I went to Karachi to berate the new governor Zubair who’s my stalwart Asad Umar’s brother. But first I took time out to go to the beach to play cricket. Once there, I discovered that the situation was wholly unsatisfactory. So I called the new governor. “Er Zubair, I don’t want to disrespect you because you’re Asad’s brother but the standard of flooring here is unacceptable”. “But it’s a beach, Khan Sahab, and the flooring is sand”, he protested. “That’s not the point Zubair. The point is that I want to play cricket, I’m a fully paid up tourist and I expect a higher standard from you”. “I have a suggestion”, Zubair said, “would you like to build sand castles instead?” “Certainly not!” I stated emphatically, “have you ever heard of a ghairatmand Pathan like me building sand castles? And while I’m at it, what’s all this water doing here, Zubair?” “B-but that’s the sea, Khan Sahab”, Zubair stammered. “That’s the problem with you Noon Leaguers, Zubair, you’re so inconsiderate and corrupt. Have you paused to think what will happen if I hit a six into the sea and Asad dives in after it? I’m giving you until tomorrow to clear away all this water.”
Then I turned on my heel and left. I had barely gone a few paces when my aristocratic British groupies the Rt Hon Iona Goodbody and Lady Rosy Bottom, who’re visiting me secretly these days, called out saying they wanted a dip. They were wearing black burqas over their tasteful virtually non-existent bikinis. They were in a huff because they were being stared at by my fans. You can imagine how angry I felt. “This is the last straw! Zubair’s going to have to post sharp shooters with high velocity automatic weapons all over the beach so that they can shoot people who stare. That’ll make everyone feel safe and attract more tourists to Karachi”. That said, I sprinted towards my waiting Land Cruiser, onwards to the Governor’s House. On the way, I slipped on a banana skin and went tumbling into a trashcan. I was covered with muck. “Not the kind of dirty weekend you had in mind, right dahling?” Iona trilled.
Then I turned on my heel and left. I had barely gone a few paces when my aristocratic British groupies the Rt Hon Iona Goodbody and Lady Rosy Bottom, who’re visiting me secretly these days, called out saying they wanted a dip. They were wearing black burqas over their tasteful virtually non-existent bikinis. They were in a huff because they were being stared at by my fans. You can imagine how angry I felt. “This is the last straw! Zubair’s going to have to post sharp shooters with high velocity automatic weapons all over the beach so that they can shoot people who stare. That’ll make everyone feel safe and attract more tourists to Karachi”. That said, I sprinted towards my waiting Land Cruiser, onwards to the Governor’s House. On the way, I slipped on a banana skin and went tumbling into a trashcan. I was covered with muck. “Not the kind of dirty weekend you had in mind, right dahling?” Iona trilled.
Im the Dim