If my ego trip wasn’t a problem already…

…this happened:

A friend has nominated yours truly’s humble blog in the “Best Humor” category for a Pakistani blog awards thingie. Now, personally, I don’t know much about who is running this award show (I don’t think I’ll be making acceptance speeches thanking the Hollywood Foreign Press or the Academy any time soon) and cannot see how legit or credible these are, but the website has a Google and Dawn News logo. And even though the whole world knows I despise Dawn News, I’ll take whatever ego-stroking I get.

So, merry children, I have done the requisite and promoted myself. You can vote for me by clicking here, or clicking that horrid big red button on the top right of the home page of this blog. I have already promised free Lady Gaga concert tickets to those who oblige, in case of a glorious victory.

Personally, however, I am a bit offended that my fact-based, meticulous and methodical research, which leads me to form concrete and balanced opinions, has been marginalized by being called ‘humor.’ Pfft. I am no fucking court jester. I dare anyone and everyone to disprove the veracity of any statement I make.

Further, I think these people do ‘humor’ much better than anyone writing about Pakistan:

Iblees

Maila Times

The budding Pakistani Marxist

A different league.

Me: “Yaar, that girl is so hot. I think I should take her out for dinner. Let me muster up some courage.”

Roommate (snickering): “Sohaib, that girl is in a completely different league. It’s like she’s Manchester United and you’re, umm, Chaman FC from Balochistan.”

Interestingly, Chaman FC is famous for getting arrested and having their heads shaved by the Taliban back in 2000 when they dared to play wearing only shorts on a tour to Kandahar. True story. Read here.

Fuck my life.

A Note on the Typology of Burgers – because broad and silly generalizations make things easy

So once upon a time I was flirting with a delectable girl and trying to have a fun time being all cocky and charming that I suddenly hit a wall: I realized that she was too burger for my liking, and I was too paindu for hers. This led me, always the intellectual, to start thinking about the nature of burger people in or from the mother country. More specifically, I had the following questions in mind: what makes one a burger; what are the implications of being a burger; is one’s burgerness determined at birth and is unchangeable, or do events that happen in the subsequent course of life cause burgerness to develop fully; and, finally, can a non-burger become a burger and vice versa, and, if so, what are the social implications of such a phenomenon?

Before I go any further, a brief explanation is in order for those folks who do not know the meaning of burger. (These folks include my supposed (and rapidly dwindling) readership outside of Pakistan, especially of the foreign variety.) A burger is best understood as a derogatory term for a youthful soul that is too westernized, and out of touch with his native culture and society. It is used by non-burgers to mock burgers. (At the opposite of the spectrum would be ‘paindu’, someone who’s from a village and thus ill-informed about the ways of the world.) I personally find ‘burger’ to be a most fascinating term, and if I could venture a guess as to its origins, it would be this: this happened in the late 1980’s etc when burgers started becoming an essential part of menus at upscale restaurants all over the country. Those youth who, in any given situation, chose to reflect their preference for a foreign alternative to any item or mode of behavior over its local variety, or behave in a reasonably foreign manner, began to be labeled ‘burgers.’ The term, thus, is also comment on globalization (that is, Americanization) of world cuisine.

Okay, enough of the pseudo-intellectualism from my side. Let us move on to the topic at hand. So, after a fair bit of thinking, I was able to conclude that there actually exist not just one kind of burger, but in fact quite a few classes of it. These vary in their burgerness based on their members’ characteristics. I present below my humble analysis and contribution – the three categories of burgerness that I have identified, with increasing order of burgerness: the bun kebab, the crispy chicken burger at AFC, and, finally, the Quarter Pounder.

The bun kebab (especially the one at Tipu Burger)

This is the first, and least burger, category of burgers. In fact, it is hardly burger at all. People belonging to this category aspire towards ultimate burgerness, but that will always remain a distant dream for them. At maximum, they will be lucky and get admission and a scholarship at some elite private university where they can interact with whatever Quarter Pounders (the ultimate burgers) have not left for studies abroad, do well in that university, get a high-paying job at a fancy multinational company, have kids, send those kids to elite private schools, and, finally, be able to attain some Quarter Pounders. Thus, it takes an entire generation for someone to progress from bun kebab to Quarter Pounder. (LUMS National Outreach Program, I look at you!)

The biggest obstacle bun kebabs face is that they are too rooted in their desiness to break free and embrace western influences fully and completely. The only western cultural and musical influences that they admire and appreciate wholeheartedly include global phenomena such as Michael Jackson and Rambo. They got sad when MJ died because for them that was the only quality music that side of the world has ever produced.

Another interesting characteristic of bun kebabs is that a lot of people in Pakistan’s entertainment industry fall here. These include the actresses and fashion models types, looking to break free from a traditional, conservative family culture and embrace fully the vices promised by Quarter Pounderness.

On the internet, bun kebab-types are quite active. Sadly, however, I feel they are too busy looking at porn or complaining on some political forum about Blackwater’s unwarranted presence in Pakistan to show interest in this blog. My analysis, thus, will remain in the wilderness for them.

The crispy chicken burger at AFC

This is the second category of burgers, and I affectionately call these the crispy chicken burgers at Lahore-based chain AFC, which is a rip-off of KFC (and the burger itself a rather delicious and half-priced rip-off of the world-famous Zinger).

This lot is a bit confused, but would be too proud to admit it. The AFC crispy chicken burgers did not have the luxury of going to the elitist of private schools in the country. Instead, they went to the second tier schools, which incidentally are still too expensive for most Pakistanis. You know, the Beaconhouses and City Schools of the world. Invariably, they believe that those kids who went to the elitist private schools are complete burgers (and thus don’t realize that they themselves are also quite burger, but just not burger enough).

In terms of cultural and artistic preferences, the crispy chicken burgers have a mild preference for Hollywood films over Bollywood, because, well, the stories are better and the acting is stronger and the women are hotter and less inhibited. Further, crispy chicken burgers are big fans of Pakistani rock bands such as Noori, EP, Call, Jal, Junoon et al. In fact, if I had to guess I would say they constitute the biggest fan group for these bands. They are also strongly inclined towards the usual suspects amongst western rock/pop acts – Metallica, Pink Floyd, Green Day, etc. Interestingly, these burgers think that ‘nigger’ is an acceptable word around the world, because all the rap musicians that they have heard seem to be using it. (Some of the crispy chicken burgers thus are often liable to end up in some kind of trouble if they somehow manage coming to the United States for graduate studies or work.)

My obsession with all things Bollywood and antipathy to any western music that is not Lady Gaga keeps me paindu enough to be in this category; otherwise I would have become a Quarter Pounder long ago. Which brings me to…

The Quarter Pounder

Burgers belonging to this group are the easiest to spot, and are the most despised universally. They will only use English as a language of communication, unless speaking to their driver, guard, cook, or staff at their favored DVD shop at the market, in which case they will use Urdu that is often accented. Invariably, Quarter Pounders have studied at the elite private schools in Lahore, Karachi and Islamabad (there are, by a law of nature, no Quarter Pounders from any other city) which their parents have paid an arm and a leg for. They can either be first or second generation Quarter Pounders (see ‘bun kebab’ section for an example of how first generation Quarter Pounders come to be).

Oh, an interesting aside. Even though I have labeled them Quarter Pounders, which is a McDonald’s brand, they are mostly likely to consider McDonald’s as a slightly ghetto joint which is too often frequented by the crispy chicken burgers. Thus, when craving a burger themselves, these burgers will only visit a McDonald’s joint via drive-thru, or will get home delivery. Or, they will simply go to Roaster’s in Zamzama and have expensive-as-shit burgers there.

For Quarter Pounders, looking down upon the other classes of burgers is considered standard and often encouraged. However, this attitude seems to be getting a bit passé now, and there appears to be renewed interest amongst this community in understanding the complex socio-economic problems inflicting the common man in Pakistan. Because we must help. Somehow. Like, you know, go back and do something meaningful.

Quarter Pounders probably don’t know that hockey is the national game of Pakistan. In fact, the only hockey they are likely to have seen is the kind played on ice, during graduate studies or regular family vacations to the United States. (Yes, it is indeed quite a fast game, and great fun to watch when drunk. I know. Shahbaz senior can kiss my chuddies.)

There is no point discussing cultural preferences and shit like that, because the only time they watch Pakistani TV is when the cricket team is playing some important match. (Incidentally, whenever they go see a cricket match live, they will sit in the enclosure that allows other Quarter Pounders to congregate. They are thus insulated from the aam junta (or, mango people. Oh man, Love Aaj Kal really outdid itself in this one! Pure brilliance.) and can enjoy the match with insane amounts of poondi to entertain themselves during boring periods like when Salman Butt is trying to bat.

In terms of music, they are likely to know more about the history of jazz music than the average American. Regarding movies, Bollywood is obviously considered to be a joke. However, Aamir Khan tends to be one Bollywood actor that is respected, and ‘Dil Chahta Hai’ is considered a good film. Because, well, it’s relatable. Shahrukh is considered a chootiya. Interestingly though, all the pomp and show of Bollywood comes alive for Quarter Pounders every wedding season, when pretty ladies do the sexiest dances to hits from the previous year wearing very-very tasty clothes.

On the Pakistani side of entertainment, Quarter Pounders are likely to have watched ‘Khuda Ke Liye’ once and found it a bit preachy but relevant. Because, you know, “it shows our religion in a positive light and shows the true face of those barbarian bastards, methinks.” Quarter Pounders also have vague recollections from when they were young of their mothers almost getting wet while talking about some random godforsaken dead guy called Waheed Murad.

Most readers of this blog fall in this category.

(Update: So, apparently, this topic is as old as the hills. See hottie VJ Mahira talking about it here. I personally couldn’t focus on the content of the discussion (I am sure it wasn’t anything enlightening) because her supreme hotness is too bloody distracting, yar.)

(Acknowledgements: Actually, this idea has been brewing in my head for quite some time now. A big puppi and japhee to Umair Javed for throwing his significant intellectual (and even more significant body) weight behind the topic of burgerness and its social implications, over many pointless online chat conversations.)

Fashion Weeks, and Other Ways To Distract Yourself From A Boring War

So there I was a few days ago trying to find reasonably hot pictures from the Pakistan Fashion Week (yes, so apparently Pakistan had its own fashion week; for someone like myself who grew up looking at fancy pictures of skimpily-clad Pakistani models in fashion spreads, this was a most joyous moment!) that I realized two things:

One, there was no nipple slip that came to my attention. This is sad because the authenticity and prestige of any given fashion week is usually judged by how many nipple slips it contained, or how scandalous, if at all, said nip-slips were. My friends across the Line of Control usually conjure nip-slips on a regular basis, and this is directly related to how many orders their designers are getting from international and regional buyers. By the way, allow me to complain that my search for above-mentioned reasonably hot pictures from the Pakistan Fashion Week was quite useless – the results were totally insipid and not hot. No one has done a good enough job of taking, collecting and uploading high resolution pictures, or hasn’t informed me at least even if he has. The only collection of pictures I came across were on the media gallery of Dawn, a media network that continues to defy logic as to the reason for its existence and continues to remain pointless and fucked up. Like, seriously, are you trying to copy BBC or something? Get over yourself, you English-speaking fucks.

Second, one normally doesn’t have such shenanigans in countries that are fighting a war (!). And not to sound like that idiot Mr. Stating The Obvious, but we are fighting one. This leads me to conclude that the Fashion Week was staged as a wonderfully well-executed distraction from the war currently engulfing the poor wretch that is our beloved homeland. This is both fascinating and sad. It’s fascinating because we have a wonderful and enviable ability to oversee the obvious problems, de-prioritize the priorities and allow ourselves to inhabit, if briefly, la-la-land where dreams come true and Nomi Ansari is king. It’s sad, however, because we have a wonderful ability to oversee the obvious problems, de-prioritize the priorities and allow ourselves to inhabit, if briefly, la-la-land where dreams come true and Nomi Ansari is king.

Now, yes, of course, it’s not so simple because the said war that we are currently engaged in is obviously bordering on both the pointless and the boring. It’s a boring war because there is no clearly defined enemy, there is no glamour that is usually associated with just and righteous resistance to aggression, and there are no empowering patriotic songs to get everyone excited. (Yes, Abrar-ul-Haq has indeed come up with a new song/video concerning the above (which can be viewed here), but I am quite sure my Pathan brethren are not too happy at being depicted as the only evil, money-hugging, conniving bastard-villains in the storyline, especially when Punjabis redeem themselves. Well, it’s not my fault that’s the fucking truth, you gibberish-speaking cavemen!) Further, wars are simply not the same amount of fun without a powerful neighbor whose butt you can try to kick and get away with. No India, no game. Lastly, of course, there is the small matter of, you know, killing our own countrymen. And that’s obviously no party. Thus, this is a very, very boring war, and distractions like the Pakistan Fashion Week are an adequate response to this dilemma.

Now let me explain why this war is pointless. There are two arguments often given: one, that we are making a colossal mistake, that this is not our war and we should not be following Washington’s orders by massacring our own brethren when we can easily negotiate with them to stop bombing us due to a small misunderstanding and instead focus all their efforts on liberating Afghanistan from foreign occupation; second, that this war is unwinnable – it is like beating a garden animal into his hole, whereby he will pop up from a new hole, and this will repeat until you get tired. This argument makes sense because when we attacked them in Swat, they ran away to somewhere unknown, when we attacked them in South Waziristan, they ran away north and further south (yes, sadly, the grand “fight to the finish” ala ISPR spokesman Major-General Athar Abbas has failed to materialize), and when we will attack them again, they will run away again, and so on and so forth. Stretching this strategy to its logical end, we will end up starting military operations all over the country to root out militants spread all over, until we reach the point that General Kayani and Hakeemullah Mehsud will be squaring off in a swordfight duel to death in front of WAPDA House on the Mall Road in Lahore.

And no one wants to see that. (Although considering how uber-hot Hakeemullah is, as established here, I’d buy a ticket to see him wield a sword like it’s supposed to be wielded. Yum.)

So, the war is pointless and boring, which necessitates that we distract ourselves through an indulgence such as the Pakistan Fashion Week.

Sadly, however, this is not our only current distraction. Instead, we as a nation are engaged in a plethora of activities that can only qualify as efforts to quell the yawns that follow hearing about the military’s supposed advances in previously-unheard-of places such as Kabal and Makeen. Some of these activities are listed below.

1. Indulging in political speculation

This is and has always remained our favorite pastime, and nothing has changed ever since the war started. One can, in fact, deduce the importance the public attaches to a given national issue by looking at the strategic placement of news items related to the issue on the front page of the daily paper. Thus, on a day when PM Gillani made some nonsensical statement about the NRO and the military entered the crucially important Taliban stronghold of Sararogha (another previously-unheard-of place) and killed a fair number of militants along the way, the former news item was splashed across the front page with an accompanying picture (always a plus when the picture subject is dashing PM Gillani) and a minor, 3-inch long box containing information on the latter.

Other important speculative questions that are probably being asked on a daily basis include, but are not limited to, the following:

1. How tight did Nawaz Sharif tie the naala on his shalwar today? What effect did it have on his bowel movements? Consequently, depending on the presence or not of constipation, how did he deal with President Zardari’s latest offer of reconciliation?
2. Which finger did Altaf Hussain use to scratch his beer belly in London today? Did he use the middle finger? If so, was it an implicit fuck-you to President Zardari signaling a break in the coalition after a year of happy times? Instead, was it an index finger? If so, was he praying while drunk? (But it’s already been established that in English it’s drink, not drunk, according to Ranbir Kapoor in his latest. Yay, Bollywood reference!)
3. Whose picture did President Zardari jerk off to last night? Was it, by any chance, film actress (and recently rejuvenated TV hostess) Noor? Free mango shake in the winter for anyone guessing the origins of the Noor reference. Is his consistent masturbation the reason for his glowing, ever-present smile? If so, can you construct a counterfactual predicting the behavior of Zardari had he not been so trigger-happy?

Interestingly enough, all three questions can be turned into respectable and relevant doctoral theses in political science. That is, after all, the current stature and relevance of that silly discipline, is it not? Hah, score! Sohaib Athar – 1, entire LUMS Social Science department – 0. Bazinga!

2. Gossiping about the sex lives of female politicians

While this was always a fun thing to do at social dinners, it really became part of the national discourse after Firdous Ashiq Awan, our deliciously charming and well-mannered Federal Minister for Social Welfare, accused, on national television and in a live show, Kashmala Tariq, that certified hottie from the Pakistan Muslim League (Quaid-e-Azam), of starting her political career from the Heera Mandi (symbolically, of course. Kashmala did not actually run elections and win a seat from there, although that would’ve been immensely fun and ironic) and entering Parliament from someone’s bedroom.

The video is available below, although if you’re as much of a pervert as I am, you’ve probably seen it already.

Now this whole incident would’ve been highly sad if it wasn’t probably true. According to a good friend of mine who’s a treasure trove of information on controversial topics in Pakistani politics (and, for some reason, has also become a full-fledged conspiracy theorist who starts his conversations with me with, “Sohaib shehzaday, how are you, yaar? Want some chai? Oye, did you hear about the CIA angle on the Lahore bomb blast yesterday? No? Yaar! Acha, let me explain…”) (Asalam-o-alaikum Munir bhai!), this is the story of Kashmala Tariq’s rise to political ascendancy: she was dating (read: giving head to) former Minister of Commerce, and one of the richest men in the country, Humayun Akhtar Khan after returning from England where she had studied. He used to take her to all the social gatherings he attended. Then, then-President Musharraf saw her, was stunned by her beauty (one should give credit where it’s due – Kashmala would make me eat out of her palm) and said to her, “you should be with me, not with that loser. Come, and I’ll make you member of Parliament.” She then proceeded to join the National Assembly on a reserved seat for women after the 2002 elections, and remained Mush’s girl for quite some time after.

Sad but probably true.

3. Watching pointless cricket matches

Pakistan and New Zealand just finished playing a ridiculously pointless 3-match one-day international cricket series where our team, sadly, performed miserably. A much more exciting and interesting cricket series that we should have focused on during the same time was being played in India, where the hosts were playing a second-string Australia that beat the crap out of them.

That series was fun because, as just mentioned, a second-string Australia beat the crap out of India. Further, however, it contained one of the best innings of Sachin Tendulkar’s career, where he scored a massive 175 and almost lead his team to chase down a fucking mammoth 350. Sadly, however, he could not finish (yet again – oh, how I miss Brian Charles!) and got out painfully close to the end, and his teammates squandered the chance and made fools of themselves. The said innings was also interesting because everyone thought he’d break Saeed bhai’s record of the highest individual score in one-day cricket (that of 194, of course), but fell perilously close. Now had he done it, that would have been a major, major disaster for us. 100 dead in Peshawar, 40 dead in Lahore, gang rape in Karachi, Christians burned alive in Gojra. National tragedy? Nah uh. In perverted little Pakistan, Saeed Anwar losing the world record = national tragedy.

This of course needs perspective. In terms of national accomplishments by Pakistan ever since it was created, Saeed Anwar’s world record is as high as third on the list, behind only the 1992 cricket World Cup win and the country going nuclear in 1998. (Interestingly, Saeed bhai’s record was in 1997. I had no idea the 1990’s were such a kickass time for the country! I guess the (albeit brief) dawn of democracy does bring about national happiness. Go Ronald Inglehart!)

Of course, the fact that Saeed bhai’s record has remained intact despite many batsmen coming tantalizingly close to it over the last decade is proof of the power of prayer. And given that Sachin, despite being on song and playing one of the best innings of his life and not providing any chances to the bowlers and not looking like ever getting out, perished with a soft lollipop of a dismissal only 19 runs short of the record, no more conclusive proof is needed that Allah > Rama.

I am so glad I was born on this side of the border. Phew. Now I can die in peace.

Top 5 sexiest Pakistani terrorists

When I was growing up as a horny teenage boy (some, of course, swear that I never left that phase) I was a consistent follower of “insert-number-of-choice sexiest women in the world” lists that men’s magazines frequently publish. Be it Maxim, FHM or that online bible AskMen.com, I would always anxiously await their results. Sometimes Jessica Alba took top honors, at other times the crown went to Monica Bellucci. Of course, then there was that sissy People’s magazine list ranking the most good looking folks in the world. Bah.

Sitting on my toilet seat the other day, however, I realized that there is no such list for, you know, men of chaos. They do, after all, have mass appeal. In some cases, they even have all the ingredients of sex appeal: charisma, intrigue and mystery, good looks, a devil-may-care attitude. Why, thus, should they remain outside the purview of those that define what is sexy?

To correct this imbalance, below is my humble contribution. I have restricted the list to Pakistani nationals, and those too recent ones, simply because my expertise outside this time and space is restricted. Others are welcome to bring to my attention terrorists who, besides killing and mutilating women the world over, have also made them wet. So to speak.

5. Ajmal Kasab

Ajmal Kasab is to Pakistani terrorism what Hrithik Roshan was to Bollywood – he came out of complete obscurity, as a total underdog, and delivered one mega performance that made everyone sit up, take notice, and crap in their pants. What he was lacking in terms of Hrithik’s legendary dance moves, he gained by generally prancing around nonchalantly in a city of twenty million people (which, incidentally, happened to be Hrithik’s home) with a loaded machine gun in his hand. Similar to Hrithik Roshan, however, he is destined to remain a one-hit wonder: just like Hrithik’s career seems to have fizzled out (yes, yes, I know he has given hits, but come on, who cares about him anymore?), Ajmal is probably going to continue embarrassing himself in a fun trial in court and will eventually either be put to death or see jail for the rest of his wretched life.

Now, seeing his picture you might ask from which angle does Ajmal Kasab look sexy? He is, after all, only 20ish. I will give you that. But you fail to understand the appeal such boyish charms hold for the tween and teen audience – he is the perfect cute boy that will drive many girls crazy rushing out of puberty. He is a veritable Nick Carter of the Backstreet Boys from our part of the world. And therein lays his sex appeal, bringing him to number five in our list.

4. Masood Azhar

Maulana Masood Azhar is a surprise entrant to this list (well, granted there aren’t too many sexy Pakistani terrorists to choose from in the first place). He is fat, has a big bushy beard, and wears that god-awful Arabic headdress (an example of another futile attempt by a Pakistani maulvi to become more Arabic in the false impression that the trueness of our religion lies in that part of the world. Idiot.) He owes his appearance on this list, clearly, not to his physical appearance (which is god-awful by all means) but, instead, to the sheer power of his oratory skills. He is, simply put, one of the most passionate and hair-raising public speakers I have ever heard. (Disclaimer: I have never actually heard him in person. I have merely listened to his work on Youtube, which, in today’s world, is good enough. If you want to hear him in person, go to Bahawalpur.) He specializes in the usual armed jihad message, asking you to get up from your ass and get to work in Kashmir, Afghanistan, Chechnya, Bosnia, and other assorted global hotspots. And he backs it up with his deeds too, unlike your average neighborhood maulvi: in the 1990’s he was arrested in India for charges of terrorism, and was eventually released in a dramatic hijacking episode in exchange for hostages of an Indian airplane. He then came back to Pakistan and founded Jaish-e-Mohammad, which used to specialize in Kashmir stuff but has now apparently turned its back on its paymasters and is having bomb blasts throughout urban Punjab. All very nasty stuff.

Anyway, do not take my word regarding his superior oration. Hear for yourself:

Here he is narrating his tale of release from the Indian prison – perfect for the average rightwing Pakistani.

Here he is explaining why Mullah Omar is the biggest badass alive.

And for a look at his humorous side (you know how humor adds to sex appeal):

Here he is explaining why TV is evil. Yes, TV.

And here he is poking fun at the entire Barelwi sect for their way-too-many religious festivals (definitely an inside joke that requires a certain appreciation of factional/sectarian rivalries within Sunni Islam):

(For my non-desi readers, if any: all links are in Urdu. If you don’t know the language, learn it. Pakistan is the most important country in the world, according to the Americans, so you might do well to learn the national language, ahem ahem.)

3. Brahamdagh Bugti

Brahamdagh Bugti is the grandson of the late Nawab Akbar Bugti of Balochistan and happens to be the only member of this list who is not an Islamic terrorist. On the contrary, he is probably Balochistan’s only hope for staving off a full-scale Mullah Omar-led Taliban takeover. His ideals, and those of his supporters, are purely secular in nature. Sadly for Pakistan, that offers no reprieve, as this kind gentleman is fighting for Baloch separatism and independence. Yes, that is correct. He is a modern-day Mujeeb ur Rehman, the only difference being that he is a dozen times sexier. Brahamdagh’s sex appeal is quite conventional – he is a man’s man. Rugged mountain dweller, he has been in hiding for two years, ever since our beloved Army murdered his grandpa. His story also features a fair degree of intrigue and mystery, another constant for high sex appeal: he is rumored (apparently there are pictures) to be regularly meeting Indian and Afghan intelligence people, getting money and arms for them, and generally being a big fat traitor to his homeland. Well, you know what they say, the enemy of my enemy…

The picture below shows Brahamdagh looking more manly than I can ever hope to become: gun on his shoulder, funky hunter’s cap, hunting away in a field. Man, that’s fucking hot, Brahamdagh. And I’m a total sucker for his name too. Bra-ham-dagh. Yum yum.

2. Ahmed Omar Saeed Sheikh

Ahmed Omar Saeed Sheikh is a thinking man’s terrorist. A graduate of Aitchison College in Lahore (no doubt Pakistan’s premier and most elitist high school – my thoughts on it can be found here) and the London School of Economics and Political Science, Ahmed Omar Saeed is as cerebral as they come. And from what I have heard and seen of women, cerebral is hot shit. He also has a fair degree of intrigue surrounding him: apparently, he was first recruited by British intelligence (yes, British. Not every fucking problem in the world is our fault, yo) and was then taken on by our folks to be groomed for Kashmir. Arrested, he was Masood Azhar’s roomie in prison, and was eventually released courtesy the same hijacking drama that led to Maulana sahab’s outing. In sum, him and the Maulana are certified chuddy buddies.

He has become famous for being sentenced to life imprisonment in the Daniel Pearl murder case. In a way, thus, he is not a terrorist per say, but just a common murderer. But since we are intellectually lazy, and since I am sitting in the U.S. right now with the FBI probably keeping tabs on me, it is quite safe to say that every person ever implicated in jihadi ideas is a certified global terrorist menace.

Ahmed Omar Saeed is currently in Hyderabad prison, but is apparently not languishing. Quite the contrary, he is having a ball of a time there. He has surrounded himself with books on history, economics and other intense stuff and reads them regularly. The jail authorities change his guards often because if they spend time with Ahmed Omar Saeed long enough they start coming under his cerebral spell. He is, thus, a veritable Hannibal Lecter! And you know how easily women get weak knees thinking about Hannibal Lecter.

Ahmed Omar Saeed also exudes power, another turn on: apparently he used to phone Musharraf from his jail cell threatening him with attacks if he did not release him. And apparently the two attacks on Mush in Rawalpindi were arranged by him. Quite a string-puller from behind bars, I dare say. Hotness overall. Worthy number two on our list.

1. Hakeemullah Mehsud

I debated long and hard about whether Hakeemullah should be number one or two on this list. In the end, his dashing good looks and charming smile did me in. My heart fluttered once or twice and I could not resist making him my numero uno – officially the sexiest Pakistani terrorist ever to have lived!

If Ajmal Kasab was the one-hit wonder Hrithik Roshan, Hakeemullah is to Pakistani terrorism what Akshay Kumar was to Bollywood: stunning good looks, wonderfully built physique, highly underrated and a total underdog yet rising within the ranks and proving one’s worth repeatedly, constantly struggling below the top stars for eons and then finally making one’s mark and attaining tog dog position after a grueling succession battle.

Yes, indeed, Hakeemullah is your typical Pathan – tall, handsome, charmingly rustic. Never has a man looked hotter in that winter cap that he constantly adorns (someone should tell him summer’s just ending).

Hakeemullah is also every boy’s dream – at the mere age of 28 (okay, Pathans are notorious when it comes to their ages. He’s probably 34ish), he is in control of one of Pakistan’s largest and most successful enterprises – the Tehrik-e-Taliban. He has risen through the ranks of the organization utilizing the right connections but also displaying a fair amount of skill and expertise at his job (he is considered particularly nasty). And now, after a succession struggle, he sits at the top – one of Pakistan’s most dynamic and youngest CEOs. Hakeemullah, you have arrived. Who needs fucking venture capitals or the Karachi Stock Exchange to seed capital when, like you, one controls a national (nay, international) multi-million dollar ring of kidnapping, drugs, donations, and what not. You are a modern-day Pablo Escobar!

Of course, it adds to his intrigue the rumor that he might not be alive! Yes, they (and here they equals Rehman Malik, the epitome of truth and integrity) say that you are dead and they’ve flown in a lookalike cousin from Afghanistan to impersonate you. Now isn’t that fascinating?

Is he alive?

Is he dead?

Is he a ghost?

Where is he?

DHAN TE NAN!!

And now for the ugly

Meanwhile, while we’re at it, here’s the ugliest terrorist ever made: Juhayman al-Otaibi, famous for laying siege of the Holy Kaaba at Makkah in 1979 to topple the corrupt and debauch Saudi Arabian government (an attack that we conveniently blamed on the Americans/Israelis/infidel Iranian Shiites. Yay, false propaganda!).