Now, I’m not sure if what I’m about to state has come to the notice of anyone else who lives in India. Although unless you are blind or wear shades straight from Bappi Lahiri’s collection, you are bound to have encountered this, quite frankly, dumbfounding aberration. I refer to the inexplicable abundance of Tibetan monks inside places like KFC, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut and extravagant malls. The first twenty five times I experienced it I assumed it was the effect of the hallucinogenic pancakes I have for breakfast but once I realized I wasn’t the only one who was seeing these robe-clad specters-these Dalai Lama spinoffs- I knew that Apocalypse was here. Fuck you if I’m wrong but I was under the impression that these Dalai Lamas were more of the “meditate, eat leaves, shit once every two weeks, stay inside the temple” kind. And I thought nirvana was the only fucking thing on their minds. I wasn’t aware that enlightenment could be attained by gobbling down Colonel’s chicken or wolfing down McGrills by the dozen. I have even seen these Lamas lurking around inside malls feverishly text messaging fuck-knows-who, probably their fellow monks letting them know that they just clocked a hot bitch who would make Buddha’s halo get bigger. I don’t even know where these Lamas pop out of. Do they sit inside their fucking monastery praying for salvation when suddenly hunger strikes and one Lama says to the other Lama “Hey, McDonald’s ya?” And the other Lama says, “Ya, ya. Big Clown, funny, burger good”. And if at all they want to hang around in malls, why in the name of fuck do they want to loiter wearing their ridiculous clown outfits? I mean they make Ronald McDonald the fucking clown look like a fucking corporate executive. And if you have a uniform and you’re adamant that you will only walk around in that specific uniform, which happens to be sleeveless, don’t fucking flail your arms around. I don’t care if you have exclusive access to the 39th chamber of Shaolin, don’t fucking show your hairy underarms to unsuspecting passers-by.
On the other hand these chicken-crunching text-messaging semi-urbane Lamas might be the new breed of monks that a religion like Buddhism needs. Buddhism has often been dismissed as being too, what’s the word, pseudo. The very story that Buddha attained nirvana by merely sitting under a tree is a little boring. Sure, the subplot of the little raccoon that was trapped under his robe is rarely mentioned but monks are, by and large, considered a little erratic. A few decades ago, if a Lama was upset he would tell the other Lama, “I upset. What do?” And the other Lama would counsel, “Set fire to yourself.” Meanwhile, this new breed of Lamas, the McLamas, who despite their obsession with exposing their fluffy armpits, are bound to react in a different manner. If one of these McLamas tell the other, “I upset. What do? Set fire to myself?” the other McLama is likely to say “Fuck that. We eat fried chicken and check out bitches. Ya?” eliciting a “Ya, ya” from the first McLama.
If you think about it the lifecycles of all the bizarre things in the past have proved that if they stick around long enough they become part of our lives, like cows and donkeys shitting all over the streets in North India, fat bitches ruling the South Indian porn industry, and Rakhi Sawant . Similarly, these McLamas, if they rise in number, and make their presence felt long enough and strong enough they are bound to blend into our daily environment like terrorism or a third nipple. Nevertheless, this phenomenon of McLamas is the strangest experience I have had from a religiously inclined group of people. Unless I see the Pope deepthroating a hotdog inside Nirula’s
Friday, June 19, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Been away too long....
I admit it’s been long since I’ve blogged. “Too long”, one email said. “Have you finally run out of venom, you cunt?” another mail politely enquired. “I think in an effort to find more shit you shoved your head so far up your shit hole you asphyxiated to death,” yet another fan surmised. While I appreciate the concern showed by my loyal followers- or pedophilic, murderous blotches on humanity as the police call them – it’s rather complicated for me to shed light on why I stayed dad- I rarely stay mum- on so many several issues all these months. Why the U.S President’s residence is still called the White House even after a black man is in charge; a theory about how the terrorists who attacked the Taj Hotel could have been scorned prior customers who were rendered bankrupt by the hotel’s exorbitant tariffs; how an ‘activist’- or a useless piece of maggot-ridden foreskin who wants his fifteen minutes of fame – upheld our Indian values by getting Akshay Kumar and his hot biatch wife Twinkle arrested for vulgarity. I confess I too always imagined situations involving Twinkle and handcuffs but somehow getting her arrested wasn’t quite what I had in mind. And a hundred other sundry instances when I felt like indulging in some graphic ranting but four words stopped me from doing so. “Oh, well, fuck it.” And then one day I came across something that didn’t just irk me. It vexed me. I swallowed my overpowering instincts- and mind you that’s the only thing I swallow- and decided not to react. And I waited almost two months hoping the bitter feeling of poison would disappear from the roof my mind. It hasn’t and therefore I’m forced to take up this unenviable task of misusing the English Language to vent my fury. If anyone of you reading this voluntarily switched off your electricity at eight thirty in the night on March 28, 2009 calling it the “earth hour” then let me be the first to inform you that you deserve nothing less than being tied to a gurney and subjected to a five hour bukkake by ten grisly bears and Ramesh Pawar.
I’m as ecologically conscious as a stray canine. I mean, if I ever accidentally take a shit in the middle of the road I have the good sense and etiquette to hose it down with my urine. But when people, which include the ever conscientious media, start telling me to turn off all the switches at my place to save electricity because the whole world is doing so, that’s the kind of thing that galls my balls. No one gives a fuck even if their neighbor is raping his daughter or when thousands of kids are recruited to be terrorists at the age of four or five but when it comes to saving the fucking planet everyone wants to hold hands and act together. Otherwise it’s “your country, your problem”. And once again the most annoying thing of them all was the appearances made by these scrotum smelling celebrities who think that we are a bunch of brainless, mindless, spineless puppets who would fucking obey whatever the fuck they ask us to do just because they make more money than us. If Krista Allen thinks that merely because I have made love to my hand watching her “acting” she has the authority to tell me to switch off all my lights then that biatch is way off. And if Aamir Khan thinks having a cunning image consultant empowers him to start controlling my life then that little fucker would actually be better off suffering from short term memory loss because he can forget about it. When will these assholes realize that we don’t like being told what to do? It doesn’t matter if it’s the right thing or not- don’t fucking tell us what to do.
Since the promotion of the “earth hour” was so vexing I had made up my mind to ‘switch on’ every single working thing in my home at eight thirty in the night on March 28. I bought half a dozen extension chords, borrowed a dozen irons and about twenty electric heaters and prepared myself for the Mother-fucking-Earth Hour. And at eight twenty nine my finger began itching as it edged closer towards the switch to flick it on, and a minute later I found myself sitting in utter blackness. Not because I blew a fuse, not because I changed my mind and decided to acquiesce to what the world wanted but because at eight thirty on March 28 the power was forcibly cut by the government. The entire month they preached to us about doing what was right, acting now to save the planet, being responsible, and when the crunch time came they decided to cut the power no matter what. If you were one of those dumbasses all eager to play your part in saving the world, kindly enlighten me at which point of the power cut did your contribution happen. Now, why couldn’t they just have been a little more honest with you from the beginning and tell you what they were really thinking? Instead of painting this picture where you were this powerful individual who had the ability to make a difference why couldn’t they simply tell you “Listen, you dickless cretin. We will do as we please and there ain’t a fucking thing you can do about it.”
So next time you want to do something along with the world for the greater good of humanity, or the planet, chuck the “earth hour” and go with my “snuff hour”. On any selected day at a fixed time, chosen after a universal poll, all the human beings stand next to each other, holding hands forming the largest possible human chain ever, and, oh, fully covered in kerosene. When the clock strikes the agreed upon hour the first human being in the chain and last human being in the chain take a lighter and flick it. Then we stand there and feel powerful until the two fires meet in the middle. The “earth hour” requires you to immerse our world in pitch blackness. I really don’t think darkness and obscurity is what we need in today’s world. Don’t we have a lot of that already? What we need is some light, some spark, and some fire. What we need is the “snuff hour”.
I’m as ecologically conscious as a stray canine. I mean, if I ever accidentally take a shit in the middle of the road I have the good sense and etiquette to hose it down with my urine. But when people, which include the ever conscientious media, start telling me to turn off all the switches at my place to save electricity because the whole world is doing so, that’s the kind of thing that galls my balls. No one gives a fuck even if their neighbor is raping his daughter or when thousands of kids are recruited to be terrorists at the age of four or five but when it comes to saving the fucking planet everyone wants to hold hands and act together. Otherwise it’s “your country, your problem”. And once again the most annoying thing of them all was the appearances made by these scrotum smelling celebrities who think that we are a bunch of brainless, mindless, spineless puppets who would fucking obey whatever the fuck they ask us to do just because they make more money than us. If Krista Allen thinks that merely because I have made love to my hand watching her “acting” she has the authority to tell me to switch off all my lights then that biatch is way off. And if Aamir Khan thinks having a cunning image consultant empowers him to start controlling my life then that little fucker would actually be better off suffering from short term memory loss because he can forget about it. When will these assholes realize that we don’t like being told what to do? It doesn’t matter if it’s the right thing or not- don’t fucking tell us what to do.
Since the promotion of the “earth hour” was so vexing I had made up my mind to ‘switch on’ every single working thing in my home at eight thirty in the night on March 28. I bought half a dozen extension chords, borrowed a dozen irons and about twenty electric heaters and prepared myself for the Mother-fucking-Earth Hour. And at eight twenty nine my finger began itching as it edged closer towards the switch to flick it on, and a minute later I found myself sitting in utter blackness. Not because I blew a fuse, not because I changed my mind and decided to acquiesce to what the world wanted but because at eight thirty on March 28 the power was forcibly cut by the government. The entire month they preached to us about doing what was right, acting now to save the planet, being responsible, and when the crunch time came they decided to cut the power no matter what. If you were one of those dumbasses all eager to play your part in saving the world, kindly enlighten me at which point of the power cut did your contribution happen. Now, why couldn’t they just have been a little more honest with you from the beginning and tell you what they were really thinking? Instead of painting this picture where you were this powerful individual who had the ability to make a difference why couldn’t they simply tell you “Listen, you dickless cretin. We will do as we please and there ain’t a fucking thing you can do about it.”
So next time you want to do something along with the world for the greater good of humanity, or the planet, chuck the “earth hour” and go with my “snuff hour”. On any selected day at a fixed time, chosen after a universal poll, all the human beings stand next to each other, holding hands forming the largest possible human chain ever, and, oh, fully covered in kerosene. When the clock strikes the agreed upon hour the first human being in the chain and last human being in the chain take a lighter and flick it. Then we stand there and feel powerful until the two fires meet in the middle. The “earth hour” requires you to immerse our world in pitch blackness. I really don’t think darkness and obscurity is what we need in today’s world. Don’t we have a lot of that already? What we need is some light, some spark, and some fire. What we need is the “snuff hour”.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Best Possible Orgy (BPO)
BPOs have become as integral to modern India as boob-jobs to Bollywood actresses. A lot more Indians are crossing the streets listening to their IPods now; more Indians have become efficient at slavishly reading nonsensical printed material off the papers given to them by their bosses; and the number of Indians, and this might be the most heartening outcome of them all, who can speak in a freakish American or a British accent that’s so accurate that it just makes u want to start speaking Konkani have risen higher than ever thanks to the advent of Business Process Outsourcing. However, for those of us who can’t quite pull off an accent as American as that of Babu a.k.a Bob or as English as that of Jeevan a.k.a Jeeves there’s always a way to get a piece of the BPO action. We can easily get a job as a cabdriver for BPO companies, drive the employees back and forth, and while we’re at it, rape and murder a few women workers during the course of our career. The only glitch in the aforementioned scheme is that the level of sexual freedom in India is not as liberal as it once was during the days of the Kamasutra, when you could forcibly suspend your brother’s wife from a running fan and fuck her in the armpit till she died of vertigo. If you do that now you are labeled a deviant but back then you were merely a gentle, sensuous man executing position # 89 (the Rotating Pit). So, no longer will you be applauded if you engage yourself in rape and murder, unless of course you work for Narendra Modi. Your actions will merely be described as “not adhering to the company rules”. Due to excessive protests from human rights groups, women’s groups, and Maneka Gandhi a meeting between the Chairman of BPOs (COB), Chairman of Cabbies/Rapists (COCR), and the Chairwoman of Women (COW) was set up to discuss and resolve the issue of the increasing threat to the security of women workers at BPOs. However, at the last minute Maneka Gandhi backed out in indignation when she learned that it was only a human being and not a stray dog that was raped and murdered. The discussion broadcast on NDTV’s sister channel NDTV-GOOD TIMES, SHIT PROGRAMS turned out to be rather fruitful especially with celebrity moderator Navjot Singh Sidhu (NSS) overseeing the debate.
NSS: Let me tell you something, Sonali, a discussion is like an orgy. It’s no fun unless we all take part in it.
COCR: First of all, your little concubine Sonali isn’t here so stop addressing every goddamn thing to her. Secondly, I would like to raise the point that while orgies are necessary for the proper functioning of a society, it is the concentrated act of rape that demands more from an individual’s character and consequently churns a better man out of him.
COW: You assholes sicken-
COCR (interrupting): I know, I know. You will ask me now what the difference between a gang-rape and an orgy is. Well, let me break it down to you. When you gang-rape someone you stuff two or more…
COW: This is not a discussion celebrating the heinous act of rape. This is a discussion condemning it and demanding nothing short of capital punishment for anyone committing rape.
NSS: Rape is like a horror movie-
COW (thinking Sidhu had completed his sentence): Thank you, Mr. Sidhu.
NSS: -the more the screams the better it gets.
COW: Shut up, you hairy spit bag. I blame the greedy, exploitative BPO companies who demand unreasonable working hours from women and do not provide them enough security.
COB: Now, look here, you Cow-
COW (angrily): What did you call me?
COB: I meant Chairwoman of Women. Now, you look here, I understand where you’re coming from. But even an autistic child would understand that we’re not to blame for the crimes committed by the drivers we employ to transport our workers to and from our offices.
COW: Now, you look here dickhead-
COB (offended): What did you call me?
COW: I meant greedy dickhead. You listen to me, if you had a security guard compulsorily accompany every car-ride this would never have happened.
COB: We do give our women employees that option.
COW: It shouldn’t be an option, it should be a rule. If a security guard was there in the car the latest case, and several others before it, could have been avoided. But, of course, that would mean one less person in the car and more guards for you to employ, doesn’t it? And it wouldn’t be such a profitable decision for you greedy billionaire bastards, would it?
COCR: To be fair to the BPO guy, our premier society, the RA or the Rape Academy, has been fairly successful in recruiting several security guards as well. So, I’m not really sure how much protection they would have given even if they were present in the car. It would have probably meant an extra cock violating the helpless cunt.
NSS: A cock in a cunt is like a candidate at an interview. He enters with all the energy and zest in the world but comes out deflated and perspiring.
COW: So, that’s it, then? Cabbies will rape women; security guards will rape women; politicians will rape women; filmmakers will rape women; in short all men will keep raping women and nobody’s going to do anything about it?
COCR: Now, let’s be honest, women don’t really object to getting raped, do they? On some level, it’s guaranteed that they enjoy it.
COW (disgusted): You sick piece of psycho shit, why don’t you go rape the women in your family and see how much of it they enjoy?
COCR: Well, that’s where the women in my family and the rest of the Indian women differ. The women in my family are traditional, wonderful, dignified women who cover themselves up in long opaque saris. But you slutty whores, with your sleeveless tops and your tight jeans, you want us to rape you, you want us to take notice of your goods, you want us to enjoy you, you want us to give you that wonderful feeling of pleasurable pain. Damn, I’m getting a hard on just talking about it.
COW (speechless with anger): You vile repulsive motherfucker, you mentally ill scum of the planet, fuck you and your inherent chauvinistic outlook. You base venomous bastard!NSS: A bastard is like AIDS. Nobody really knows who fucked it into existence.
COW (shaking with anger and desperation): It’s never going to change, is it? This despicable perception of women as objects for men to relieve their sexual frustrations upon. And a patriarchal society like India where all men are closet rapists will never really respect women, will it?
COCR: That’s like asking if Ellen DeGeneres will start fucking men.
NSS: Lesbians are like male homosexuals who like penises. Except they are female and like pussies.
COCR (surprised): That wasn’t an analogy, that was just a definition.
NSS (sadly): I miss Sonali.
COB (feeling bad for the COW): Look, chairwoman, I think I may have been a little insensitive to your arguments. I’m sorry. I think I will be making additional efforts in providing enhanced security to our women employees.
COW (still emotional but allayed slightly): Do you mean it?COB: Yes, in fact, I’ve already thought up a few security measures. I’m thinking from now onwards one of the qualifications to be a driver working for BPOs is for the candidate to be a eunuch.
COW: Ok…NSS: A eunuch is like a car without an engine…and no testicles.COB: And we shall also make sure that all our women employees are given electrically charged chastity belts to protect their…femininity.
COW: Ok
COB (thinking): And perhaps a bra that would make their breasts look smaller than they actually are.
COW: I appreciate your good intentions, chairman. Thank you. But maybe you can also supply your women employees with bottles of pepper spray and maybe tasers. You could also install tracking devices in your vehicles, which can be done, and have someone monitor it on a computer. If the vehicle goes off the prescribed route or stops for more than five minutes, you can call the driver. And if he doesn’t answer your call you can inform the police.
COB: Come on now, that’s a bit silly and impractical.
COCR (bored): Now if you airbags have finished chattering I would like to leave. There are more unsuspecting women out there for me to go and rape.(Both the COW and COB look at him with disgust and shock)
NSS: Actually, there’s one thing left to do.(Sidhu goes to the side of the room, opens a kit, and takes out three thick cricket bats. He hands one to the COW, one to the COB, and keeps the third one for himself)
COCR: I don’t have to time to play. Some little girl or nubile woman is out there with her fresh cherry ready to be popped by me.
NSS: Now as you know, I haven’t done this in a while.
(Sidhu signals to the COW and the COB. They step out from behind their podiums and approach the COCR. He starts protesting but the thick willows land against his teeth and balls, crippling him to the ground. Sidhu square cuts his dick; the COW cover drives his skull; the COB straight drives his nose. After a few minutes of some industrious batting and a good partnership, the Chairman of Cabbies/Rapists breathes his last. His bloody carcass lies in a hot pool of blood)
COW (looking at the corpse): Go to hell.
NSS: Hell is like Pakistan. Except there are more Hindus and Christians.
NSS: Let me tell you something, Sonali, a discussion is like an orgy. It’s no fun unless we all take part in it.
COCR: First of all, your little concubine Sonali isn’t here so stop addressing every goddamn thing to her. Secondly, I would like to raise the point that while orgies are necessary for the proper functioning of a society, it is the concentrated act of rape that demands more from an individual’s character and consequently churns a better man out of him.
COW: You assholes sicken-
COCR (interrupting): I know, I know. You will ask me now what the difference between a gang-rape and an orgy is. Well, let me break it down to you. When you gang-rape someone you stuff two or more…
COW: This is not a discussion celebrating the heinous act of rape. This is a discussion condemning it and demanding nothing short of capital punishment for anyone committing rape.
NSS: Rape is like a horror movie-
COW (thinking Sidhu had completed his sentence): Thank you, Mr. Sidhu.
NSS: -the more the screams the better it gets.
COW: Shut up, you hairy spit bag. I blame the greedy, exploitative BPO companies who demand unreasonable working hours from women and do not provide them enough security.
COB: Now, look here, you Cow-
COW (angrily): What did you call me?
COB: I meant Chairwoman of Women. Now, you look here, I understand where you’re coming from. But even an autistic child would understand that we’re not to blame for the crimes committed by the drivers we employ to transport our workers to and from our offices.
COW: Now, you look here dickhead-
COB (offended): What did you call me?
COW: I meant greedy dickhead. You listen to me, if you had a security guard compulsorily accompany every car-ride this would never have happened.
COB: We do give our women employees that option.
COW: It shouldn’t be an option, it should be a rule. If a security guard was there in the car the latest case, and several others before it, could have been avoided. But, of course, that would mean one less person in the car and more guards for you to employ, doesn’t it? And it wouldn’t be such a profitable decision for you greedy billionaire bastards, would it?
COCR: To be fair to the BPO guy, our premier society, the RA or the Rape Academy, has been fairly successful in recruiting several security guards as well. So, I’m not really sure how much protection they would have given even if they were present in the car. It would have probably meant an extra cock violating the helpless cunt.
NSS: A cock in a cunt is like a candidate at an interview. He enters with all the energy and zest in the world but comes out deflated and perspiring.
COW: So, that’s it, then? Cabbies will rape women; security guards will rape women; politicians will rape women; filmmakers will rape women; in short all men will keep raping women and nobody’s going to do anything about it?
COCR: Now, let’s be honest, women don’t really object to getting raped, do they? On some level, it’s guaranteed that they enjoy it.
COW (disgusted): You sick piece of psycho shit, why don’t you go rape the women in your family and see how much of it they enjoy?
COCR: Well, that’s where the women in my family and the rest of the Indian women differ. The women in my family are traditional, wonderful, dignified women who cover themselves up in long opaque saris. But you slutty whores, with your sleeveless tops and your tight jeans, you want us to rape you, you want us to take notice of your goods, you want us to enjoy you, you want us to give you that wonderful feeling of pleasurable pain. Damn, I’m getting a hard on just talking about it.
COW (speechless with anger): You vile repulsive motherfucker, you mentally ill scum of the planet, fuck you and your inherent chauvinistic outlook. You base venomous bastard!NSS: A bastard is like AIDS. Nobody really knows who fucked it into existence.
COW (shaking with anger and desperation): It’s never going to change, is it? This despicable perception of women as objects for men to relieve their sexual frustrations upon. And a patriarchal society like India where all men are closet rapists will never really respect women, will it?
COCR: That’s like asking if Ellen DeGeneres will start fucking men.
NSS: Lesbians are like male homosexuals who like penises. Except they are female and like pussies.
COCR (surprised): That wasn’t an analogy, that was just a definition.
NSS (sadly): I miss Sonali.
COB (feeling bad for the COW): Look, chairwoman, I think I may have been a little insensitive to your arguments. I’m sorry. I think I will be making additional efforts in providing enhanced security to our women employees.
COW (still emotional but allayed slightly): Do you mean it?COB: Yes, in fact, I’ve already thought up a few security measures. I’m thinking from now onwards one of the qualifications to be a driver working for BPOs is for the candidate to be a eunuch.
COW: Ok…NSS: A eunuch is like a car without an engine…and no testicles.COB: And we shall also make sure that all our women employees are given electrically charged chastity belts to protect their…femininity.
COW: Ok
COB (thinking): And perhaps a bra that would make their breasts look smaller than they actually are.
COW: I appreciate your good intentions, chairman. Thank you. But maybe you can also supply your women employees with bottles of pepper spray and maybe tasers. You could also install tracking devices in your vehicles, which can be done, and have someone monitor it on a computer. If the vehicle goes off the prescribed route or stops for more than five minutes, you can call the driver. And if he doesn’t answer your call you can inform the police.
COB: Come on now, that’s a bit silly and impractical.
COCR (bored): Now if you airbags have finished chattering I would like to leave. There are more unsuspecting women out there for me to go and rape.(Both the COW and COB look at him with disgust and shock)
NSS: Actually, there’s one thing left to do.(Sidhu goes to the side of the room, opens a kit, and takes out three thick cricket bats. He hands one to the COW, one to the COB, and keeps the third one for himself)
COCR: I don’t have to time to play. Some little girl or nubile woman is out there with her fresh cherry ready to be popped by me.
NSS: Now as you know, I haven’t done this in a while.
(Sidhu signals to the COW and the COB. They step out from behind their podiums and approach the COCR. He starts protesting but the thick willows land against his teeth and balls, crippling him to the ground. Sidhu square cuts his dick; the COW cover drives his skull; the COB straight drives his nose. After a few minutes of some industrious batting and a good partnership, the Chairman of Cabbies/Rapists breathes his last. His bloody carcass lies in a hot pool of blood)
COW (looking at the corpse): Go to hell.
NSS: Hell is like Pakistan. Except there are more Hindus and Christians.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)