The Shaz

Sitting quietly at my desk trying to get some work done with a dead bird stuck in the air con unit and feathers blowing around the room, my office mate, Dr Shazahan, would come in, hock up some phlegm for our shared wastepaper basket and stare at a computer screen covered in English when he did not speak English. Sometime he would ask me to show him how to copy and paste and he was thrilled with the technology. He would then have a nice long sleep in his chair, retire to the bathroom adjourning our office to relieve himself noisily of what I assume was crippling diarrhoea, come back and sit in his chair, offer me a biscuit and then munch on biscuits and stare at my tits for the rest of the day. Often his biscuit-munching-tit-staring would be interrupted because someone would come flying into my office yelling "Angelina!" smear blue eye shadow on me, throw me in the back of a CNG and eject me at some massive conference with tv crews and journalists everywhere. Someone at some point would show me the agenda and I would see that I was due to speak for ten minutes. I would gesticulate wildly and give an impassioned speech on whatever I thought the conference was about. I would then see myself in the English language newspaper the next day with some quote attributed to me that had nothing to do with what i actually said, which wasn't particularly relevant to the topic of the conference but no more or less relevant that what I had actually said.