The Birthday Party (The Cow Shed Gang Series Of Books Book 1)

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The villagers made fun of his weather forecast but were generous enough to offer him a place to stay and hospitality without charge.


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After some time, the village faced a shortage of firewood and things to eat. The monastery announced community cooking to save on the wood and food. Naturally, this meant that the community kitchen made food that was simple, like porridge, which did not use much fuel.

Deeku soon tired of this food and was amazed to see that the villagers saved a portion of even this frugal meal to share with the deer. One day, he jokingly remarked that since the deer were being regularly fed, surely they would be eaten soon. He was almost beaten to death for even making such a suggestion. It was the lamas who saved him, but they warned him to treat all life with respect. Deeku refused to understand the close bond between the humans and the deer and their dependence on each other. One night, Deeku did not eat any of the coarse meal and he could no longer bear the pangs of hunger that rumbled in his stomach.

He persuaded Sonam to accompany him and showed him a gun that he had stowed away in his bag. Sonam asked what he intended to do with the gun, and Deeku told him that he was planning to kill one of the deer. Sonam was reluctant to be part of the hunt, but Deeku convinced him, saying that when the deer had been killed, everyone in the village would eat fresh meat and that they would all be grateful to him for having given them a good meal.

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Sonam continued to resist and Deeku tried to bully him into submission. Meanwhile, the large deer stepped out of the area where the herd was resting and into range for Deeku to shoot. Deeku grabbed the chance. He took aim and fired. The entire village woke up when they heard the shot and surrounded Deeku and Sonam.

The lamas also came down from the monastery. Fearing for his life, Deeku broke out of the circle of villagers who had surrounded him. They still come down every winter, but they do not venture anywhere near the village. They stay on the other side of the river, where they are often chased and hunted by the leopards, but it seems as if they would rather face the dangers of the forest than trust the human beings again.

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This witty, irreverent poem by Ahmed Fouad Negm takes aim at the corruption and hypocrisy of people in power. Upsidedownistan here. Your oldies but goodies station. Tumblestan here. Your good ole radio station. We present to you, in every language Plays and movies and all the arts And press and speeches and televisionings And mosque sermons, cheese and olives. Somersaultistan here. The oldies but goodies station. Your place for oldies but goodies. More boats are yet to sink. And the crisis in housing, and the crisis in public safety.

In the name of God. A peace upon you, and salmon and bananas. O Brethren, O Brothe. Nothing is wrong. By my very nature, I am against big dealers For the sake of free competition and neighborliness. Everybody puts things away for themselves The new ones do it, just like the old ones did before. O People: Zionize yourselves and go with the flow! Have a good toke and a good evening. My God—what fried foods, and the puddings! What stews and platters! After the feast we collected our presents Silver plated and gold plated, and faience, too. Some punks will come after me without cause.


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Getting up in my face, sitting to judge me. They want to turn the whole country into chaos! They have long wanted me to leave the country But I will not give it up, or let security slip Not by the police, nor by the public prosecutor. Stay the course and the money will come. Negm composed and performed versions of the poem in the first months of These, along with others, exist in multiple guises across different print and electronic media.

In an excerpt from his twelfth-century taxonomy of morons, Ibn al-Jawzi proves that idiocy is always a current event. For the stupid person has good intentions, but the manner he goes about achieving them is rotten, and his plans to reach his goal are faulty, while the insane person has rotten ideas to begin with, and chooses to pursue what should not be chosen.

By way of example, I shall tell you about one of the nitwits: Once a bird escaped from a prince, and he commanded that the gate of the city be closed. Punish your secretary, meaning slap him, and dismiss him, meaning fire him, for he is an idiot, meaning stupid. Goodbye, meaning this is the end of the letter. I was twenty-two and my husband, Yussef, was five years older than me. I always liked his first name but not his last, Bazaza, which made me Mrs.

His house on the waterfront used to overlook the Raouche rock before someone stuck a building right in the middle of the view.

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He also had a ton of money before inflation turned it into pennies. Besides being an architect, he managed a department at the Architecture House and wanted, someday, a daughter to call Tatiana. I mean, sure, Tatiana is a pretty name. I had a friend in high school named Tatiana, so I get it. But Tatiana Bazaza?

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Argued with logic and failed. Tried religion and failed. He always deployed the same dumb tactic when we reached an impasse. Why would you deny me this one request? He used this syrupy voice that made it sound like he was about to cry. A grown man. God, I hated that voice. I used birth control for a while, but then he started nagging me when I went to the gynecologist, so I got off the pill and stopped going to the doctor. My brother was happy about it too. Their conversations always stalled after some inane chitchat like:. Ahmad never understood why Yussef lived that way.

I used visits to my brother as an excuse to sneak out and party without Yussef knowing. Ahmad would pick me up, drop me at the party, and come back and bring me home at the end of the night. They figured out that he was entirely sterile. His swimmers were weak, lazy, and slow, not to mention dead on arrival. Which also pretty much sums up our sex life. He blew off the first five doctors and eventually, after four years of this, killed himself. So then I was a widow and clearly very broken up about it. I had to stay at home for forty days, but Ahmad kept helping me sneak out at night, bringing me back at dawn to play at grief.

I smiled a little slyly when I said this. Your husband died! He treated you so well!

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But he was also old. I love him so much. And my mother would get jealous of us—God, I miss those moments. His tone went condescending, like, listen up and I shall bestow a sliver of my great wisdom upon you. And of course that was super boring. That guilt never really went away.