Tag Archives: sex

The Office Whoreo

slutty-secretary-working-girl-lebanon

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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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*).

Disgusting.

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!

SERIOUSLY PEOPLE . . . IT’S 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!
R

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

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Marriage: Sex, Money &The In-Laws

marriage La Wlooo!!!...Marriage: Sex, Money & The In Laws

Marriage season is only a few months away, and while many brides are worried about what dress to buy, what venue to rent out, and where to spend the honeymoon, the more important issues are almost entirely overlooked. These important issues seem to magically surface during the first year of marriage and the newlyweds are in awe as to “what went wrong”.

For starters, newlyweds must accept the idea that they are starting new, at the beginning, and working their way hopefully up. Not every man is a millionaire and not every man starts off with the wealth of his or his wife’s father, since a man at 40 is at a different level than when he was 20. With this in mind, every woman must be realistic.

It is every woman’s dream to have her house on the pages of the Architectural Digest, with at least 500 m2 of space, a garden, a swimming pool, and a sea view; let’s not forget the nanny, 2 luxury cars, 3 vacations per annum, and the valuable presents (designer bags and diamond earrings). It all sounds so yummy; and even if you had these privileges when you were single and living in daddy’s house, when you’re a newlywed with no kids and trying to build a future, that is too big and too early of a dream because there are other priorities to focus on.
Some girls may have that messed up princess attitude and say “I deserve nothing less. Daddy gave me everything I ever wanted”.
Of course daddy simply cannot continue paying for you after you’re married, unless you’d like to castrate your husband.
To Daddy’s Princess: You should marry your own father. Who cares about incest when he’s flying you to Bali?
Keep your expectations realistic.

Many women like to glue themselves to their mother and cannot understand how much of a turn off that is:

  1. Because mama-glue seems like an immature child who cannot make an adult decision on her own
  2. Because mama-glue seems like a tattle tale who runs to mommy whenever big bad evil husband tells her “no” or raises his voice
  3. Because mama-glue seems like she was better off living with mama, single, in mama’s home . . . without the accessory husband.

Some women may argue that they simply need a three bedroom apartment from day one  . . . and it’s not due to real estate inflation, but it’s because they want their mothers sleeping over every other night of the week (possibly because they miss being an embryo in their mother’s womb). . . Grow up.
To the Overgrown Embryos: congratulations, you are on the right track of making your husband hate you. He will either cheat on you or divorce you in the next three years. Always remember this equation: Husband + Mama = Disaster = You’re an idiot.

It’s even worse when the husband can’t get enough of his mama and it makes you question whether or not he has underlying Freudian issues. For starters, it’s not cool to always compare your wife’s cooking to your mama’s. Remember: your wife has only just started cooking while your mama has been doing it for decades. It’s also not cool to let your mama interfere in your financials or when you’re deciding to have kids. One word: creepy.
To all Oedipus Wannabes:  You can’t have two women in your life . . . and there are limits to what your mama can do for you – know what I’m sayin’?

What’s worse than mama-glue is the family ties that never seem to break. Many newlyweds are unaware that when they are married, they automatically have a new priority: their new family. Hence, husband and wife come before mama, papa, and the whole enchilada. It is plain weird for husband or wife to spend so much time with their families . . . all the time. It is unhealthy, and at some point, one mother-in-law or the other is going to overstep her boundaries. This horror can extend to any and all family members: the father, the sister, the brother; and the sooner this issue is addressed, the better. Wife and husband have no right to interfere in issues concerning the spouse and their family members. What happens between your husband and brother is his business not yours. Also, what happens between husband and wife is none of the brother’s business. These are the ties that bind or break any relationship.
One thought: know your place and your limits.

Since salaries in Lebanon are crap very low, many men travel and work abroad to be able to provide a decent living for their family. As a wife, your place is with your husband; even if it’s in the most conservative, politically unstable country. It is unacceptable for you to live in Lebanon enjoying the fruits of your husband’s labor while he slaves away in a foreign country, by himself, only to see his wife and children once every 3 to 6 months. A man is not a money-generating robot; he has sexual and emotional needs, he is entitled to be next to his family, and is entitled to have leisure time apart from work.
I can’t understand women who choose to remain in Lebanon, close to their families, while their husbands toil away in foreign lands. It baffles me how these women claim to love their husbands; there is no love in selfishness and apathy. The best part is that these women expect their hubbies not to ever cheat on them; the man is supposed to remain celibate for 6 months, without a woman – hmm . . . logical.
Here’s a thought: a husband’s only purpose in life is making money for you . . . NOT.

Men like to marry virgins to satisfy some egotistical complex they have about conquering unchartered territories – whatever. Usually these ill men will end up complaining that they are unable to have sex with their wife because she is the pure mother of his children. This poor soul will go on to cheat on his wife because his “morals” cannot allow him to sleep with her and dirty her purity with his evil stick. There’s a place for these men, and it’s in a mental asylum.
Sometimes, it’s the women who have a penile phobia and want to continue acting like a good little girl because that’s the “proper” thing to do. That’s just weird. I hate how society has turned sex into a sinful act, thus injecting these “morals” into people’s minds.
My message to you: I would like to meet you, listen to your stories, write a book about freaks people like you, and become a bestselling author.

I believe that a couple must address these issues long before Miss Thang buys her meringue-ish wedding gown. Marriage is hard enough; the last thing any two people want is conflicting beliefs on important matters like the ones mentioned above. A long time ago, husband and wife used to work together at building a future for themselves and their kids. When they’d finally get to the finish line, they’d look back and smile at all they’ve accomplished together. Even after the passion is gone, they will still have respect and admiration for each other. Money comes and goes, mistresses will not stand by you through the rough times, and you can never fully enjoy or appreciate something unless you work hard at obtaining it. If I ever get married, I pray that I have enough patience, wisdom, optimism, and sympathy to make it work.

“Success in marriage does not come merely through finding the right mate, but through being the right mate.” Barnett R. Brickner

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Wish To Be A Fish In 2011

fish bowl e1293995546505 La Wlooo!!!...Wish To Be A Fish In 2011

The New Year brings with it new promises, new expectations, and new beginnings; it’s always an excuse to put aside a pessimistic attitude and find hope in what lies ahead. It reminds me of the “Monday Diet” – the diets that are always intended to start on Monday; I’m guessing this is because of reluctance and laziness to take hold of your life and take action now. It’s the same thing for January the 1st; the “new you” starts on this magical day. Resolutions must be kept, changes must be made, and attitudes must be positive – and this all works out until February the 1st, where people have just about had enough of their fake promises and realize that the days are simply continuing as they were; and no magical unicorn will appear on a rainbow and make our lives absolutely fabulous. Nevertheless, every year’s end and beginning are filled with the same timeless traditions.obese ladies 300x272 La Wlooo!!!...Wish To Be A Fish In 2011

The “I will lose weight” resolution: I know a few people who weigh a bit less than their car, yet they always insist that the New Year will bring them self-control, patience, and tolerance to lose all the extra tons kilos; so they embark on a 3 week diet that is ceased by uncontrollable binging after the New Year Fever has subsided). They then ask themselves why a 3 week diet made them even fatter.

The “I will change my life” resolution: To a sane person, changing one’s life usually involves drastic and substantial adjustments. In Lebanon, it generally means changing one’s car, phone number, hair color, ringtone, or subscribe to the blackberry service. I do have to respect goals like these though, because mediocrity is so easily achieved. Why shoot for the moon when you already think you’re the center of the universe?wj funcaketopper 1 300x253 La Wlooo!!!...Wish To Be A Fish In 2011

The “I will get married” resolution: Why all this focus on getting married and getting engaged? Of course, if two people have been together for a while now, it is only logical to take it to the next step. The trend now though, is to meet someone, get engaged within a month, and married within six. Why the rush? I’ve never heard of a 21 year old girl becoming infertile, and haven’t heard of a decent man becoming extinct. So, to all you wedlock wannabes, the clock is ticking; you have until June to have found the person stupid ready enough to dive into a life-long pact with someone like you* (*who is desperate enough to marry just about anyone, anytime…with a stable bank account).

The “I will get rich” resolution: Fair enough, I respect ambition – I just don’t believe that someone cahundred dollar bill wallet 300x246 La Wlooo!!!...Wish To Be A Fish In 2011n get rich by sitting on the couch and waiting for the lottery results. Gambling (Texas Hold ‘em to be precise) is for losers with nothing better to do; so if that’s your way of making money, I congratulate your parents on bringing you into this world – a great contribution indeed. Marrying into money also doesn’t count (especially if you’re a lazy bum who dreams of taking over his father-in-law’s company and milking it dry). Also, a big dream minus implementation equals The “I will be a loser” resolution.

The “I will quit smoking” resolution: I have tried this one time and time again and have only proven to myself what a big failure I am. I always find an excuse to dive right back into nicotineville with the rest of the weaklings. I have reached a point where no one believes my “This is my last pack” vow, and instead, just laugh at my failed attempts. So, to all those cancer-stick addicts out there (including myself), it is embarrassing to be controlled by a tiny rolled piece 5BA593DA C849 3938 468AEF52343151AD La Wlooo!!!...Wish To Be A Fish In 2011of paper that is stuffed with wood (I think), cotton, and a countless number of poisons. Until you can actually control this mediocre aspect of your life, forget about climbing Mount Kilimanjaro.

The “I will cut down on drinking alcohol” resolution: It is already clear that most of the Lebanese people are a bunch of alcoholics that drink every day. For a daily binge-drinker, it shouldn’t be so hard to friggin’ cut down a little; so why do certain people suddenly start looking sick, tired, bitter, angry, and yellow when they start sobering up? Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? A month later, Mr. Alcoholic suddenly realizes that his entire life has changed and that he’s waking up earlier, feeling more active, and not vomiting 6 times a day anymore. In awe as to how this happened, he calls for a celebration, and in no time is drinking like a fish, eating like a bull, and vomiting all over the place.

The “I will become sexually celibate” resolution: Many girls have yet to acknowledge the difference between “Sex” and “Pringles” – the Pringles’ slogan, “once you pop, you can’t stop”, does not apply to one’s sex life. That being said, some sexoholics realize that they must resist shagging all that dangles, so they vow to make up for their wrong ways by becoming the unshaggable. Although this is a good thing, people around them must suffer from the TMI (Too Much Information) Syndrome that follows; concerning how izmiz is all they can think about, how they are abusing chocolate consumption, and how their dreams are all about *&^%$#@. I must admit, I couldn’t be more uncomfortable than when I am obligated to listen to such drivel…EEWWW!

The “I will become a better person” resolution: “Better” is a broad word that needs to be dissected and more specific. Some people end up turning to God (by becoming religious fanatics) and in turn, drive everyone around them insane; by becoming more annoying than the voice of your own conscience, and more judgmental than a jury. Their nauseating level of cheerfulness reaches an all time high and their hypocrisy becomes noticeable even to trees and plants.
Other people decide that they should stop hurting others by changing their gossipful ways. Learning to mind your own business is a very hard task in Lebanon, especially when you’re amid a circle of gossipers and force yourself not to give your opinion. I believe this is the hardest task for all Lebanese people, but is definitely one worth considering. Who am I to judge though? Every Monday I gossip about everyone and everything, and God knows how good that feels!

Keeping it simple is always the best way to go. Instead of wasting your time (like every year) by making 300 resolutions then spending half of your 2011 telling people about them, while you spend the other half justifying why you were unable to accomplish a single one, think of one small and simple change that you’d like to make in yourself and stick to it.
One small achievement versus 300 failed ones goes a long way. With little changes here and there, who knows, maybe the world can become a better place. Happy 2011; and make it a happy, fruitful one.
See you next Monday, and I hope your resolutions hold out till then!

“May all your troubles last as long as your New Year’s resolutions!” Joey Adams

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