Category Archives: Fiction

Nov 30 2011
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Fiction, Serious-ish, Two minute read

The Rumor Mill

a captivating picture for a captivating topic

Here in revolutionary Egypt, rumors pile up faster than cigarette butts in a student bar district on a Friday night. For the most part, I’ve found it safe to assume that no one really knows or understands what’s going on in the political process. Those who claim they get it are either idiots, lying idiots, or just liars. Some people do know more than others, but they are few and far between.

This uncertainty leads to one of CASA students favorite daily activities: blind speculation fueled by sleep deprivation, emotion, breakfast foods, and twitter feeds. The results of this speculation can be quite surprising and often completely wrong, but this is nothing compared to the gems that fly around Cairo as a whole. Here’s an (exaggerated) sample of what happens.

The Rumor Mill

Fact: a small group of protesters has gathered in Tahrir and is calling for the end of military trials for civilians. There is a heavy police presence, but no violence. Some participants and bystanders are eating sandwiches. Meanwhile, a woman was going to get some groceries when she tripped on a curb. No one was injured.

(the actual occurrences proceed through the rumor mill)

I heard on twitter that the Egyptian government hired a squad of armed spaghetti aliens that entered Tahrir square  making a horrible “WOOP WOOP WOOP WOOP” sound and drenching the men, women, and children there with low-grade spaghetti sauce. They’re trying to drown the revolution in bland tomato goop!

Someone else said that the aliens were Israeli and were sprinkling the victims with tiny parmesan stars of David—-the hand of Israel AGAIN!

Yeah! And my friend told me that her sister’s boyfriend’s friend’s cousin’s facebook status said that all foreigners in the square have somehow remained clean of spaghetti sauce, so they’re definitely part of the conspiracy. The universe is attacking the Egyptian people!

But I heard that the protesters were fighting back with stolen chopstick launchers they stole from the police force and that they had also commandeered a militarized Zamboni from the army and were running over valiant army officers, who they claim to be mercenary spaghetti aliens. The protesters are THUGS!

And state radio said that the concert going on in Tahrir square might cause an excess amount of noise for the next few days and that it might sound like “WOOP WOOP WOOP WOOP.” It also said that the Egyptian government would never do anything to hurt its people. I think we should believe them!

But my friend saw a soggy scrap of paper on the ground that said there were a bunch of Salafis in the square wooping it up and calling for the imposition of Sharia law under the absolute jurisdiction of an infant that would be chosen by the most righteous man in the country as determined by a reality television show. I’m going to protest against them!

Don’t be ridiculous! It was the Muslim Brotherhood putting on their annual dodgeball tournament in order to raise money to buy all of the ground water in Egypt so that they can blackmail the government into giving it supreme power. I’m going to protest against THEM!

I thought I heard someone say they read an email that mentioned the possibility of class being cancelled, so we should probably stay up all night and not do homework. Woot Woot! No class!

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Nov 28 2011
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Anecdotes, Fiction, Two minute read

An Automated Response to the Rainfall

visual evidence of what may have been the end

Alert. Alert.

This is an automated message addressing the near-apocalypse that occurred last night in Cairo, Egypt from approximately 17:30 to 20:30 pm.

What could have been the end of the world took the form of a heavy rain descending upon Egypt’s capital. The moisture falling from the sky proceeded to form large lakes and puddles on every uncovered surface in the greater metropolitan area due to a complete lack of street drains. Thankfully, the inconveniently tall sidewalks were still of no use since they are pocked with various pits and sudden changes in height and existence.

As the night progressed, the (temporary) bodies of water became foamy, a result of both the physical movement of cars and the multiple chemical reactions going on between the various air and ground pollutants that include but are not limited to: soap, animal feces, garbage, and car exhaust. This foam can and will be used by the Egyptian government as a new form of riot control.

Though the streets have suffered considerable damage from the acidic mixture eating away at the concrete and asphalt, their physical appearance is almost indistinguishable from what it was before the quasi-Armageddon and the new potholes will likely go unnoticed.

Mild panic reigned over much of the populace during the moisture-time, resulting from an inability to identify the bizarre tapping sound that pervaded Cairo’s various boroughs. Once the sound and the substance causing it were identified, the panic was replaced with a sense of bewilderment, wonder, and hunger as entire families gathered round to watch the sky water drip down the sides of buildings and make the streets unusable.

Though Cairo’s streets were predicted to bloom today as the result of this rare rain, it appears the only thing blooming this year is Egypt’s democracy, and even that has a chance of getting stuck in the chemical muck left behind on both major and minor thoroughfares.

In response to the widespread fear that such a scathing indictment of the quality of the roads and sidewalks will cause the government to respond, an official has reassured the populace that, as in the past, nothing will be done to change the infrastructure’s current condition and that there is no cause to worry.

Happy Election Day. Please do not respond to this message.

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Nov 27 2011
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Fiction, Two minute read

Will It Stick: Thanksgiving Edition

As I sat at my friend’s apartment deeply pondering the political turmoil in Egypt and my miraculous completion of a homework assignment, I found myself struggling to come up with a blog post idea. Despite the fact that we are living in unusual times and Christmas is coming, I pulled blank after blank. Finally I began considering what kind of foods, after being thrown, would stick to a wall. As I delved further into this topic, I realized what an intellectual treat it would be  to analyze the traditional foods of Thanksgiving through this lens of viscosity and velocity.

Allow me to present the results of my brief investigation:

For purposes of simplicity, I have divided the foods into the categories of stickers, non-stickers, conditional stickers, and sliders. A sticker being, of course, something that would remain on the wall for a period of no less than 10 minutes after being thrown. Conditional stickers are things that would stick depending on the circumstances, and sliders are things that would ooze down the wall slowly before puddling into goo at its base. I’ve commented on the particular nature of some dishes, while leaving the rest to personal interpretation.

Stickers:

Mashed Potatoes (those with a fairly firm consistency)

Sweet Potato Casserole

Jello Salad: this fine traditional midwestern dish that provides a preview of dessert at the dinner table would most certainly grace a wall for a few minutes after being flung upon it

Pumpkin pie: a little too gooey sometimes for my taste, this viscous dessert would most certainly join its mashed brethren in decorating the wall.

Non-Stickers:

Rolls

Turkey legs

Leafy green salad: though one or two leaves that are particularly soaked with dressing might stick, odds are most of it would just bounce right off. You  shouldn’t have too much dressing on the salad anyways. If it sticks, you might want to consider laying off the blue cheese dressing

Apple Crostata with Cinammon-Almond Topping: not only will this not stick, but you’ve probably annoyed most people at the potluck by insisting that your crostata is not an apple pie.

Conditional Stickers:

Slices of turkey, depending on size and whether or not someone ruined the turkey by over cooking it

Stuffing/dressing, depending on if it’s inedibly dry, disgustingly mushy, or toothsomely perfect

Pecan Pie, depending on the velocity with which it was thrown

Sliders:

Gravy

Green Bean Casserole: no doubt some of this would remain plastered to the wall, but a good amount would probably slither all the way down

Cranberry Sauce

There is certainly more to be said, but I will leave some fun for Christmas, where many of the same dishes will once again be over-eaten and then lobbed against the walls.

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Nov 03 2011
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Fiction, Stories, Two minute read

Jasmine’s Journey to Shubra

Destination: Shubra

The high from her rebellious escape soon wears off as Jasmine becomes stuck in traffic on the way to the city. Sitting on the highway, her tummy rumbles and the possible hour and a half of lurching before her doesn’t bode well for the meal situation. She had wanted room to run and prance and frolick, but now she can barely slam her high heeled snake skin boots to the gas for a split second before she has to switch to the brakes again. What will it take to be free?

After an hour of alternating between creeping and sprinting, Jasmine realizes it might be better to explore this city of hers on foot, the way many Cairenes do. This new idea is intimately related with the fact she totaled her father’s car in a bizarre car accident that left her completely unharmed, and a troupe of mimes in either a state of ecstasy or extreme pain. She bribed all the necessary people and walked away from the smoking, semi-silent mess unscathed, but confused. Where was she?

As she gazes around, cars whizzing by, she only sees an endless horizon of mosques, billboards, more highways, and brown buildings. Is this the people’s Cairo? Carless and clueless, she loiters on the side of the highway like an orphan child until a white taxi pulls up and announces itself: “Taxi?” Having never traveled by herself before, Jasmine is puzzled. What does this common person want? The taxi driver says again, more insistently, “Taxi??”

Finally, she understands and accepts this knave’s services, entering the back of the car and saying she wants to go to “somewhere common, where the people are.” The taxi driver is confused by this. Is this some kind of game? Is it a trick? Is she threatening him? Insulting him?

But no, she really is just that oblivious. Her stomach still growling, she states again that she just wants to go where “normal people live; a people place.” After repeating the word people a few times, the taxi driver finally gets an idea. He’s going to take her to the peopleyiest place all, the place where the popolo congregate, and the public gathers, a place where the common folk thrive and your average Mohammad tells jokes to his grandkids.

“Shubra it is” he says….and off they go.

(to be continued….)

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Oct 31 2011
1 Comment
Fiction, Stories, Three minute read

Jafar Schemes

the sweet potato oven that houses ghost of Ataturk

As our young protagonists near their collision, a military general named Jafar sulks in an undisclosed location, whining to anyone who will listen about the Supreme Council of Armed Forces. Having lost most of his friends after deciding to become a power-hungry, money-grubbing, good-for-nothing, his one companion is Stanley, a hairless rat he found in the desert and nursed back to life with cat milk. It was weird.

For as long as Stanley will listen, Jafar complains about how the SCAF’s poor leadership is leading the country along an ever lengthening road towards democracy. Why are they even bothering with the illusion of democracy at all? Can’t they just kill it, both the delusion and democracy itself, altogether and quickly?

If he, Jafar, were in power, there would be no more of this ridiculous talk along with the facade of free elections or free speech. He alone would command the country, an evil dictator that would host weekend parties where the glitterati of Hollywood and Bollywood swims in champagne purchased at one thousand dollars a bottle. No one would dare challenge him and he would catapult Egypt to the top of every development index by force, regardless of whether true benefits reached the peasants.

One thing stands in the way of his dream: the gassy compatriots that make up the SCAF. An outsider to the group, he only spies them when entering or exiting their lounge that is stocked with an endless supply of Redbull and Snickers Bars. There is no application process to enter this warm circle of military minds. You are either born into it, or claw your way to the inside by putting its entry above even the necessity of your bodily functions.

Though the way appears messy, Jafar is ready to sacrifice everything, even Stanley, in order to rule this thorny country. And he even has a plan. A ill-hatched, half-cooked, likely-to-fail plan.

Jafar dabbles in trolling websites concerning conspiracy theories, urban myths, and cute pictures of animals. While perusing one of these sites, he came across the legend of a sweet potato oven in Shubra that houses the ghost of Ataturk, the founder of the modern Turkish state. When the sweet wood of a balsam tree is burned in this oven, the ghost rises and grants three wishes concerning statecraft and/or nation building.

The oven, however, can only be found by one from the neighborhood of Shubra itself, since the streets are quite difficult to navigate and change without documentation.  Moreover, the person who locates the oven must be the only living relative of the man currently in charge of keeping it and selling hot sweet potatoes to passersby.

After long years of internet searching and hanging out in bars, Jafar has found the shab he needs to locate the oven: Aladdin. Now it’s only a matter of time before the young man falls into the desperate clutch of the would-be tyrant.

To be continued…..

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