This second-generation Palestinian refugee is about to embark on yet another rant regarding his leaderships' mishandling of the refugee saga. The fact that there's little mention of Israel doesn't absolve the Zionist entity of its responsibility. However, Israel has her own internal critics, the many Gideon Levy's and Amira Hass's, while we Palestinians never seem to have enough Sari Nusseibi's and ....umm.. who else do we have?
You get my point.
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The fact that the Palestinian refugees keep wallowing in misery while George Galloway receives a Palestinian Passport from Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh enrages me to the point of advocating the wholesale slaughter of our two Palestinian Leaderships and their replacement with goats.
As a sapling, I once raided my mother's closet, put on her silver stilettos and wiggled around the salón to the tune of the infamous "Shik Shak Shok".
My parents, both products of the rugged Palestinian refugee camps were hardly entertained by my attempt at becoming the next belly-dance sensation, so they administered a beating with the dreaded belt.
Don't cry for me, revenge was swift.
My mother, whom I specifically resented for picking the thickest belt, opened her sizeable jewellery box that night only to find a nasty surprise. Let's just say it wasn't chocolate.
But father was so scarred by the stiletto incident hat he pursued two antidotes to ensure his son would grow up to be a "zalameh" - a real man.
The first of which was military-exposure therapy. For two consecutive summers, I was dropped off at an army base where I became the ward of an uninspiring uncle who cut hair for a living. While I wasn't allowed to handle any weapons, I did roam the base, Capri-sonne juice in hand, befriending heat-stricken, listless soldiers and high-pitched one-eyed cats that hung around the base's Keralan cook like a stubborn case of genital herpes.
This was the nouveau-riche Gulf in the early years, where the indigenous population was too busy crashing their newly acquired Benzes into stray camels to inlist in the army, so most of the soldiers were imported - from Yemen.
Verily I say, had Uncle Sam not kept his aircraft carriers nearby, our Persian friends would have overrun such bases and their pathetic soldiers within minutes. Although our valiant one-eyed cats would have been fierce and steadfast enough to inflict significant casualties on the Baseej.
Little did my father know that being surrounded by moustachioed military personnel not only reinforced my love for males and their behinds, but I grew up to develop a severely debilitating uniform fetish. Many years later, when I was strip-searched by uniformed Syrian gendarmes at the Beirut Airport, I knelt down in prayer and thanked Allah for this stroke of good fortune.
To this very day I still stroke myself just thinking of that whole affair...
Back to my father's antidotes to gayness, the second of which was visits to the maslakh (slaughterhouse), where I witnessed the slitting of throats of sheep and goats. Despite the disturbing sight of cattle gasping for air as they choked on their own crimson blood, I never developed a violent side. Although I do occasionally fantasize about taking to the maslakh people who annoy me. The ever-lengthening list includes all kinds of loud, obnoxious creatures, ranging from cockatoo-coiffed queer Italians who take it upon themselves to destroy the relaxed ambiance at my favourite café, to hordes of portly Moroccan-Jewesses who run me over with their shopping carts as they advance in phalanx formation towards the freshly-discounted couscous at the nearby Wall-Mart.
However, the top spot in my maslakh list will always be reserved to our notoriously malicious and incompetent Palestinian leaderships. Not only would I like to take them to the maslakh, but I would free the goats and invite them to Gaza and Ramallah where they would replace them. Do not attempt to convince me otherwise, our ungulate friends, if given the appropriate powers will actually make better decisions.
This is fast becoming my credo, especially as I examine our leaderships' inability to build any kind of functioning pre-state, despite billions of dollars in aid money that has flowed into our coffers since Oslo. I will also add that our Palestinian voters who have elected these animals should also get an invitation to the maslakh. Then I would round up the millions of our arm-chair cheerleaders around the world who continue to encourage "resistance" instead of holding us at least partially accountable for the 60-year catastrophe that we have helped perpetuate.
So Mr. Haniyeh, explain to me why that cheeky Galloway deserves a Palestinian Passport, while my grandmother who has lived in a refugee camp since 1948, and who clings to the key to her old house can't get one?
I know the Zionist entity won't allow her into Gaza, but then what about the refugees living in the camps of Jabalyah and Al-Shati? tell me Mr. Haniyeh, why haven't you built homes for them in Gaza's vacated Jewish settlements? Instead you continue to use the "liberated" land to train the young and poison their minds.
In lieu of undulating to "Shik Shak Shok", they wrap their waists in plastic explosives and goose-step to the tunes of your fashistic songs, all while you stroke yourself in excitement thinking of all the new Qassams you'll be able to smuggle with the millions of dollars that will now flow into Gaza after the bombardment you've helped bring upon their heads.
But worry not ya Haniyeh, you and your hobbits aren't the only targets here. You were hardly imaginative with your gift to Galloway by the way:
Abu-Mazen beat you to it, by bestowing Palestinian citizenship upon Daniel Barenboim. Although I prefer the peace-loving pianist to the bombastic Galloway, someone needs to remind Abu-Batata that his own people, including my grandmother are more worthy recipients of such a citizenship.
Again, I don't expect my grandmother's resettlement just yet, give her something symbolic, a temporary passport but more importantly an apology in the name of all the leaders before you who stripped her of her humanity and used her as a pawn against other Arabs and Israel.
In the meantime, what I do demand is a reformation of the PA, the removal of all the bahayem who line their pockets with the aid money. Dollars we were very lucky to receive in the first place. Wallah, African nations with more pressing needs are starving while we sit back, multiply, beg for handouts and get angry at the world when it doesn't go that extra step and wipe our asses for us.
Speaking of asses, or goats, I will continue to advocate for the removal of both leaderships and their replacement with the latter, and while I don't expect to succeed, I could at least convince some of our sheep-like cheerleaders, that support for the Palestinians should come with a condition that we reform and start treating our own people more like people, and less like goats.
In the meantime, you can watch Haifa Wehbe shimmying her goat-like udders to Shik Shak Shok and when you're done, don't forget to read my other refugee-related posts listed below the video.
- - - The Palestine Refugee Saga -- Part I