The Ruler gave the kind of sigh he usually did after a prostate-massaged piss as he watched the rocket ascend into the stratosphere. Here a dream was coming to completion.
Wearing his sports kandura with the goretex weaving, he sat back on his bike and smiled. Things were looking good for 2020.
“Sir! Sir!” A frantic British man was running towards him, wearing an office shirt and tie (and slacks obviously) over the bike track sand.
The Ruler sighed, this time like when he could not piss.
“Sir!” the man ran up, red in the face like a radish.
“What you want now?”
“Muskil jadeed!”
Slaaappppp!
The sound rang out in the quiet desert as the retinue hushed at the strike. Violence was rare in Dubai 2019.
“Why you talk to me Arabic?”
“Sorry Sir.”
“And also shit Arabic. You speak like 5-year-old Down’s Syndrome.”
“Sorry.” The man grew redder and redder, and looked at the ground.
“We don’t speak Arabic because we don’t want sheikhs come to Dubai 2020. Who we want come Dubai 2020?”
“Whites,” the man said, looking at the ground.
“And?”
“Chinese.”
“You speak Mandarin?”
“No.”
“Ha kelb! I speak Mandarin! Is future you bitch!”
The whole retinue laughed together until the Ruler stopped abruptly.
“Eee! Uennh! Saaanh!”
There was stunned awkward silence.
“That mean 1, 2, 3.” The Ruler beamed.
The retinue clapped politely, like they had seen a good serve at Wimbeldon.
“I’m afraid something had come up that will tarnish 2020 a bit,” the red man said, examining his shoes.
The clapping ended abruptly.
“What?”
“I’ll show you.” He moved forward with his iPad.
“Things go so well. What it can be?” the Ruler mused.
“Oh shit!”
There was silence for a while. Some of the retinue tried to crane their necks to see.
“Is real?”
“I think so, from what our social media monitors can tell.”
“How it can be? This not look possible. Like Michelin Man not real.”
“Yes, at first they ignored it. But then they began picking up all kinds of appearances throughout Dubai.”
“You explain.” The Ruler pointed at the monitor like he would for a photo, and then realised thank goodness that there were no cameras nearby.
“He seems-“
“Is he? Is not he-she?”
“No, I think it’s a man. It’s hard to tell due to the curvaceous figure and because he keeps using Faceapp to create female versions of himself that he WhatsApps to his former best friend who seems to be now ignoring him.”
“This man seems like every part of his life, long sad story.”
“Yes that’s what his social media seems to be. Well, anyway, he is a man, I think. And he’s a Dubai resident. Says he’s Brahmin even-“
“Brahmin like sheikh of Hind?”
“Sort of. Like imam.”
“Ah okay.”
“But he isn’t like other Brahmins in Dubai-“
“He is not like other men in Dubai, y’ani.”
“Right. He goes to lots of electronic music parties by himself.”
“He dance?”
“I believe so.”
“You have video?”
“I think so.”
“Show.”
The Brit rummages through files until he maximised the screen. A sort of roly poly part-man in a huge black t-shirt was bending his body at a psi-trance show.
The Ruler laughed and had to steady himself on his bike.
“This real! What the hell this?”
“Yes. And as you can imagine, this kind of…man…isn’t good for Dubai’s image.”
The Ruler thought for a moment. “But if he is clown for Global Village maybe we make chicken shit into chicken sandwish.”
“I’m afraid there’s more.”
The Brit pulled up a flurry of images. “Hanging out with workers, being a worker for a while, going to a ladies’ steam room, being unemployed for a very long time-“
“Is bad yes, but maybe he entrepen-” the Ruler cracked up before he could finish. He had a hearty laugh.
“I’m afraid he didn’t do much entrepening during his unemployment. Mostly visited amusement parks.”
“Wha?”
“Yes.” The Brit showed more pictures.
“How man afford amusement park, no job?”
“Because of this woman he is living with.” The Brit showed another picture.
“Yeckkkhhh! This sick!” The Ruler looked away. “Is not funny any more. Why you show that. I no breakfast.”
Someone in the retinue within eyeshot of the photo vomited.
“You debort him,” the Ruler said with an air of finality as he began pedalling. “Her, you ban her from MacDonald’s. Fat bitch.”
Rainbow Kandura 