As you are already aware, Pat Magazine is an amazing publication, bringing incisive, world-class commentary on a wide number of subjects. From killing children with Halloween candy to stage magic to Kate Gosselin's scarred and bulging taint, Pat Magazine informs and educates in a way long abandoned by traditional media sources. There is one area where it is sorely lacking, however: travel guides. PM's readership are globe-trotting movers and shakers, and they deserve this magazine's insight on more of the places they will be visiting and/or bending to their will. In order to remedy this lack, here is a short profile of Abu Dhabi, the capital of the United Arab Emirates and the place Garfield is always trying to ship Nermal to.

Abu Dhabi is a medium-sized city on the Persian Gulf, directly across from Mordor, also known as Iran, the most evil of the Axis of Evil. Everything in the city is new, as in a Brit I spoke to who's been in the Middle East for about half a century remembers when most of the city was a collection of mud huts and the main driver of the economy was still pearl-diving. Yeah, it's that new. Though it's the nation's capitol, it exists in the shadow of its big sister city Dubai, the glittering metropolis of the Middle East. The inhabitants don't have a chip on their shoulders about this though, because most of them are just hired help anyway, and the rest are consoled by their Bentleys and Rolexes.

The first thing you notice about Abu Dhabi is the humidity. The city is built on a lagoon, and it is as damp and oppressive as Ms. Gosselin's aforementioned taint. The second thing you notice is your terror in the face of your own mortality as you confront their drivers. Speed limits are not really enforced in this shining city; the police just send you a ticket in the mail if you're caught by a speed camera, and most people rich enough to have a car here are rich enough to consider the nominal fine a routine expense, like gas money or a staff of servants. They all seem to have luxury cars with massive engines, too, so when they speed, they fucking burn rubber. This is so routine that the speed cameras don't even bother with you unless you're going at least 20 over the limit. The other thing that makes driving in Abu Dhabi seem like Death Race 2000 is that half the cars have at least 60% window tint.

The sun is bright as hell here, so window tinting makes sense, but it is taken to deadly extremes for a much more innocuous reason: modesty. Though it isn't required by law like in other nations in the region, by and large, the female citizenry still wear the veil. (Not the unwashed masses mind you, we're talking about "citizens" in the Roman, Lou Dobbs sense.) These veils aren't necessarily comfortable, and they mess up very expensive hairstyles, so a nice alternative is tinting all your windows, including your windshield, to the point that no one can see in. The fact that you can no longer see *out* is a minor inconvenience in comparison to the hassle of putting on your hijab. Taking to heart the force protection admonitions the military gave me to blend in--thus becoming a smaller target for the terrorists who lurk behind every corner--I quickly got into the swing of things, and was soon driving a buck-fifty as a matter of course, driving on the shoulder, and swerving through three lanes of traffic with no warning. It made me and my passengers feel much safer.

I suggest you do the same. Otherwise, you're just another ugly American who refuses to adapt to the local culture.

Once you've survived the roads and made it to your hotel, it's time to start drinking in the local culture, which is basically a variation on the 50's: Women who know their place, plenty of casual racism, and an ashtray on every table. Essentially, imagine Don Draper in a Galabiyya. As you may have guessed by now, most of the people (to the tune of about 70%) who live in this city are originally from somewhere else, usually Pakistan and India, but also Sudan, Kenya, Indonesia, China, The Philippines and Britain, to name a few. As a general rule, they hate their jobs, which tend to be menial, but they sure as shit don't want to go back. Fred, a Kenyan security contractor I hung out with a lot, is an accountant, and is making far more working hotel security. (Tip: Kenyans are all over the security biz here, and if you want into the nightclubs for cheap, I advise you make friends with them. This isn't too hard, since they speak better English than almost anyone else in the city.) One of the Pakistani security guys told me he was a pharmacist, but life in Peshawar recently has been "tense." He also told me that all Filipino women are whores in the best way. Fun fact.

Now that you're settled in and know how to get around, its time for a night on the town. First and foremost, your mission is to find somewhere with booze and pork. Liquor is only illegal if you're Muslim, but it still isn't widely available, and pork is really hard to find. The sausage you get in room service isn't pig, it's something else, and it's terrible. In order to find both, head to the ex-pat enclaves built around the most expensive hotels. These are full of Brits and beer, and you can get a calzone full of ham that's about the size of a football. As you enjoy your porcine rebellion against the man, you'll probably notice the other thing these areas are full of. Hookers. Hookers are everywhere. I've been to Amsterdam, I've been to Nevada, I've been in grimy New Jersey strip clubs that basically doubled as bordellos. In none of those places are the hookers more brazen. Perhaps only Pattaya, Thailand is worse, though I only have second-hand descriptions of that vice-hole. In some parts of Abu Dhabi, every fat old man in sight seems to have a slinky woman hanging off of him, right out in the open, and probably at bargain prices. A word on pricing. Prostitutes here are tiered racially. At the top is the forbidden fruit, Arab women, next come Russians and Ukrainians, in the middle are Indians, below that are Filipinos, then Africans and at the very bottom are the Chinese. So if you've got a thing for Asian chicks, this is your town.

If paying for sex isn't your thing, you can hit the nightclubs. All the good ones are attached to hotels like the Sheraton. The bad ones are fucking weird. We went into one which was basically just four Indian women dancing on stage, not in a sexy way, just dancing. The audience was arrayed in four rows of chairs, like it was some kind of conference lecture, just sitting and staring. No booze, no catcalls, no movement or food or anything. It was like I was watching clones being grown. Once you're in the good clubs though, you'll find out why those women didn't want to mess up their hairdo with a hijab. They're all here, in tight jeans and halter tops. The window tint seems worth it now, even if they did probably kill a few migrant workers on the way over.

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