Start time: 9:00 a.m.; End time: 11:30 a.m.; Duration: Yo' motha...

At about 6:00 a.m on the 4th of this fine, fantastically hot month, I came up with a theory on Benazir Bhutto's death (yes, I'm still stuck on it). Anum, who I shared my revelation with, called me the Jedi Master of Bullshit. But I'm sure, dear reader, that you will be more sensitive to my thoughts and beliefs.

See, I was sitting there trying to revise for the Geography exam which was to take place in approximately 3 hours, when I looked up and saw my giant Benazir poster. If you're wondering why I have one, it's because it was incredibly cheap (20 Rs!) and so very artistic. It has a detached, translucent head of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto floating in a starry sky with his daughter standing underneath, raising her arms to the heavens, as she so enjoyed doing (very air stewardess-like, don't you think? Especially with the head scarf and jackets, too. She could have worked for PIA). You don't see posters like that very often.
So anyways, I looked up at her and I wondered- how on earth did she study as much as she did? I mean, Harvard AND Oxford? There could only be one explanation.
She was a robot.

Anum disagreed. "Robots don't die from getting shot."
So here's my theory: She most definitely was a robot. And the 'assassination'? All a set-up. See, the CIA was actually very close to figuring out about Bhutto's android actuality. So damage control was needed. If it were found out and revealed imagine the global drama that would ensue! So PPP and our government teamed up and decided to stage a fake murder to nip the CIA's ideas in the bud.
A man was hired and Benazir was shot in the neck- where her mini-brain micro-chip (ignore the lack of technical terms) was! That's why this whole thing wasn't investigated properly!

Now that I have blown this whole thing wide open let me just say that it is indeed posts like this one that reduce the credibility, merit, and over-all literary value of this blog to little more than a grain of sand.
This theory, that resembles a sieve with the many holes it has in it, you are fully invited to harp about and poke fun at. But when it all turns out to be true, you have to promise to look at the camera and say that you Are Not Smarter Than Aziza.

And speaking of flunking out of school, I am giddy with relief upon announcing that my O Levels for this year are officially over. Zia ul Haq may be giggling in his grave at my Pakistan Studies papers (sadist), but never mind: I'm A Survivor.
But not for long since the unexpected, cruel departures of the electricity about thrice a day are sure to be the death of me.
Honestly, what ever is the point of Daylight Saving? What electricity are we trying to save? It's not like we get any!

Nothing better than living in Pakistan to prepare one for the harsh cruelties of the world. You can take me to a war and I won't even flinch. We're tough, yo. And when the going gets tough, the tough slip on their suicide jackets and flip on their fake Zippos.
Jealous?