Modus Molestation

Imagine this. A huge statue of a tall dark handsome Indian man. Located in a central spot somewhere in our country, a place where our countrywomen, tourists, foreigners, and visitors to India can have a deep long look at it. The statue stands tall towering well above the monuments around it. Safe in the man’s right hand raised high into the air almost touching the clouds hovering over it is a tablet with the inscription “Woman is God” on it. Below the man’s waist wrapped in his left hand is a huge concrete erection that’s pointing up towards the blue skies and two gigantic balls, which have inscribed on their vast surface the words:

“Give me your blonde, your brunette,

Your unsuspecting bitches yearning to get raped,

The wretched sluts whose pussies I’ll forcibly make wet,

   Send these, the innocent, the underage, the elderly, regardless of how they are shaped

                                       I lift my horny chauvinistic cock and rape every single cunt I can get.”

It’s been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that two out of every three Indian men (the third is a eunuch) find it physiologically impossible to refrain from molesting at least four women every week. So, we might as well have a statue announcing to the whole world that east or west, we’ll do our best to molest.

Much like everything else in this world our modus molestation has also evolved. A decade or so ago, our best men toiled in harsh working conditions (like crowded buses, jam-packed queues, markets, poorly chaperoned nieces’ houses, movie theatres, and churches) using simple techniques (like the ass-graze, the sleep-grope, the accidental boob jab, the inadvertent thigh caress, the trip and grab for support bit, and the misguided peck on the cheek) that often gave the desired result but in a degree lesser than expected. With the passage of time, things have changed, sexual repression has increased, carnal depravity has grown, and we, the Indian men, have developed far more impressive and efficacious methods of molesting women. We’ve become way more adept at what we do, much more meticulous, and thorough professionals.

The Delhi Molestation event that transpired not long ago (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ea1h_M6AFW0) marks a new milestone in the Indian Men’s molestation track record. Never has our country felt prouder since the release of Mallika Sherawat’s Murder.

We hear all the time about corporate tycoons making a mark outside their own country using their business acumen and their grandfathers’ fortunes. Indian men, too, have begun expanding their activities to non-Indian pussies. There was a time, when due to social constraints and a narrow outlook, we were restricted to molesting only the women in our country. Now, thanks to globalization and exaggerated advertising about Indian tourism, we are presented with several opportunities to forcibly extend our cocks to unwilling foreign cunts. Be it a housewife was stripped naked, gang-raped and battered in full public glare in Tripura(http://www.ndtv.com/article/india/woman-stripped-naked-gang-raped-in-tripura-308710) or the molestation of an American woman by a messenger of God (http://www.ibnlive.com/news/american-tourist-alleges-molestation-at-pushkar-temple/55960-3-1.html) the quality of work and the ease with which the cases are swept under the carpet to brighten the tricolor surface of our nation are nothing short of stupendous.

A lot of people feel that molesting a woman is different from raping her. If you ask a true hardcore Indian man you would realize that the two are as different as a Bollywood actress and a Red-Street prostitute, or horseshit and donkeyshit, or a poor wife with great tits and a rich wife with no ass. When you rape a woman, you complete the job; you finish what you started; there is closure. Molesting someone, on the other hand, is more of an initiation course before you perform in the big league of rape. It’s like the chicken broth before a three-course dinner. Often, several men have a taste of the soup and take a raincheck on the main course. But you know that sooner or later those soup tasters will come back to bite into the main dinner.

It is undeniably true that none of the commendable progress of the Indian molesters and rapists would have been possible if it weren’t for the police, the court, and the various state governments. And, undoubtedly, the biggest token of gratitude goes to the word “alleged” that the media and the officials efficiently throw around when it comes to sex offences. Thanks to that word a giant beast with big ears, tusks, a trunk and pillar-like legs will remain an “alleged” elephant unless proven by a court of law.

For some reason women don’t quite enjoy getting molested and raped as much as the men who commit those acts do. I’m personally quite baffled by this lukewarm response from the ladies. But hey, to each their own. However, one thing you ladies need to know about Indian men is that we never say no (except when the wives ask us if we’re having an affair). Regardless of the mediocre level of enjoyment you derive from our manly acts, we will strive to molest and rape all women, Indian, non-Indian, alien, and feminist until the end of time. If you don’t want to be involved in it, then keep your ass inside your home. Might seem a little regressive but that’s our best offer. Get out and get molested. Stay home and save your ass. Well, unless your male relatives at home wish to rape you. Allegedly, of course.