Abstract

Today is an official holiday. It is Thursday the 11th of Ordibehesht or the 1st of May and it is a public holiday here. But this isn't because it's International Worker's Day, but because of the anniversary of the death of the prophet Mohammed. But for those of us who are second-class citizens (or to use the term that Mesbah Yazdi has coined for us merely 'ambulant pieces of flesh attached to legs', for those of us who are of no use to the 'Islamic regime' -- which should in truth be referred to as 'the greatest human tragedy in the memory of recent human civilization') it makes no difference what day it is. I was up all night glued to the computer screen 'to earn my daily bread'. (Here I use the hackneyed expression 'to earn my bread' to mean precisely that and nothing more). At about 6:30 or 7:00am I fell sleep and managed briefly to flee the weight of my troubles, the totality of which I am now used to, knowing all the while that they will one day spell my end: exhaustion, back aches, eye strain, headaches, heart palpitations, and the thousand other terrible things. I was shattered. What do Mullahs know about such things?