Tag Archives: Lebanese Women

Dear Sl*ts of Lebanon…


Disclaimer: This is a rant – my angriest one yet – although ironically, I’m not angry at all… But, I guess there’s no better way to write this than by presenting a “below the belt” public service announcement to a horrible genre of women who need to be disciplined. I will not be reciting phrases from the Bible, nor will I be promoting world peace. If you find foul language offensive, this is not the blog for you, and you may move along to greener pastures. And as always, to those of you who are insecure little haters, please feel free to write sweet insults to me in the comments section. 

In the past three years, I’ve blogged about anything and everything imaginable, except the “home-wrecking ho”. After countless get-togethers with my girls, their girls and their girls, I’ve come to notice how the concept of friendship among women is slowly diminishing as we get older, and is being replaced with competitiveness – especially where men are related. To explain my point further and with more accuracy, we were all able to agree on one common point: we are just about sick and f***ing tired of stupid b****es who are obsessed with finding a man at any cost that they will blatantly and shamefully take a shot at any attempt to break up a happy couple.

They will lurk around any given relationship and wait like vultures to pounce on the next available man. God forbid these desperate sl*ts actually try finding an already single guy to call their own – but no – it doesn’t work that way. These lazy b****es have no time to waste, and are only drawn to what’s tried and tested. They firmly believe that if Ms. X was happy with Mr. X, then he must really have something special going on – and of course, the desperate vulture will no longer be able to resist f***ing off until she gets her share. It’s even sadder when her attempts are unreciprocated, yet she will continue stalking and groveling after the same guy for months because yes, she is that desperate and undesired. We all know these silly hoes don’t pose a threat to anyone, but neither do flies – and guess what? Flies are swatted because they’re f***ing annoying!

BUT, if a man does fall for those antics and gets tempted to cheat, leave or “get some space,” you may thank whatever higher power you believe in for revealing that he’s not one of the few good ones, and not waste a second more of your time on such a lost cause.

On that note, the very reason why men are almost always eager to return to singlehood, is because they know they’ll have 1001 desperate sl*ts, with no notion of any moral code, ready to pounce on them and their joysticks. Since these men don’t possess an ounce of quality in their bones, quality certainly won’t be what they’re looking for, let alone appreciate.

We all know that there are girls you fall for and girls you just f***, but the latter is really making life difficult for the rest of us. Nice girls are absolutely sick and tired of trying to explain to a man that:

  • 3 AM phone calls from crying, whiny, clingy b****es is wrong, nay, abnormal;
  • An ex “friend with benefits” who you’ve “benefited” in the past few months is not a friend;
  • A girl sending swimsuit photos and winks is in fact a horny sl** that wants you to slap her around in bed;

And that,

  • A stranger you met 3 days ago at a bar is not planning on being “just friends.”

This is just borderline retarded…
Men who need these things explained to them are just retarded!

So, to the retarded men out there, we all know you’re not actually stupid, so stop pretending to be f***tards and give us a break every once in a while. We are very aware of how precious your ego is to you – but get over yourselves already. This is getting really old, really fast.

And to the sl*ts of Lebanon and the world, I would like to say this:

First of all, we all know a sl** when we see one. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. We also know about all your sad attempts and strategies and laugh about them.

Second of all, you all need to enforce a strict female version of the “Bros before Hoes” rule – we can call it “Sisters before Misters.” It doesn’t matter if you know the girl or not. It doesn’t matter if you’re a desperate piece of sh*t who hasn’t gotten laid in months. It also doesn’t matter if you’re old, ugly and on the verge of releasing your last fertile egg. It’s very simple – being a man-thief is a BIG no-no. Why? Because you wouldn’t want another ho trying to steal your man – it is pure common sense. When a man is fresh out of a relationship, at least one of two people is broken – what kind of disgusting person would want to plunge herself into that equation?

So, why am I so angry? Why now? Because 1) I finally have 3 free hours to make this world a better place; and because 2)  in my 13 years of dating experience, I have never given the time of day to one guy who is 1) taken, or 2) fresh out of a breakup. In fact, I have always encouraged them to give it another chance or at least give themselves some time alone. Any good woman with a conscience would do the same. Any woman who has ever experienced heartache or betrayal would never forget how that felt, and would never try to be the cause of that to another woman. All I know is, there is a special place in hell for women that don’t help out other women, and that thought makes me all f***ing warm inside.


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Trend Alert: Transvestites of Lebanon


Hello beautiful readers, it’s been a while! Amid my crazy fortnight of rush projects and last minute deadlines, and while my beloved Lebanon could be on the brink of (yet another) war, I found myself compelled to write about a phenomenon that tops every single event happening around me: Maya Diab.

Disclaimer: If you’re a diehard fan of this woman, please refrain from reading the rest of this post, or you may find your world shaken and yourself insulted (for whatever trivial reasons you have). If you do choose to continue reading in order to rain on me with insults in the comments section, please do so by all means; I’m already tingling with excitement, and made this very long on purpose for those who consider that Googling a daily quote is “reading.”

Lebanese and Arab people out there most likely know who this “woman” is, but just in case you’re deliciously from a more distant land, Maya Diab is a Lebanese “celebrity” who started out her career as a model and “singer” in a female group called “The Four Cats” *LOL* — and was once upon a time, human. Just to be clear, Maya can’t sing – not even if the fate of planet earth depended on it. In fact, an upcoming alien invasion could happen because of the sound waves she has disseminated into space. As a name, “The Four Cats” was spot on; when these girls sang, it was like cats getting raped during mating season. This girl band (or whatever) only required the four pussycats to 1) look good, and 2) attempt to dance — picture two epileptic snakes and two drunken orangutans onstage. I must admit though — despite not having one talented bone in her body, with only one rhinoplasty under her belt at that time, she used to be quite a hottie. Now, not so much…

Those who know me are aware of the fact that I almost never watch local TV, unless I’m requested to or required to, because of the IQ-dropping programs on these channels. For instance, our dear Maya apparently hosted a TV show where random people or celebrities sang karaoke. I don’t think I ever watched it; I kept trying to convince myself that it could add some sort of value to my evenings, but counting the hairs in my nose would have been a more entertaining pastime. She then participated in a new TV show called “Splash,” which I believe to be the stupidest, biggest waste of airspace – in the world – in the past century.
(If any of the show’s producers read this and feel offended, I just wanted to say that I’m glad to be the one offending you . . . it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!)

Splash - where Maya where's more clothes in the swimming pool than she does onstage ..

Splash – where Maya wears more clothes in the swimming pool than she does onstage ..

So, that’s Maya in a nutshell.

The last I had seen of her till now was at a hair salon I used to go to, where the then-preggers Maya would abuse the UV sun bed for 45 minutes every other day. I was certain she was an alien from a very distant galaxy, engaging in what must have been a prenatal ritual to adapt her fetus to our climate — think of a chicken sitting on its egg. To top that off, she would endure hours and hours of highlighting her hair, then putting on – not one – but three hair extensions. YIKES! Now that’s dedication!

Transvestites of the world, you better keep an eye out for this chick! Use her as inspiration so that one day you may be able to pull off the “drag queen look” as well as she does.

Thanks to Instagram (my newest obsession), after years of not seeing this beast, I came across certain accounts that post photos of Maya, the “style icon.” Now since I’m not one to mind my own business and remain idle about anything, this is where I must intervene. To all you men, fashion bloggers, women and children out there who find this thing attractive, I must ask you this, WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU THINKING?

The worst is that she is being used as a style reference point! Oh sweet lord, I don’t want to live on this planet anymore! *weep* There are even tutorials on “how to do the Maya Diab makeup.”

Oh sweet Lord...

Oh sweet Lord…


Sorry to burst your bubble, Maya, but…

..You will never be Rihanna...

..You will never be Rihanna…

..Or Angelina...

..Or Angelina…

...Or a Fashion Icon...like Ever!

Or a Style Icon…like EVER! (and reg. the hashtags, yes, of course she’s glowing — she looks like a cross between a Phoenix and a Minotaur that was set on fire…

So, in an attempt to stop hating and start participating, I decided to write my very own Maya Manual, right now.

How to look like a Drag Queen Maya Diab in 5 Easy Steps

  • Just in case you haven’t had 84 hours to tan this week, buy 6 bottles of tanning spray (shade: carrot), and proceed to empty them savagely and furiously all over your body. Leave nothing unsprayed. Once you’re done with the obvious places, spray some carrot orange on the base of your feet, behind your ears, and on your palms. You must aim to convince the world that you were born a tanned Brazilian beauty with this enviable “natural” glow. Once you’ve finished, make sure to turn all the lights off and look at yourself in the mirror. Are your eyeballs glowing in the dark? Are you unable to see the rest of your body? Good. You now have the Maya Diab “tan.”
Carrot Orange is the new black

Carrot Orange is the new black

  • Maya knows it’s all in the eyebrows. How do you think she has all that sex appeal? The look you’re going to aim for here is very critical, so you must use the right subjects for inspiration — just like Maya did. Think: Burt from the Sesame Street or the late Rafic Hariri (God rest his soul). What do these two have in common? The eyebrows. What do we remember about them long after they’re gone? Eyebrows. Watch and learn b****es, because Maya discovered this secret long before any of us did: in order to penetrate a person’s soul, lock their stare and captivate their minds, your eyebrows must speak to them. They should be an entity of their own, with their very own solar system. That’s the massiveness you should be aiming for. Let’s start by running a test. Stand in front of a mirror. Measure your eyebrow to forehead ratio. Which one is larger? Your forehead? F***ing amateurs! Now go buy a paintbrush, because your little insufficient makeup brushes won’t do the trick. Dip your paint brush into grayish brown eye shadow, because black is so 1998 and you want Maya’s “naturally blonde eyebrows.” Paint your entire forehead with it — not the middle of course, silly, you don’t want a unibrow here; you simply want to transform your forehead to a browhead. Once you’re done, reach into your jar of hair gel, and apply some to your actual eyebrow hairs. That way, they will stick right out of your forehead like spikes (which are so in, like OMG!) and emphasize the fact that your eyebrows have a natural, untouched hairy look.
Oh yes, they're unique alright! (Kudos to whoever wrote these hashtags. Pure comedy)

Oh yes, they’re unique alright! (Kudos to whoever wrote these hashtags. Pure comedy)

  • Your clothes have to make a statement, a statement so loud that the gods in the heavens can hear them and strike you with lightning. What do you get when you cross a flamingo with a disco ball? Your next outfit (you may refer to the minotaur/phoenix outfit above). That’ll place you at the very top of the fashion icon list. More is more. Make sure that each of your outfits contains all of the following elements: sheer, feathers, sequins, side-boob, plunging neckline, backless, side slit, frontal slit, Angelina-thigh, sky-high shoulder pads and lots of colors. Now that’s a dress! Make sure that people need to wear dark shades in order to look at you for more than 2 seconds. You must look like a drag queen that tripped, fell unto some glue, then rolled around Wonderland or Oz. Are we done yet? No. Make sure you only wear Louboutins – and the sky high ones too. Not to worry, by the time you’re the next fashion icon, good old Christian will be dying to become your next best friend. You can then ask him to create a Loubi for you and call it: The Hooker-High Heel. It will be something women everywhere will be able to wear and plunge to their death from. Jumping off a cliff is so 1800’s.

    Hello, Bigfoot...

    Hello, Bigfoot…

  • Does your hair still have a natural shine? Can you still work your fingers through it? Tsk, tsk… Make sure you buy three hair extensions made out of lion hair. Backcomb all three with your natural hair – don’t worry, soon enough none your real tassels will be left. Empty an entire can of hairspray on your backcombed hair. Backcomb it some more. Let there be HAIR! Add lots of volume till you become a cast member from the Coneheads movie, or a Troll doll. Did you know that Maya has her very own Barbie Doll? Maya en miniature? Did you know that Maya looks even more plastic than her Mini-Maya? Don’t you think that is a sign of flawless beauty? Don’t you want your own doll too? Then don’t complain that your heavy hair is causing you neck pain, or that your head can’t reach the pillow at night. Fabulousness comes at a price. In this case, it’s everything that makes you a woman; so accept it, let go, and embrace being the new It Girl.
I don't want to life on a planet where this is considered "normal"

I don’t want to live on a planet where this is considered “normal”

  • Rule of thumb: why wear makeup if it’s not obvious to everyone? First of all, that would be such a waste of money. Second of all, how would you be able to deserve the title of “natural beauty?” Make sure to give yourself a deep, dark and penetrating glare. This has nothing to do with your soul, but everything to do with what brand of eyeliner you’re using. I suggest you buy that Egyptian Kohl, or whatever it’s called, and attack your eyes with it. ATTACK! The trick is not to discreetly outline your eye, but to retrace your eyeliner nine times; one for each circle of hell. The result should be dramatic enough to make men, women and children weak in the knees…the same way Frankenstein did. If you want to be a legend, you better start acting like one. Use the following legendary creatures as inspiration: The Hulk, Bigfoot, King Kong, Godzilla, Lucifer himself/herself, and the Medusa. Get it? Got it? Good. Now to bring out that hypnotizing orange glow, add some bronzer to your face and neck. By “some,” I mean the bronzer should last you three applications tops.
Scary stuff...

Scary stuff…

Now that you look like an Extra from a zombie apocalypse movie, you can pat yourself on the back. You’re now a ravishing she-male, a lion, a beast.

Meet Maya's Doppelganger. This made my DAY!!!

Meet Maya’s Doppelganger. This made my DAY!!!

As trivial as my new blog post may sound, what really saddens me isn’t Maya the Lion itself, but the fact that young girls are using this woman (and many in her category) as a reference for how to look and behave. What’s more baffling is the men that find her sexy, which pushes women to dress and behave like her to get their attention (although I’m convinced that men who find her hot are closet homosexuals dying to jump some dude’s bones – and Maya ,or Mario, is as close as it gets). I really advise these people to get out of their ignorance bubble and see the world. In self-actualized countries, big noses are sexy; so are small breasts and whatever imperfections girls have become obsessed with hiding. Ten years ago, I was dying to get a nose job. My mother beat the crap out of me and threatened to break my new nose if I ever got one. I then wanted to enlarge my breasts. Same child abuse happened. She then explained to me that I can’t get by on my looks forever, and need to invest in my insides, or else I’d be a boring, unattractive has-been by the time I’m forty. Thank you mom; you and your generation were the last of the good ones. Today, I take pride in my nose’s unique shape because it makes me stand out. It gives me character. In Lebanon, it’s considered big, but when I’m walking down Park Avenue in New York, my nose is tiny because most women there chose to embrace their unique imperfections, and that’s what makes them perfect in their own way – and it’s sexy as heck!

As for the dresscode, seriously people, tone it down a notch. Wearing your entire closet doesn’t make you stylish; it makes you a hot mess. When I wear an LV bag in Beirut, I look like a peasant compared to the 18-year-olds with Birkins. Inversely, when I wear anything that obvious in NY, I look and feel like a showoff. It’s pretty ironic since people there are more confident, self-actualized and accomplished than most women here can ever dream of being. Those women who are sporting a curved nose and a $300 Michael Kors bag actually read a book from time to time and have something interesting to talk about. They have character. They don’t need a $10,000 bag, a $3000 nose job and a $5000 disco ball dress to make them look or feel appealing. There are some amazing women here, many who I know and many more who I only know of; but they are the minority. They’re not just impressive to a small clique of people; they turn heads everywhere they go in the world. These are the ones who should be looked up to.

I love glitz and glamour as much as the next girl, but there’s more to life. Boy do I miss having an interesting conversation with people who have their head screwed on tightly. I miss people who are actually good at doing something other than trying to look good all the time; people who have a hobby. I miss real people, real hair, real freckles, real eyebrows and real noses; and I’m blaming the media, plastic surgeons (like that douche bag Nader Saab) and transvestites like Maya Diab who are at the forefront, shaping and corrupting people’s opinions and habits. Don’t get me wrong; always look your best on the outside, but let’s not forget that what’s inside needs work as well.

I would like to end this newspaper with a shout-out to all the real people out there: Kudos to you, for making it this far with enough structure, substance and confidence not to conform to cheap and ignorant standards.


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In the Land of Lesbianon!


As we grow older, and as more of our friends get married, we naturally become more aware of how “alone” and “single” we are, and tend to settle for the next best thing just so we don’t get left behind. I for one am content with being single, so long as I’m not stuck in a half-ass relationship with a slob who thinks that wiping urine off his toilet seat is “effort.” On the other hand, several of my single lady friends (and acquaintances) cannot seem to stop complaining about men (or lack thereof) – and this entails the following deep and philosophical questions:

1.       Why do I always fall for assholes?

Because you’re an asshole – to yourself. When you genuinely love someone, you can’t allow yourself to hurt or mistreat them. Now apply that to yourself. If you genuinely love yourself, you can’t allow anyone to hurt you or mistreat you; in order for them to do that, they need your permission. By letting a jerk hold your beautiful heart with his dirty hands, you’re asking for it, sister!

Here’s a scenario for you: A jerk-off tells you that he doesn’t want a relationship, calls you at 2 AM after a night out, asks you to come over because he misses you; you go to his place, expecting a deep, long discussion — what on earth are you thinking? First of all, why pick up in the first place? Let him go booty call his mother. Second of all, the only deep, long thing you’ll be getting is his sausage. Yes, you’re the asshole, not him.

2.       What has happened to men these days?

What has happened to women these days? Where are the women that know what they want, have self-respect, and don’t settle for less than what they deserve? If you want a gentleman with old school manners, be a lady – you’ll definitely stand out in this new generation of vulgar skanks. I’m tired of women who go after men that are in relationships, or women that are so easy – thanks to you bitches, men now think they can have it all without having to make the slightest effort. Since boys will be boys, they think “Why settle for one baby mama when I got all dem hoes on my peen like glue?” (For the record, I don’t know any normal guy that talks like that, but if I ever meet one, I will punch him in the stomach.) Nevertheless, the message is still the same.

3.       Where are the men these days?

They’re everywhere – depending on what you’re looking for. If on the other hand you mean, where’s the generous billionaire who will love and honor me above anyone and anything, you simply must reset your priorities. Start by reading a book or something, because you’re clearly quite ignorant and haven’t a clue on what life is about outside your pretty little head.

And by the way…

This PSA is to all you women who call themselves “gangsta” and “heartbreaker” and talk like a female version of Snoop Dogg (or Lion or whatever his current name is): if ladies become extinct in 50 years, it’s because of white trash like you. You may not be a ho, but you most certainly look and act like one – and you know what they say, “if it talks like a duck and walks like a duck…,” well, you get the point. Stop complaining about “men these days” – you lost your right to be selective the day you started bragging about how “badass” you are. Go grow yourself a penis.

4.       Are all the good men taken or gay?

Obviously, married men are always more appealing than single ones. Why? Because 1) that guy is perceived as someone with enough good qualities to get the girl (face it boys, this is the sad reality); and 2) we all want what we can’t have (rephrased: no one wants what everyone else can get). This in no way encourages you to be a home wrecking ho. There are many great guys left; gay and straight – enough for both the queens and princesses – but obsessively trying to find the last of the good ones by “doing/saying all the right things” won’t get you anywhere. It will just make you more hopeless and desperate. Instead, try searching for yourself. When you find the real “you,” maybe he will too (since he’s probably wondering where all the good women are as well).

5.        “WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?!”

Why? Because you’re single? Maybe you should start by asking yourself why that’s such a bad thing, then help yourself to a serving of GET OVER IT!

Almost two months ago, I was depressed about celebrating my 28th birthday, simply because it meant turning a year older – nothing more, nothing less. A “bright” girl I know gave me a pat on the shoulder then said, “Don’t worry – my sister got married at 29, after we had all lost hope. You still have a chance.”


My jaw dropped all the way down to her IQ level. I simply blinked at her in complete disbelief and focused on the unbearable humidity, in an eager attempt to distract myself with the one thing more offensive that the words she was uttering.

6.       Who am I going to marry? Will I ever get married?

Well, last time I checked my crystal ball, it said something about you marrying … no, being a moron.

This has to be my least favorite question of the bunch. I guess the fact that I tend to talk and philosophize a lot makes it seem that I hold the answers to the universe. Make no mistake, I am indeed a genius – but if I possessed psychic powers, I’d focus my energy on finding the next Google or Apple or Oprah to invest in – maybe a Gooprah: the answer to all women’s relationship problems.

7.       Why are there so many hoes?

Although I tend to use the word “ho” a lot, I don’t like it much; but it’s a briefer, more convenient way of saying: stupid, insecure, self-hating, fugly bitch that should be kicked in the face for being such a pain to exist with on the same planet. Anyway, cheap guys go for cheap girls – so let’s thank these hoes for existing – they act as a filter for other women by indentifying garbage and helping us avoid dirtying our hands with it.

Sorry boys, the “car fax” doesn’t just work on girls. You’re going to be judged by the girls you’ve loved, fucked and fondled for years to come … and no, being a “pimp” and a “man-whore” is not sexy anymore. That’s so 2001.Get with the times!

8.       Why do men love bitches?

Men love a smart woman who loves herself enough not to take shit from anyone. At the same time, she is honest, respectful and loving – to herself and others. This bitch is a lady – the hoes mentioned above are another genre of last year’s horse manure, who have given up on love, life and themselves. Please do not mistake the two.

At the end of the day, men are looking for the same thing as women — we’re all looking for that spark, and whoever denies it is a child. We all want a good challenge and an equally fulfilling trophy at the end. That is what the “game” is about (this is directed at you fools who pollute my ears with “I’m a hustler; a player; a gangsta.” STFU, please. I no longer have the patience for this at my age.

9.       Should I become a lesbian?

If you feel like it, sure. With the 7 to 1 female to male ratio in Lebanon, you have much higher chances of meeting someone. Just stop reminding me about how you’d be much happier and better off being a “lesbo” unless you want me to shove your face in the next woman’s coochie. In dire need of better conversations here, please – NEXT!

10.   Should I date that loser that was stalking me last year? Maybe he’s a nice guy…

Once again, if you think being single is that much of a punishment that you have to date an annoying worm that is mildly less annoying than a monkey with fleas, then maybe you shouldn’t be in a relationship – ever! Because of desperation, I have lost countless girlfriends to men who they’d previously referred to as, “If he were the last man on earth, and the last sheep died, I’d make love to a tree.” Of course, being the way I am, I never ceased to remind them of how horrible their future husband is; thus being exiled from their lives because I’m “unsupportive.”  I’d like to take this opportunity to wish a couple of girls (you know who you are) the following: I hope you make it to your two-year anniversary. If you don’t, you can go fuck a log or a branch or something because I’m all out of I told you so.

In a nutshell, the cure to the chronic disease known as “Singlitis” is the following:

Be a ho. Catch a playa!

Yes, as if.

PS. I will resort to physical violence and (I repeat) punch the next person who talks like that in front of me. I support good diction – and no, that doesn’t mean “dick friction” as so crudely entered in UrbanDictionary.com by this new generation of morons!


Seriously though, it all comes down to this:

If you want a man to respect you, respect yourself first. If you want a man to love you, love yourself first. If you want something, be clear about it and act clearly upon that. If you want a gentleman, be a LADY first!

Or, become a lesbian.

So, since I’m such a wise preacher, why am I single? Because I’m a pedophile that likes molesting little boys.


Let’s just say my last boyfriend raised the bar for everyone else out there. He was a reminder that Prince Charming does exist; that perfect man that each of us is looking for, he really is out there. But in order to be able to give and receive so much happiness without letting it scare you half to death, you have to be ready for it. I was able to find that, but I wasn’t ready and neither was he. This is why I am currently focused on improving myself; because to get the best I can get, I need to be the best I can be first. Next time around, I will be ready; but in the meantime, I won’t be wasting my time complaining, feeling sorry for myself or settling for Mr. Mediocre. As Carrie Bradshaw (SJP) once said, I “refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.”


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The Office Whoreo


Disclaimer: This is neither educational nor motivational. It will add no value to your life; just like the three “working girls” I’m about to describe in a minute.

After an eight-month hiatus from blogging and four failed password attempts while signing into WordPress, I find myself unable to suppress my thoughts about the one topic I was never interested in writing about before: workplace politics.

Instead, I used to encourage my readers to be independent, career-building, goal-oriented members of society. One day, I decided to take my own brilliant advice and get a full-time job. This ranks pretty high up on my list of “Biggest Mistakes I’ve Ever Made. . . EVER!” Not only was I happier before that, but I was more successful in the sense that I was doing something I enjoyed and interacting with people I liked.

When working as a freelancer from the comfort of my own home, I never really have to deal with functioning in an office environment. I have my clients, call my own shots and am as free as a bird. And although I’d already caught a glimpse of the unmatched Lebanese professionalism a few times (and no, I do not mean that as a compliment), I would have never predicted what was in store for me within a workplace.

As an educated person with manners, I was still in shock months into my – then – new job because of the “people” I had to deal with on a daily basis. Now don’t get me wrong; I worked with many fantastic people who I’d even become friends with, but then you have the unavoidable “I’ve come to ruin your day” folk that would make even Buddha hostile.
I guess I should have sensed it from week one, when Ms. Whoreo walked into my office in a skin-tight shirt and no trousers. As I stared at what could have been her secret garden, she stuck two large pieces of bubble gum in her mouth and proceeded with her enlightening questions, “You’re the new girl right? Who brought you here?”

I wasn’t really sure what she meant, but I explained to her that my credentials got me the job. For the first and last time since I (unfortunately) met her, she paused her camel-like chewing and stared at me emptily as though I’d just told her that her shirt is too long. Unable to remain in a vertical position for too long, she plopped herself down on a chair beside me, stretching out her bare cellulite-covered legs as she showed me the color on her toe nails – a blinding fluorescent shade of urine, capable of lighting up the state of Texas . . . during a blackout . . . on a moonless night. Forcing myself to smile (versus throwing her out of my office), I explained to her that I was very busy. Oozing with charm, Whoreo yawned loud enough for the whales of the South Pacific Ocean to migrate here believing it is mating season in the Mediterranean Sea. “Hahaha – busy doing what? It’s Friday! I’m so bored I could fall asleep,” she retorted so intelligently as she furiously chewed her gum. She even proceeded to mock my English, repeating “eeerrrr” and “yo, yo” and “yeah man” after every syllable I uttered, making me want to apologize to her for being able to speak more than one language fluently. I knew then and there that I’d fallen in-hate with this creature, but I was intrigued.
How did she manage to find a job that didn’t involve pole-dancing? She clearly had no qualifications where her mouth wasn’t involved, and she couldn’t have possibly completed high school. After asking around about her, I found out she secures a certain lowly and irrelevant job position, but has more immunity than a board member. When/if present at her desk, she answered calls with a mouthful of food or gum, strenuously signed on received packages, and welcomed visitors with open arms (and legs).

In an attempt to locate the fax machine, I found myself at Whoreo’s desk. To my surprise, she was chatting with yet another Whoreo who goes by the same name! Whoreo II actually managed to use her one “skill” to climb the career ladder; although I’m sure even her own mother knew, since the third grade, that her little Whoreo of love is better off as a stripper. Thirty years later, she does in fact look like a stripper, wearing a long, see-through sweater that matches the color of her nipples, no trousers – of course – and knee high patent leather boots. I couldn’t help but stare at her hair, wondering what color it was supposed to be (I don’t think cat vomit qualifies as a shade). Also, was it a perm-gone-bad, had she just gotten laid, or did she forget to brush those tresses for twelve weeks? Whoreo II caught me staring at her bed hair and gave me a dirty look followed by a very sexual sound, which turned out to be her voice forming a sentence, “Can I help you?” As I unwillingly looked at her sarcastic facial expression, I wanted to tell her that I’m not too fond of massages with happy endings, but instead I turned over to the less of the two evils, and asked Whoreo I to fax something over for me. She held a finger up at me, gesturing for me to wait. She was surprisingly overwhelmed with work; there was an excruciatingly focused expression on her face as she rested her D-cups on her desk, held the telephone with her left hand and jotted down notes with the right. “We’ve placed a large order to this address countless times before,” she snapped at the person on the other side of the call. She then took the document I wanted to fax and condescendingly said, “Look at me doing five things at once. Anything else I can do for you?” Maybe I had misjudged her, maybe she really was a hardworking, multitasking savior of planet earth. Maybe she was just a very bad dresser that didn’t know trousers existed. Maybe . . . My thoughts were interrupted with her bellowing into the receiver, “No, no, no! We want three chicken sandwiches, three hamburgers and four boxes of fries! Pfffft!” This time I couldn’t hide my shock. As she bent over just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her uterus, I snatched my document back, forced myself to say thank you and stormed off.

Whoreo III, who also goes by the same freaking name, was constantly hounding every male employee in the company. Her failed attempts at flirtation were possibly because she looked like an electrocuted hamster that reeked of desperation. Not only did she hate me for no reason, but her and her gang of juvenile dimwits had the loudest voices, most sordid fashion sense, and were BFFs with queen vagina, Whoreo I. Funny enough, this clique of Slutology grads thought everyone envied them. Whoreo II actually pranced around repeatedly bragging about all her haters, and how everyone in the company was jealous of her.

HA-HA-HA . . . No.

No one hates you, Whoreo II. We just all deeply and utterly dislike you because you’re a slut. You look like one, talk like one and act like one; and frankly, your arrogant, pompous attitude doesn’t match your white trash appearance – not one bit – or the fact that you’re uneducated, untalented and rude. The reason we don’t talk to you is because we don’t want to be associated with the office skank. It’s as simple as that.

So why care, you may ask. Ladies and gentlemen, I am pissed off because there is a hierarchy based on common logic that’s been twisted and remolded into something very ugly. The likes of Whoreo I, for example, need to understand that they are at the bottom of the corporate food chain. It is simply unacceptable for a vagina-baring homewrecker to give orders to higher-ranking employees (whose work is actually vital to the company) and get away with it; this is workplace politics.

In today’s work environment, it disappoints me to see such a trend where capable people with excellent credentials sit jobless at home, while such sasquatches get paid to disrespect their coworkers, chew gum and gossip all day.

If Whoreo I, II or III ever read this, I’d like to say two things:

  1. Somewhere, there are three trees wasting their time supplying each of you with oxygen. Apologize to them.
  2. Wear trousers for God’s sake!

As for all the employers out there who are content with such staff, I’d like to congratulate them on hiring the only three living creatures, who when combined, possess the IQ of a table. Here’s to growing your business!


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How to Look Like a Lebanese Bimbo

lebanese whore La Wlooo!!!...How to Look Like a Lebanese Bimbo

After being attacked countless times for making fun of Lebanese girls who love looking like hoes, I figured ho-defenders out there are too many to be conquered by merely one loser such as myself — but I’ll keep writing about these divine creatures, who I’m so envious of, because I’m so ugly and miserable. So many of my intelligent ho-loving readers, who love me so much, accuse me of being fat, ugly, unbearable, miserable, bitter and single; they have truly exposed me for who I really am. After weeping on my bathroom floor for weeks, I decided to emerge from my funk as an enlightened one that has come to terms with one truth: I am ugly, and prostitutes are ravishing; hence, I am jealous of them and want to look exactly like them, which is the only logical reason as to why I make fun of them.

If you’re ugly like me, you’ll need to start looking like a ho asap so you can find a gentleman who will appreciate your personality and want to marry you and have your babies one day.

Step 1: Admit the Truth
The first step towards self-improvement is admitting to yourself that you’re jealous of all hoes. Declare that since you were a little girl, you’ve always dreamed of growing up to be a sl**. Why would you want to be a lawyer, journalist, doctor, architect or anything boring like that when you can be a ho? It’s never too late to follow your dream. Be a ho so you can be appreciated for what truly counts: your brains!
Stop making fun of hoes and admit that you’re a hater, because real beauty is looking like a $2 h**ker. These hoes aren’t bad people. All they want is to find a man of “quality” to spend on them (a.k.a. a husband), so they dress the part.

lebanese prostitute La Wlooo!!!...How to Look Like a Lebanese Bimbo

rest a cross between your breasts…

Step 2: Dress to Impress
There’s no point in wearing underwear if you’re not going to show it, so make sure 85% of your cleavage is out and that only 15% of your bum is covered.
When attending a classy event, make sure to wear a dress that reveals your legs, back, chest, stomach, arms and maybe your v*gina. Make sure that your dress is so tight that your lungs would collapse after one hour, which is more than enough time to meet your future husband – granted that you’re wearing a pair of elegant h**ker heels. They have been proven to help quality women find quality husbands since 1970. For extra points, make sure your dress comes in leather or in latex fabric, and in flashy colors like red or hot pink. Not into colors? Wear full-on animal print. Zebra and leopard combos are to die for! Your future husband will feel that you’re the powerful hunter and he’s the helpless prey – and isn’t that every man’s dream? Make sure to pounce on as many men as possible to secure at least one or five. Men love a woman who is promiscuous.
Since hoes go out during the day as well, there’s a proper dress code every woman must abide during the daytime. Make sure to wear as much makeup and perfume as possible so that the daylight emphasizes your Edward Cullen face and raccoon eyes. Think of perfume as part of your mating ritual, luring in husbands from around Lebanon and beyond. With a strong enough perfume, you may even attract beaus from Germany. Stick to scents that will make you smell like a baby wh**e.

Step 3: Draw on a New Face

lebanese ho e1334705602446 La Wlooo!!!...How to Look Like a Lebanese Bimbo

et voila . . . a vampire wh**e

The key here is to make sure none of your facial skin shows by the time you’re done. You have three looks to aim for: a mime, a clown or backstage makeup (think: Black Swan sans feathers).
Make sure you start by painting a very light foundation all over your face. You’ll know you’ve got the right shade when your face and neck are two completely different colors. Your face should be a whitish-pink or something similar to your kitchen wall. Continue by coloring big black circles around your eyes. Don’t stop until you look like you’ve been kneed in the face twice. After you’re done applying the elegant eye shadow, glue on some super long fake lashes. Make sure they’re long enough to poke your future husband’s eye out. Move on to painting on your eyebrows.
Make sure the result looks like this: ^  ^ or \  /
When you’re done, you should look like Lucifer.If there’s a hint of innocence or simplicity left on your face, you’ll know you’ve done something wrong. Make sure each eyebrow is as black as charcoal. For perfect results, wax off your real eyebrows. If your eyebrows are made from hair, it’s simply unnatural. For captivating eyes, wear the fakest green contact lenses that make your eyes pop right out of your face.
For your finishing touches, make sure to paint your lips blood red and draw a beauty mole on your chin or above your lip. Make sure it looks fake; perfectly round and black, like a speck of bird poop. Once done, take a look at the mirror –you should look like a vampire wh**e.

lebanese duck face e1334705762315 La Wlooo!!!...How to Look Like a Lebanese Bimbo

I pout when I poo too

Step 3: Intensify your Mannerisms
Buy a year’s supply of bubblegum. Chew it all the time with an open mouth, even when you’re sleeping. Make sure to blow big bubbles and laugh as high as possible (think: Nanny Fran) for the perfect results. Suck on your finger whenever needed. For example, if someone asks you for directions, wink and suck on your finger. If someone asks you how much you charge per hour, suck the finger while giving him a piece of your mind!
Your facial expression should always say one of the following:
1) I pout even when I’m fast asleep. As for my eyebrows, I’m not surprised . . . they’re just shaped that way . . . naturally.
2) I am so tired and sexual all at once.
When you go out dancing, make sure to rub your butt on every strange man standing nearby. As you do this, touch yourself while chewing gum and sucking your finger simultaneously. Once again, if you’re wearing those feminine h**ker heels, the stranger you’re rubbing up against will marry you within weeks.
If men look at you or hit on you as if you’re a ho, say “yiiiiii? Ba3ed na2iss!” although you are a ho, no one is allowed to treat you like one. You should be appreciated for your brain and personality.

Step 4: Work Like a Boss!
Your appearance should in no way allow for a guy to grab your right breast. He should buy you a car first, after which he can grab both your breasts and then some. Let him earn your sexual favors. No, that does not make you a sl**, it makes you a smart businesswoman. When people ask you what you do for a living, say you work in trade or customer services. There’s no need for you to have a regular job like the rest of us losers. You have a sugar daddy to support you, because he appreciates your witty conversation. He will pay your bills and buy you things so that you reward him with sex. No, you are not a prostitute.
If, God forbid, you have a job, you should make it clear to your employee and customers that you do not work for them! You are not there to work! Make this clear by not doing a thing all day. When you’re asked to do something, stick your fake nails out in disbelief and say, “tsu2! Yiiiiii….pffffff….ma maaoul!” how dare they ask you to do the job that you’re getting paid to do? How dare they? Your pride and dignity come before anything, so you always need to make it clear that you’re stooping below your high level of ho-ness by working in something legit. How embarrassing and disappointing. Who needs high school, basic math or spelling when you are so darn hot!

Step 5: Talk Like you’re Trapping Poo
Now that you’ve gotten steps 1 through 4 under your belt, you must carry the right attitude with you. It’s not enough to look, smell, dance and think like a ho, you must talk like one too. Make sure to extend every vowel so that it sounds like you’re having a constipated orgasm. It’s not annoying, it’s sexy. Make a lot of “aaaahhhhh” sounds because they are like a mating call for potential husbands. No, men will not think you’re a vulgar nymphomaniac who’s slept with half the planet. They’ll see you as the mother of their unborn babies.

I can now seek love and acceptance from all ho-lovers and defenders of the world, because my life would make no sense at all without their approval.

 “The awkward moment when your sarcasm is so advanced that people actually think you are stupid.”

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The Daily Rant: Women’s Radio Orgasms

Hello people of planet Lebanon and earth — or the 8 of you who actually noticed I skipped yesterday’s Daily Rant. First, I should provide you with a good excuse as to why I didn’t write up a cluster of swear words with a funny title yesterday, but I’m assuming you don’t care so I won’t bother myself with fabricating an interesting excuse. I was merely exhausted and had a super busy Wednesday.

To make up for it, I’ll probably write up two rants for you today. I’m kidding. Do you really think I’m that bored?

Anyway, here’s something that I’ll never properly understand: Lebanese Radio Ads.

A.K.A. Ear Porn.

Yes. I’m assuming you’ve all watched or at least glimpsed a cheesy, sleazy porn movie once or twice in your life – if you’re going to say “eeewwww” and pretend you haven’t, get the heck off my blog and remove that stick from your ass ASAP.

Back to the subject of porn — so I’m assuming you’ve all heard the silly fake sexual sounds those women make in porn movies . . . and I’m certainly hoping that at least one person out there has realized the similarity between those sounds and Lebanese radio ads featuring Lebanese women.

This is just nasty – really – especially when I’m tired, cranky and stuck in traffic; particularly when I’m listening to a really good song on full blast and suddenly a woman comes on the radio, orgasming about f***ing coffee! Fellow motorists start staring at my car, wondering what the hell’s wrong with me.

There’s nothing wrong with me! There’s something wrong with that woman on the radio who has an orgasm over her neighbor’s coffee. What kind of acting school did she go to? “The Academy of Radio Porn?

So as I was in the middle of my traffic-infested hectic day yesterday, I heard quite an interesting Nissan Micra ad. The scenario is as follows:

One woman buys a new car. She is oblivious to any of its features because she’s a stupid b****, and her smartass neighbor points this out to her by asking her if it has four airbags, a remote control thingy-ma-jiggy and OH MY GOD FOUR AIRBAGS OOOOHHHH AAAAAAHHHHHH *orgasms* like a NISSAN MICRA. What the f***? How stupid could a person be to not know if her car has airbags or not? And how STUPID could another person be to waste a minute of her life salivating over FOUR airbags? Sweet Jesus! The stupid lady then asks how much this marvelous airbag-bearing Micra costs, and the smartass tells her how affordable it is. Idiot #1 then asks for “may w sukkar” (sugar water) because “ashat daghta” (her blood pressure dropped) from all the excitement.

I do NOT want to live in this world anymore.

  1. I believe the smartass neighbor has airbag Tourrette’s – there’s no other explanation. I also think when her husband wants to get her excited, he throws an airbag at her face.
  2. The stupid b**** neighbor is a stupid b****.
  3. I now f***ing HATE Nissan Micra. If I see any woman driving it, I will throw a plastic bottle at her moving airbag machine. Even if you’re my best friend and I see you driving a Nissan Micra, I will punch your face (think of it as an homage to your FOUR AIRBAGS *orgasms again*).


Anyway, here’s another nasty ad I heard right after Nissan Micra. Since it’s Easter, all housewives are now showing off their cooking skills: who bakes the most b****ing maamoul! So in this ad, one woman asks the other where she bought her delicious, orgasmic maamoul from. In the most high-pitched Lebanese voice ever, the second woman replies, “walaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwww? Ma bta3erfi ta3met temmik?!?!? Haidi ANA 3emleton ma3 zebdet Lurpak!!!” (Translation: oh no you didn’t, b****! Don’t you know the taste of your own mouth? I made these myself . . . and I used Lurpak!!)
They both proceed by having repetitive out-of-context orgasms over f***ing butter!


  1. Lurpak lady needs to chill the f*** out. It’s no big deal if her friend doesn’t realize that these maamouls were home-baked by a neurotic b**** and contained f***ing Lurpak butter! Not even the most refined palate would recognize the taste of LURPAK butter in maamoul! THIS IS PLAIN STUPID!
  2. I HATE this stupid advertisement, I hate it!
  3. I don’t ever want to eat Lurpak again! EVER!
  4. Yes I am aware of how childish my reaction is, but I seriously have the urge to weep every time I remember it! It’s post-traumatic stress!

Why are Lebanese women being stereotyped as brainless b****es who orgasm on coffee, airbags, f***ing detergent and kitchen utensils? This is not cool! When ads like this are actually appealing to a huge market segment in Lebanon – people – we have a huge f***ing problem, and it spans way beyond what stupid butter you’re using! Damn it!

Have a very sexual and orgasmic day!

PS. Subscribe to my blog. You’ll have countless orgasms while reading my rants.


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La Wlooo!!!…The Backstabbing B**** Friend

backstabbing friend e1313497055636 La Wlooo!!!...The Backstabbing B**** Friend

Today, a beautiful, smart, and sweet friend of mine asked me the following question, “How do you deal with a backstabbing best friend?” As I thought to myself, “Why would anyone stab her in the back?  She’s an amazing person,” I then realized that because she is an amazing person, she becomes a target for envy.
Self help books tell you all about how to “confront, listen, accept, and forgive”. In other words, “When your dear friend lies to you, badmouths you, and sticks her knife five inches into your back, you must smile, understand her, hug her, and forgive her . . . be even nicer than you were before so that her envious nature doesn’t get the best of her again.”
I say: when garbage starts to stink, throw it out!

What is the profile of a backstabber?
The backstabber is a coward; a non-confrontational person that loves to hate you and hates to love you. As this intelligent quote says, Backstabbers are passive-aggressive. Confrontation to a backstabber is like sunlight to a vampire. So when they’re threatened, they lash out sneakily.”
The backstabber studies how you talk, dress, act, live . . . and tries to do the same. Of course, she fails at it miserably. When she realizes she can’t reach to your level, she tries bringing you down to hers. By saying bad things about others, the backstabber feels better about herself. The bigger the stab, the closer the friend. It’s all emotionally connected.

Why is backstabbing more common among women?
As I said, it’s all emotionally connected; women being the more emotional species. Men and women come from two different schools of thought. One guy can be angry at another. They can verbally attack each other for a bit (confrontation), followed by a fist fight (more confrontation), and all will be resolved. They will either get over it like nothing happened or go their separate ways. Why? Because men are simple. They have no time to scheme and hover around a “frenemy” like a vulture, waiting for the right moment to attack. They don’t have the energy for that like women do. Funny enough, men are insulted everyday for being dogs . . . but women forget to what degree they can be b****es.

Why do people backstab?
It’s simple: because they have low self-esteem, they are envious, vindictive, angry, passive aggressive . . . The list goes on. These negative personality traits are usually masked with a smiley face and a helpful, supportive attitude (always fake of course); because a dog knows it can’t mess with a lion. But, when the lion falls, that’s when its enemy attacks. Every person wants to shine above everyone else. Once in a while, someone shines brighter than them. A mature and confident person can accept this and learn from that person, whereas a lowlife backstabber will grow resentful and most importantly, envious.

Rule of Thumb: A backstabber is consumed by one emotion above all: envy.
You could be better-looking, smarter, and wealthier; you could have more friends or a more interesting life or a better job – maybe you take all the attention away from her. And for the crème de la crème, the man she likes, likes you. There is always something you have that she wants.

How to Identify and Deal with a Backstabbing “Friend”:

  1. Make sure that your friend is indeed doing you wrong.
    You can try finding out from multiple friends before confronting her directly. Bear in mind that the story can always be changed or exaggerated. Take into consideration how many people you heard it from. One person could be a liar . . . on the other hand; three people can mean that your friend is a stinky weasel.
  2. Take action.

·         If she is making fun of your sense of style or your hairstyle or the way you chew gum or laugh, it means she is insecure, sad, and pathetic. In this case, feel sorry for her and return the favor by showing your sympathy to her in front of your common friends. You can then all form a pity parade in her honor and she will end up looking and feeling like that sad soul that she is.  

·         On the other hand, if she is trying to ruin your image by spreading dirty, false rumors about you, confront the b****. Under no circumstance should you accept such a person in your life; her existence is merely a nuisance, and you need to put her where she belongs: in the garbage. Give her a piece of your mind in a smart, dignified, and classy way. Of course, being dignified doesn’t mean being naïve, so don’t hold back on being as sarcastic, hurtful, blunt, and mean as possible. Since a backstabber has so many character flaws that are obvious to everyone, call her out on them. It could be her big nose, her fat ass, or that guy she is in love with that tried getting your number several times. It could be that gorgeous pair of shoes you have that she couldn’t afford to buy. There is no limit to how mean you can be or how low you can go. Since a backstabber tries so hard to conceal her insecurities by badmouthing others, she will surprisingly be shocked that you are aware of her insecurities. By calling her out on them, you are giving her the biggest blow to her ego. After that, she is guaranteed to stare at the floor every time you walk past her.

  1. In both cases, proceed with distancing yourself from the weasel. There’s no point in keeping negative energy around you. If you accept this kind of disrespect, it becomes your choice and your responsibility; which means you’ll have no right to complain about being backstabbed anymore. If you both happen to be at the same place, make it as uncomfortable for her as possible. How? By having a blast, by stealing away all the attention, and by not even acknowledging her measly existence. The best part is that this all comes to you naturally, whereas she has to work so hard at it; which is why she’s the hater that she is.
  2. If you’re keen on revenge, wait for the right opportunity. If you can’t find one, move on and let karma do the dirty work. Don’t waste your energy on such an insignificant being unless you have the perfect recipe for a scheme.

How Can You Avoid Backstabbing Friends?
Choose your friends wisely! Always remember, it’s not the quantity of friends that matters, it’s the quality. Whether they are more or less privileged than you are, make sure they have enough substance, character, and self-confidence not to let it affect them (and vice versa).
Make honesty a priority. If anything bothers you about your friend, confront her on the spot – and vice versa.

How to Identify and Deal With a Backstabbing Coworker:

  1. This happens a lot, and although it is also unacceptable, it’s understandable. This sad person is obsessed with advancing in life, to the extent that they want to eliminate all “competition” because they are so insecure to the extent that they believe they can’t make it to the top without sabotaging everyone else. They simply don’t believe in themselves.
  2. Beware of the coworker that’s too nice, too helpful, or too gossipy. Also watch out for the coworker that is super nice to you in private, yet always tries to make you look bad in the presence of others. Beware of the brown noser.
    You are at work to build contacts, gain experience, and make money. It is not a place to build life-long friendships. I’m sure you have enough friends in your personal life.
  3. Even if you’re sure you’re being backstabbed at work, never take action without proof. Keep your work and emails documented.
  4. Work is work. There is no room here for emotions and holding grudges. If your coworker is a backstabber, distance yourself and only interact with them on a professional level. You cannot deal with them as you would with a backstabbing friend.

Backstabbing friends are inevitable. It may hurt at first, but once you remove these peasants from your life, you feel liberated. It’s happened with me three times already in the past year. I don’t even get surprised anymore, I get flattered. If you’ve been backstabbed, you should be flattered too that a person out there was so intimidated by you that she tried so hard to bring you down to her level. While she is the last thing on your mind, you are the main thing on hers. Always remember, the best revenge is continuing to do what pisses people off, regardless of their envious gossip. While you’re dancing for joy, she’s squirming with envy.

“True friends stab you in the front.” Oscar Wilde

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