The good news is that the general perception or the generals’ perception is that I am soon going to be PM. This is also due to the efforts of Her Holiness, my spouse, although I’ve been advised that when she accompanies me to the White House, she has to reconsider her current Caspar the Friendly Ghost attire.
The bad news is that women can now drive in Saudi Arabia. If I were an entrepreneur in Riyadh, I would set up the “IKK Driving School”. “In Kase Killed, Donate All Your Cash To The PTI”. The other bad news is that infighting in my party has reached an all-time high. I should know about all-time highs. I got so fed up at one stage that I thought I would offer a Bounty for one of the Infighters. And a Mars Bar for the other one.
Her Holiness has also advised that we should commune with alien life forms in order to cover all bases. We assembled our party faithful and went into a collective trance. Soon we were afloat in the stratosphere and we encountered EFUs out of which were coming indecipherable signals. Soon we were able to decode them and it emerged that they were saying: “Mian day naaray vajjan gay”! I thereupon ordered a collective rethink and we instantly came out of our collective trance and then collectively landed back on the ground with a collective thud. Enough of trances, I told Her Holiness, we need to return to the real world. In the real world, July 25 will be Red Letter Day. Ahem, said Her Holiness, Red is an un-Islamic colour. It will be Green Letter Day.
Many of my aristo British friends want to come over for the elections. The Hooray Henrys will be no problem but the more glam ones will be. The minute they land in Islamabad, the media will dig out their scandals and go on and on about my dissolute friends. So what, I say, most of us have skeletons in our cupboards. David Beckham takes his out in public. She’s his wife, after all.
The bad news is that women can now drive in Saudi Arabia. If I were an entrepreneur in Riyadh, I would set up the “IKK Driving School”. “In Kase Killed, Donate All Your Cash To The PTI”. The other bad news is that infighting in my party has reached an all-time high. I should know about all-time highs. I got so fed up at one stage that I thought I would offer a Bounty for one of the Infighters. And a Mars Bar for the other one.
Her Holiness has also advised that we should commune with alien life forms in order to cover all bases. We assembled our party faithful and went into a collective trance. Soon we were afloat in the stratosphere and we encountered EFUs out of which were coming indecipherable signals. Soon we were able to decode them and it emerged that they were saying: “Mian day naaray vajjan gay”! I thereupon ordered a collective rethink and we instantly came out of our collective trance and then collectively landed back on the ground with a collective thud. Enough of trances, I told Her Holiness, we need to return to the real world. In the real world, July 25 will be Red Letter Day. Ahem, said Her Holiness, Red is an un-Islamic colour. It will be Green Letter Day.
Many of my aristo British friends want to come over for the elections. The Hooray Henrys will be no problem but the more glam ones will be. The minute they land in Islamabad, the media will dig out their scandals and go on and on about my dissolute friends. So what, I say, most of us have skeletons in our cupboards. David Beckham takes his out in public. She’s his wife, after all.
Im the Dim