Bubble Zone: Mako, Dexy & friends

Why not talk about Ahmadinejad’s (Mahmoud, darlin’!) clothes as well? Everybody keeps on babbling about his nukes. And they do that because he seems to have them! The nukes, I mean. Well, not anymore! (nevertheless, he still might have those nukes). I’m here to tell you more about his fashion soft spots, his desire to accessorize, other than The Revolutionary Guards.

From the very beginning, I must say I’m totally grateful for the fact that he’s not wearing mullah traditional robes. However, the alternative is not as glamorous as one would expect. [Cheshire grin] His suits seem tailored with the specific purpose of attracting no attention whatsoever. His words, quite the contrary. And yet, he’s just the perfectly-boring-slightly-loser-next-door-neighborish type of guy possibly working for his pocket change in a shoemakers’ shop. Who occasionally goes to disco on Saturday nights wearing synthetic glam 70’s John Travolta shirts. The pink ones.

THE STORY OF MAHMOUD AND MANOLO

So, Mahmoud was sipping his fifth Cosmo checking stuff out through the crowded room, teeming with virgins and suicidal bombers, on a hot summer night somewhere on a dance floor in the Middle East. He was also wearing a heavy golden bracelet, and had its spare in his pocket, adjustable into a pair of handcuffs in case the hopes were high. And also the chicks. Suddenly, his heart started pumping like mad. A nightly gazelle was approaching him with her eyelashes flipping through the tensed smoky air. She was none other than Imelda Marcos’s shoe advisor. (Mahmoud was young at that time, studying Hydrology at the local technical university). He did have a secret passion for shoes, shared with no one, not even his best friend (a controversial figure currently working with the CIA after having fled
Iran into US in 1997 …therefore, we cannot give names, we’ll just call him “You-know-who-comma-darlin’!”). Anyway, he secretly read women’s magazines and was dying to get into that blissful place where he could look and, oh, My sweet precious Lord!, maybe even…touch (auch!) a pair of Blahniks. Yes, he did watch Sex and The City religiously and he wasn’t quite happy with the series ending. Back. He was staring at the (we shall call her) Gazelle’s gorgeous shoes as if there was no tomorrow. He felt God’s might just by gazing at those marvels. He felt the wonder of Creation and the never-ending kingdom of Peace staring back from the heelless straps of fine leather, a masterly crafted jewel. Useless to say, they were a pair of Blahniks. Not any Blahniks, but the Arunium. (To be continued)

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 28th, 2007 at 11:33 am and is filed under "Mahmoud and the fashionable side of terror". You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.