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Auntie Wars

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

Auntie Wars

It is a period of civil war. Rebel art educators, striking from a
hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Administrative
Empire (or not).
During the battle, Rebel spies managed to steal secret plans to the
Empire’s ultimate weapon, the Auntie Office Assistant, an armored weapon of mass destruction
with enough power to destroy an entire planet.
Pursued by the Empire’s sinister agents, the hopeless artist races home
in her second-hand car, custodian of the stolen plans that can save her
people and restore freedom to the government college…

Hopefully the John Williams soundtrack will accompany my escape from this auntie-infested hell. Unfortunately, I cannot leave until office hours are over. Yes folks, I’m back to auntie-bashing. And with good reason.

The above was written hastily in a moment of inspiration in my office. Now that I’m safely home, I can actually sigh with relief and get on with my post. Remember the office assistant from hell? The same creature has harrassed me to the point of no return. Here I was, braving my way through the education system of Pakistan and I get a gift from satan himself: an incompetent aunty and now, her side-kick. Yes, she has one of those too.


  1. Lack of physical or intellectual ability or qualifications
  2. Inability of a part or organ to function properly

Yes. That organ would be her brain. And the other one probably lacks one altogether. I’m willing to overlook their ample presence, their four-inch heels, their oily smell…but I cannot overlook their sly incompetence. It annoys me beyond reason. I day-dream about knocking in their silly blank faces with a hammer. They get everything wrong and don’t bother to correct anything. Well, I’m done training these morons. I’d rather just teach the kids who are worth a hell of a lot more.

Sometimes I regret I took up administration with my teaching. But I’ve come to realize I didn’t have much of a choice. But now that I’m in it up to my eyeballs, I must get it right, see? And these moron aunties with their flowing dupattas can kiss my ass. I’m tempted to just back off and do nothing and see what happens. When things fall apart, it won’t really be my fault – but it will still be my fault in a way so I just cannot seem to let go.

If this is how government institutions are run, then we’re in a sorry state. As it is, there are too many aunties creeping around. A student of mine clarified their type – according to him, they’re the drop-the-file aunties. They drop files, bend down to pick them up and they get jobs. Harsh, I know. But I’m beginning to realize it might just be true. I’m involved in another endeavor coordinated by a drop-the-file aunty. And it hasn’t made my life easier in any way. Wherever I go, these aunties are there – lying in wait to make my life miserable.

As for my secret plan – well, I’m still working on it. I’m a lover, not a fighter – but what the hell, right?

Disclaimer: I mean no offence to women or to any other kind of human being. These aunties I write about aren’t human. They are scum.


Office Assistant from Hell

Deeply immersed within all the nine circles of suffering (allegorically) amidst aunties of the worst kind, now I am presented with yet another evil – the assistant from hell.

Now this woman is a true auntie (besides being a hellish being of monstrous proportions). She is overly endowed with ungainly flesh that wobbles its way into my space. Frankly, her presence itself makes me nauseous and slightly dizzy (considering the smell). Also, she is gifted with making people uncomfortable with her lurking – she lurks instead of merely being there. I don’t know how some people master this art of lurking in wide open spaces. In other words, she is an auntie from hell.

This particular monster has an appalling fashion sense that might appeal to a myopic, lecherous cab driver on Murree Road (you know, the kind that spits out of his window right into yours) with vulgarly transparent clothes on her excessive flesh, oily face and beady little eyes and those impossible heels. Gosh, those heels scare me a little. Ofcourse, she expects to sit in the office all day on her fat ass instead of actually doing her job which might even get her some excercise. Aside from the thrusting wobbly bosom (which probably got her the job in the first place, in my humble opinion), the stink and the excessive oil on her, she truly belongs in the Pakistani Auntie Hall of Fame as one hell of a good example of paindu auntie.

I fail to understand how such people get hired to communicate when they can barely manage decent speech. And the attitude that goes with her bizarre appearance makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. She thinks she owns the place and has been attempting to boss yours truly. Now, I don’t take that too well – especially from a two-bit, almost illiterate monster from auntie hell who used her balloon breasts to get a job. Of course I sort of approved her appointment because I really didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. But Ms. Balloon Breasts will get an ass-kicking she hasn’t dreamt of in her oily little brain.

Maybe it isn’t even worth it. I mean she hasn’t heard of the spell-check that MS Word does automatically. Also she has strange ideas about toilet paper that are truly unprintable. Sigh. Just my luck.


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