink to the high heavens?”

“More or less… you understand.”

“Not really. I understand a lot more about you, though. And that’s an insight enough” I said.