Biden Boots Out Islam-hating Racist

Victoria Coates, appointed last month by the orange grifter as head of the government-funded propaganda media outlet called the Middle East Broadcasting Networks, has already been given the heave-ho by President Biden.

Coates, who as a Cruz lackey in 2016 thought the looney tunes Islamophobic Frank Gafney was a “serious figure in American national security circles” apparently is going to contest her firing, since she sits on a sweet heart two-year employment contract, where she can only be fired for committing a felony.

I wonder: is it a felony for an art historian cum former right wing blogger mediocrity  — who has made a good living in recent years on the tax payer’s dime —  to land a senior position in a job that purportedly requires expertise in the Middle East?

Hitting an empty beach at dawn

I was going to write a sensitive post about how I miss Kobe, and get mushy about how I used to bring my GSD Saba to this beach until some bulldyke Animal Control bitch ruined it for us.

I had to go to court to defend my dog, which cost me $500 and resulted in the sweetest sheppie in the world getting a dangerous dog record and me almost landing in county.

Instead of going into more detail about this unpleasant episode, I’ll  just upload moody coastal snaps and vids of my final walk of the year on the beach near where I live.

For those who were wondering about Kobe.  He is now back home, but it has not gone well, as it seems he really misses me and has gone on a hunger strike.  My wife told his owner what kind of treats he enjoys (plain yogurt, raw carrots, hard boild eggs served cold,  and bacon bits), so I’m sure things will straighten out in a day or two.

this men’s room didn’t even have a door for a least a decade but at least it was open and you could clean your fish inside
how private, and notice the phoney baloney nine-elevenish jive.
the asswipe ageing lifeguard who hated Saba and called the lesbo Animal Control cunt on his cell phone hung out here in his stupid little tower of power for years. I once saved a geezer’s life on this beach, and never even got a limp biscuit thank you for getting the inattentive lifeguards to call EMT in time, while oblivious tourists — including the usual semi inebriated Southern white trash (I’m not saying that lot’s inbred, just that they could be), uppity snowbirds from the North East, and of course the inevitable el cheapo, we-drive-all-the-way-down-here in our used RVs poutine munchers — were doing a Weekend at Bernie’s as the guy lay there, unconscious and baking on the hot sand
Welcome to Trumplandia, where the motto is Fuck the Disabled
This used to be a direct path with convenient concrete steps to the beach, until some pissant 1%-er decided to block access with this ugly fence and impenetrable sea grape stand
It’s hard to see in this pic, but most everyone walks their pooches here off a leash. On the other hand, I had to appear in court for dog walking here while Arab. True story.
It’s not unusual to see shark and dolphin here in summer, if the water is clean enough
So why move to Portugal, when the Atlantic is 15 minutes away from my house, and everyone speaks English and you dont have to hassle with a fucking visa to stay longer than 3 months?

 

So awesome a view, the word “microplastics” hardly ever comes to mind. It’s different in Summer, though, when the black mayonaise and neon green sludge drifts down from an inlet just a few miles away… not far from the nuclear power plant. You read that right. A nuclear facility located splat in the middle of where Cat 3-5 storms have landed in the last decade and a half.
There are some beautiful homes on this barrier island. Island cops used to love to bring their girlfriends into them for a dalliance when the owners were away during the long off-season.
Soon after the start of the Bush 2 Iraq invasion, various companies used to engage in copter maneuvers on the beach. Prescott Bush used to own a house here. Concidence? You decide.
This osprey is probably not thinking about why Elizabeth Warren’s husband made $400K last year as a professor at Harvard, where the average janitor makes $12.75/hr
The good news is that while he lives only a few miles south of here, fat Donny has probably never swum these waters: mulligan golf with Tiger is more his speed

 

leaving america

The prisoner of Abu Tig marina

aurora club gouna
The main culprit for the nightly racket around here

 

When I was a kid growing up in Egypt, I saw a movie called the Prisoner of Zenda, starring Stewart Granger.

There are seven days left before I leave my rental in Abu Tig marina in El Gouna, Egypt.

I look forward to finally moving my stuff to my villa next Friday on the other side of town, far away from the obnoxiously loud music that turns Abu Tig marina — this tiny apartment having become my personal Zenda — into hell every Thursday thru Sunday night.  

Inside Aurora — the most egregious noise factory in Abu Tig marina –looks like this.

aurora gouna
Imagine being subjected to a sonic blast of noise — for 4 hours, between 11PM and 3AM, every bloody night of the week

I shall also not miss the relentless stream of vehicular and pedestrian traffic outside my apartment. Or the unacceptably prolonged Overton window of discourse that takes place daily outside my balcony by young asmaranis with mobiles who seem obsessed with the sidewalk in front of my building.  It is a wonder I have been able to hold it together here for three months, without suffering a meltdown. Well, it’s almost over.

Last night was pretty cold.  This is what I can expect (in Fahrenheit) in terms of temperature between now and mid April, when my Egyptian visa expires.

Dec 55/73

Jan 52/72

Feb 52/73

Mar 57/77

April 64/84

As you can see it gets fairly brisk at night, and there is usually a strong breeze around here, which adds a wind chill factor.  We are talking sweaters and heavy blankets by night, though it is quite pleasant while the sun is up. The sun now sets around 5PM, so it is not a particularly long day. But let me be honest here: it so fucking bone cold dry here at night in winter, I have to boil water in the kitchen to keep the soles of my feet from peeling off.

My weight loss this month is finally becoming noticeable.  My wife bought me in Nice (France) three months ago a white golf shirt that I couldn’t fit into at all (even though it was size XX).

Now I can, the end result of limiting myself to a single (usually vegetarian) meal a day, and sometimes even skipping meals entirely.

But the basketball stomach issue persists, even though my food consumption bears no resemblance to the anxiety-produced binges of ice cream, meatball hoagies, and what have you in the States this year.

It is going to take some serious exercising — good thing I can now go for long walks, now that my back problems have gone away, thanks to sleeping like a monk on a cold stone floor every night — to get that in order, but I keep getting held back with knee problems, which is of course a function of all that extra weight that’s coming off, yes, but very slowly.

Much to my relief, I am happy to report that the extremely embarrassing manboob issue is starting to fade away, thanks to my routine of daily balcony push-ups on the bannister.

It is frustrating not to have a normal metabolism due to the thyroidectomy I had to have a few years ago, but I am determined to lose the weight despite this challenge, as I promised myself I would gradually return to my normal self, and cease looking like the fat Florida geezer I had turned into. Okay, enough of this old man reciting his ailments talk.

Speaking of, er, satanic America, I am long past bored with the daily Trumpian shenanigans and it’s no-daylight support of the Zionist colonial project. My guess is that half the population of that benighted country is in a state of numb shock and trauma that is typically experienced by abused children at the hands of serial rapists — given the daily assault on hapless liberals, and, more importantly, the poor and defenseless, who are stuck in a country where all the odds are stacked against them. But the longer I am away from there, the less I feel any residual nostalgia for anything American, except for the memory of a chimerical Manhattan, pre Herr Giuliani, where I lived for decades, although of course I deeply miss my family by being away.

I am not sure when I am going to return to Florida. The US is about to elect a Senator who believes Muslims should not serve in Congress. The Supreme Court has allowed the Muslim travel ban.  And the orange pig has just eviscerated any remaining hope by the Palestinian people for a two-state solution. How long before one of those viperous Tea Party Senators puts forward a bill to create a national Muslim registry in America? How long before it becomes open season on Arab-Americans? How long before they set up internment camps? Being an Arab-American in today’s United States is akin to be a Jew in Hitler’s Germany in the mid 30s: if you’re smart, you get out while you can.

I look forward to restarting my life in a country where I am not, and never will be, a second class citizen, one who is  looked upon with suspicion and perhaps even contempt simply because he has a Muslim name. All I can say is that I should count my good fortune at having the option of living far away from sexually-perverted America’s daily diet of destructive, nationalistic, identarian, ultra right-wing, avaricious, war-mongering Evangelical bullshit. 

I want no part of it in my life.

 

This must the place.

 

leaving america