Reality. Trip. Sanity. Perspective. Disillusionment.

We're on a mission now!

2011-12-30T20:41:00.002+05:30

If you read the text on the above image carefully, the fifth name from the bottom is MINE. Tehelka ran an excerpt from my forthcoming stoner novel Toke. Click here to read more about the book. Click on the image to read the fourth edition of Tehelka's annual fiction issue. And if you insist that you want to read my story only and not these other cool stuff (an excerpt from what is being regarded as the greatest novel written in Urdu ever, a short story by the writer and associate director of Delhi Belly and a short story by Kalki Koechlin of Dev.D and The Skeleton Woman fame) then you can simply click HERE.

The legend of Morning Monday

2011-07-04T12:23:00.004+05:30

In the kingdom of Work, lived many a hard-working slaves. The kingdom was ruled by the rather tyrannical Morning family. The Mornings were of the warrior class. And they had settled in the land of Work way before people could remember when. And there were no schools. And so there was no history.

Over the years, the Mornings had grown into a large family and as brothers over generations kept splitting into clans. The most powerful clan of which were the Monday Mornings. The only clan, which over generations of progress, had stuck to its warrior ways. In fact, they had only gotten more fundamentalist with every new row that got added to the family tree.

The leaders of the clans took their rounds to look into the matters of their subjects. Also known as slaves because of it being the relevant word for their lifestyle. So basically, imagine a fortress district in Japan. Over generations, the position of the leader had just become a costume. The person inside kept changing.

Monday Mornings were always the healthiest of the clans. Healthy as in if they went shopping in America, they would mostly be allowed only in the Plus stores.

After Sunday Morning had implemented a wake and bake policy for all the subjects, and Sunday Evenings had introduced sluggishness-inducing decadent red velvet cake as a ritual, the Monday Mornings were left fuming.

"People should not be smiling. They should be working." A fuming Monday Morning slammed his fist at the breakfast table. Mrs Monday Morning was upset. Why wouldn't he, for once, eat the goddamn rice cake quietly. Yes, they were also hippies. Can you imagine, a giant hippie named Monday Morning, wearing a robe and a rice hat, carrying two swords, walking briskly on the bridges that ran over the countless fields? Always walking between the farmers and the direction of the sun because his large silhouette and the shadow it cast on the farmers was supposed to be terrifying.

So yes, Mrs Monday Morning and the two little Monday Mornings were shaken at Daddy Monday Morning's breakfast table outburst. Little did Mr Monday Morning know that after he left for his rounds, she would be playing bridge with Mrs Sunday Evening and Mrs Sunday Morning and get baked. And if the weed was good, she'd even let Mr Sunday Evening fondle her bosom.

So it was a little after Mr Monday Morning had left for his rounds. Slaves had begun to gather in the farms after Mrs Sunday Evening's home made red velvet cake. No kidding: she had an oven the size of a fucking castle. As his large body passed across the bridge, like the moon walking across the sun during an eclipse, one heard the racking of a gun.

Mr Monday Morning's pursed lips met at two corners like everybody else's. One of the corners curled into the cheek. His rice hat low, covering his eyes that nobody could see. He did not stop. Just slowed down the pace at which he glided over the bridge. Mr Monday Morning's hand slowly reached his waist, fingers stroked the thick ribbed handle.

Far, far away in a room with red velvet curtains, Mrs Monday Morning was sucking some smoke out of Mrs Sunday Morning's mouth except that their nostrils shot out that same smoke and they continued kissing.

"MONDAY MORNING!" A slave screamed as he pulled a big, fat gun out, "I have come to avenge the death of my father."

Monday Morning did not say a word. His fingers slowly moved over the thick ribbed handle and wrapped around it tight. He continued walking, a voice inside his head droned on, "If I had a slave for every time a slave threatened to kill me... I'd have a lot more slaves. But this one has a gun! They all can get guns. The fort walls have been weakened by my kin..."

Meanwhile, Mrs Monday Morning was being pampered to no limit. Her eyes bloodshot and her robe undone from the front as she was being fed and smothered with red velvet cake by Mrs Sunday Morning and Mrs Sunday Evening.

"He fired! The motherfucking goddamn son of a bitch fired!" Monday Morning thought before yanking out his giant sword and whipping the bullet out of its path. The priest of that little hamlet lost his eye that day. No records of how have been found. And the slave who fired at him... Wait, what slave?

The Statues of Posterity

2010-10-25T14:40:00.009+05:30

By the power vested in me by the Internet, the freedom of speech and complete and utter futility, I hereby propose a policy change in the building of statues in public places by the government, out of our tax money. But not before I lead you all to the spectacular buildup which led me to my great idea itself. A journey of the mind, if one may call it that.

Most people may argue that why build statues. They are a waste of money. I disagree there. Not exactly disagree but let's say I am only half-convinced. Here's the reason why. The latest overambitious project that a political leader has announced is The Statue of Unity, a statue of Sardar Patel, which will be twice the size of Statue of Liberty and will cost Rs. 1000 crore (approx. US $200 million).

According to a 2005 World Bank estimate, in India, if you are making less than Rs. 21.6 a day in urban areas and Rs. 14.3 a day in rural areas, then you are officially poor. Now let's assume you have decided to give away the 1000 crore as cold hard cash to people. Let's raise the bar from the poverty line and start giving away Rs. 50 a day to a bunch of people. The average lifespan in India is about 60 years. I've done the math and let me assure you, it will support about 90 people throughout their life. Hate me if you wish to but I'd rather have a Rs. 1000 crore statue, please. (Let's not forget the other means of employment that the statue will generate. Those 90 people could be employed for life and the same jobs could then go 90 poorer people when they die. And the state will figure a way out to collect some form of tax from the visitors/tourists at the statue. Income for everyone. And a statue is like a flag for a country's psychosexuality. Only more phallic.)

Not saying that there haven't been delusional for statues. Like take the Shiv Sena proposal to build a statue of Shivaji as tall as the Statue of Liberty in the sea, near the Bandra-Worli Sea Link. This delusional demand was of course sorted in the family as Raj Thackeray (MNS), on live television, said, "You need to be practical. If you build a statue as tall, you have any idea how big and long the horse will be? Where will you get all that material from? How will you transport it to the centre of the sea?" People may hate him but just by the sheer force of logic he won my heart and my non-existential vote, which I am pretty sure is misused (by impersonation) by whichever political party has the stronger foothold in my area.

We hate our politicians and our leaders. They have given us strong reasons to do so. They are our representatives. They are the go-getters among us when it comes to power. I respect that but we must accept that they're not (at) all good looking. Neither are our founding fathers. No disrespect but Gandhi, with his scrawny body and round head, was one ugly motherfucker. Ambedkar, I'm sorry, was fat. Neither would Patel have made it to the People's Sexiest Man Alive, 1947 edition.

Having giant statues of ugliness inspires more ugliness. Haven't you heard that theory about how people start looking like their parents or their dogs or other stuff that they spend a lot of time around? So do we want our future generations to be as ugly as our leaders? I'm not saying we should not read or listen to what they have to say. Their words are important and will help in building a great nation. But their looks will only help in building a great nation filled with ugly people. Why do you think Italians and Greeks are such handsome men? Their forefathers left them with statues of the Gods, naked and handsome and beautiful.

Thus, coming full circle to the change in policy about Statues (dangling modifier alert!) that we so badly need. If we are hellbent on having a statue that is twice the size of the Statue of Liberty, the least that we can do for our future generations is make it pretty. Like, how about a statue of Katrina Kaif instead of Sardar Patel, just as big and on the same location. A statue of Katrina Kaif smiling and looking down at the tourists who have come to picnic around the sprawling lawns around the base of the statue, and polaroid photographers snapping family portraits, and jalebis and gaathiyas and dhoklas and the littering. And the giant lettering across the gate and smaller lettering engraved on the foundation stone will say:
'KATRINA KAIF, Posing As THE STATUE OF UNITY, In Loving Memory Of SARDAR VALLABHAI PATEL. This foundation was laid by Shri Narendra Modi.'
OR
'ROBERT DOWNEY JR. (in his Iron Man suit minus helmet), Posing As THE STATUE OF UNITY, In Loving Memory Of The 'IRON MAN' of India: SARDAR VALLABHAI PATEL.'

Now be good boys and girls and fill in your suggestions for statues across the country. Here's the template:
'[handsome/beautiful celebrity], Posing As THE STATUE OF [virtue], In Loving Memory Of [political/religious/etc leader who can somewhat fit into the virtue]. This foundation was laid by [political leader who proposed the statue].'

Shrek's OGRE LIFE: A Reality TV Show

2010-09-23T21:28:00.000+05:30

(camerawork by trashhead00)

This would be an interesting day...

2010-08-05T14:23:00.000+05:30

2010-07-30T18:06:00.000+05:30

Latest in 9/11 conspiracy theories

2010-03-31T17:32:00.000+05:30

It didn't really happen. A holographic projection of a Michael Bay production was broadcasted to the world. Then they managed to cloak the existing twin towers using latest refractive technology and now the real invisible twin towers are the secret operative base for US military intelligence.

Truth.

2010-03-14T20:24:00.000+05:30

–“The Douchebag Collectives 18, Jugal Mody 0 – I don't know why you even bother to play when there's no chance in hell that you're gonna win.”
–“Heyyy! I don't play at all. It's like I'm AFK and stuck in gameworld.”
–“But even if you did, not like you're gonna win.”
–“But I don't want to play!”
–“But even if you did, not like you're gonna win.”
–“Truth.”

Nonsensical Story: Crap-O-Matic™

2009-09-18T16:58:00.000+05:30

Crap-O-Matic™

It was a lonely Sunday morning and Sandy was sitting on his couch. His mind was glued to the blur his unfocused eyes cast on his retina. He admired that blur. He was wearing red checkered boxers and a white vest with three holes in it. It was 10 AM and Sandy had moved only once in the two and a half hours since 7:30. At 7:30, he had parted his thighs a little so that his fingers could scratch his balls. His bored love for his retinal blur was a fortress behind which hid a secret anticipation.

Sandy had not slept a wink in the last forty eight hours because he was waiting for his teleshopping delivery to arrive. The black, sleek and 'lite' edition of the Crap-O-Matic ™. Sandy was filled with warmth just at the thought of the arrival of the Crap-O-Matic ™. Because from that day on he wouldn't have to flush an empty commode everytime he visited the toilet. His ecological guilt would not torture him for wasting all that water.

The Crap-O-Matic ™, as seen on TV, was a ring the shape of the golden throne seat. One had to place it over the seat, where it fit, and then sit on the Crap-O-Matic ™. This is how the TV commercial described the magnificient device to have worked. The more the pooper controlled his or her poo pressure, the harder the Crap-O-Matic ™ manufactured poop. Sensors were planted on the upper surface of the Crap-O-Matic ™. The sensors determined the pooper's poo pressure control by gauging his or her blood pressure, the tightness of his or her ass clench and a variety of other factors which the manufacturers did not reveal because it was a trade secret. The more number of times had Sandy watched the commercial, the more he had desired the technological marvel that the Crap-O-Matic ™ was.

He wanted to own one so bad. He sold his television on ebay and received the payment on his PayPal account. He then proceeded to log on to the website of the teleshopping network to place an order for the device of his dreams, for which he paid from the same PayPal account. After forty eight hours of staying awake, the morning of the promised delivery had finally come.

At 11:30, the doorbell rang. A man wearing brown overalls, that was the uniform of the package delivery service, showed up at Sandy's doorstep. The brown of the delivery man's uniform reminded Sandy of poo. The poo reminded Sandy of the tightness with which his own ass was puckered, which then reminded him of the sound of fresh poo being manufactured that he had heard on TV. He smiled for the first time in the last eleven years as he signed the delivery receipt and shut his door.

It had been eleven years since his pot had felt the texture of roughage. Even his flush tank had been feeling equally worthless recently. The two were facing a severe identity crisis and an inferiority complex the size of a small island in the Pacific. Their self esteems had hit an all time low recently. They felt like the illiterate country bumpkin housewife of a highly educated womanising slash gay city businessman. They were just not sure of themselves. But the truth is that in this metaphor, Sandy was neither a womaniser nor a homosexual. He was plain asexual or at least he chose to be one.

Sandy installed the Crap-O-Matic ™ on his toilet seat and tightened its clamps. He then proceeded to drop his boxers to his ankles and rested his ass. The moment his ass touched the Crap-O-Matic's sensors, they wen™ad. Their input was considered by the processor, which rushed into an overclocked state trying to calculate the amount of poop to be manufactured. In a matter of microseconds, the processor sent its output to the crap generator. The amount of poop that was generated was HUGE. It was the biggest dump ever.

Meanwhile, Sandy's commode exploded into an orgasm as the poo slapped along its surface. The flush tank moaned and jumped with anticipation like a ticklish woman, who hadn't gotten laid in over a decade, was blindfolded and her inner thighs were being pleasured with a feather till she felt release. A giant whoosh of a whirlpool swept away the creation of the Crap-O-Matic ™ and the two bathroom fixtures felt closer to Sandy than they ever had.

The Crap-O-Matic's first dump was so gianormic that Sandy ended up using its entire battery life in one go. He plugged the charger in and while he waited, he walked into his kitchen and made himself some toast, which he smothered with a tablespoonful of butter. Sandy glowed as he continued to devour his toast and butter with immense satisfaction while his eyes kept stealing glances at the charging indicator LEDs of the Crap-O-Matic ™.

Sandy was in love, for the first time ever in his constipated life.

The End.

Epilogue: One fine day, after eight years since that happened, Sandy just vanished. Nobody ever saw any of him ever again. When his family finally broke into his house, it stank. They followed the stench and a line of castor oil bottles into the bathroom, which had its door blown off. The insides looked like a damp cave. All the walls were brown like painted with poo and plants were growing out of it. The Crap-O-Matic™, though, was still there, just as shiney and just as new. The commode and flush tank on the other hand had a few brown spatters on them.

Mouse

2009-08-20T03:21:00.000+05:30

So today evening, when I went to buy a 8GB pen drive for myself to make minor transfers like music/movies/tv shows when in smaller numbers, at the computer store, it also struck me that my mouse has been misbehaving, like double-triple clicking whenever it feels like. So I pick a nice, cheap (150 rupees) and simple looking mouse...

You see... simple, insconspicuous and black which kinda goes with my black laptop and its got some nice transparent plastic parts. So, I place it in place of my old mouse, pushing the old mouse into the box that this new mouse came in. Returned to my desk to plug the new mouse in and start working with it and then...

I was all like WTF! OMFG! IT'S GOT MOTHERFUCKIN' LIGHTS! My MOTHERFUCKIN' MOUSE has got MOTHERFUCKIN' LIGHTS, blue and red and BRIGHT! So now, I have to live with this bling strip club lit mouse till it starts double-triple clicking...

LOLtehrapie - We drew first LOL!

2009-08-04T13:29:00.000+05:30

Unconventional healing and alternative therapies include the strangest of all methods. From the weird ones about drinking one's own urine to the absurd green therapy, where one has to wrap green cellophane paper around a bottle of water, keep it in natural sunlight for a week and then drink the water. But I digress.

Animal therapy is yet another fancy word that lifestyle and features magazines have gotten their eyes on. Keeping a dog around where you're training "special" children is supposed to help increase the speed at which they learn. Something as simple as having a pet around makes healing faster. Maybe the animals just make you happy and happiness helps heal faster. But what if one is allergic to animals? What if cats make you sneeze and dogs make you feel like you badly need to pee? What if the constant crotch sniffing gives you a hard on?

In which case, my zoophiliac friend, you can watch any animated film on repeat where animals smile and grin and have smart ass comebacks for anything the other animal says. Happy times. But not Happy Tree Friends. Watching them is another kind of therapy, the kind that leads to more therapy if you forget when to laugh. But if you are a part of the Venn diagram where an internet addict is intersected with a copyright anti-piracy freak, then u can has LOLtehrapie!

Those damned cute cats that once belonged to the much-hated forwards suddenly seem to make more sense when they speak in murdered English. They have their own religion. On a digressive note, someone actually translated the Christian Bible into a LOLcat Bible, all written in LOLspeak. Yes, the Ceiling Cat rested on the seventh day. There's even a LOLwalrus whining about his buckit.

People by the millions will claim that mutilating something gives them immense satisfaction and brings joy. As much as the average discerning reader will deny this, it is also called the Jungian principle of the opposites. Women, when depressed, assault their bank accounts, credit cards and tubs of chocolate ice cream with a fork. Men when depressed assault their own bodies, if assault can be used in that context, or maybe even a ball, not in that context. Both of the above species and sometimes even children assault their liver or maybe other children. Don't hide when I ask you to raise your hand if you haven't tried your best to fuck up that smiley-faced styrofoam ball. The fucker still keeps smiling, right? But I digress.

So how does LOL-ing help? LoL-ing involves multiple mutilation. A nice image of a well-behaved pet with the ugly fat Impact font. The English language as previously established. And you also get to vent your rage against fellow hoomans by pretending to be a LOLcat and writing in its voice because the tone of LOL is always hooman-deprecatory.

For example, I ended up creating the following anti-hooman LOLs on days of stress at work and in my social(?) life on the (in)famous cheezburger site.

(Image source: Wacked from a images.google search, so if it is your cat, apologies, it is now a LOLcat)

The Cute Cat Theory Of Digital Activism. An interesting essay that I read online discussed how tools that people make to have fun with their cat and dog pictures/videos are helping activism in the digital age. This MAY be a good side effect.

What I fear... is the bad side effects. Every therapy has side effects. Drugs lead to addiction. Violence to more violence. The "special" children start to think that when one meets a stranger, it is okay to sniff their crotch. Like how women grow fat and unappealing and pages of fitness magazines come stuck together.

It is starting to feel like that story I once read where a ventriloquist ends up believing that he is the puppet. Like the emo and goth movement, I fear the oncoming LOLculture which will then be called the LOLkulchur. Humans will start thinking they're cats, specifically LOLcats. And the humans who are still humans will be hoomans and later hoomins (human added to vermin). A war will break out and the effect will be something like the classic internet viral meme: ALL UR LOLZ R BELONG 2 US!

(Concept art, Image source: GIMPed, not Photoshopped. Random cat image from search and the Cats image from AYB site.)

So who wants to LOL Lita? Save hoomanity! Don't LOL cats! LOL Lita!

(Image source: Lee advert on the web, LOLcapped on the cheezburger site.)

Notes:
Art idea to go with the post: The AYB intro animation done in an animated gif, but with the following script and manipulated images.
IN A.D. 2101
WAR WAS BEGINNING.
CAPTAIN: WHAT HAPPEN?
MECHANIC: SOMEBODY SET UP US THE LOL.
OPERATOR: WE GET SIGNAL.
CAPTAIN: WHAT !
OPERATOR: MAIN SCREEN TURN ON.
CAPTAIN: IT'S YOU !!
KATS: HOWZ U GENTLEMEN !!
KATS: ALL UR BASE R BELONG 2 US.
KATS: U R ON TEH WAI 2 DESTRUCSHUN.
CAPTAIN: WHAT YOU SAY !!
KATS: U HAS NO CHANCE 2 SURVIV MAK UR TIEM.
KATS: LOL LOL LOL LOL ....

When you're happy and you know it...

2009-05-27T00:38:00.000+05:30

When you're happy and you know it, kill some ants... *crush crush*
When you're happy and you know it, drop your pants... *zip, fall*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, loot some banks! *bang bang, everybody get down, this is a robbery!*

When you're happy and you know it, spook a ghost... *BOO!*
When you're happy and you know it, eat some toast! *CRUNCH!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, y' shouldn't boast! *silence*

When you're happy and you know it, lose a spoon... *WHERE?*
When you're happy and you know it, be a loon... *THERE!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, you should moon! *Victims of indecent exposure: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!*

When you're happy and you know it, be a ninja... *Aiiieeeyyyaaa!*
When you're happy and you know it, I love to singa! *About the moon-a and a-june-a and a-spring-a*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, call Jerry Springa! *Ooo, nice tits!*

When you're happy and you know it, /facepalm *slappingsound*
When you're happy and you know it, say Salaam! *"Salaam saab!"*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, bear an arm! *"Back off, I have a weapon!" kick-at-the-door*

When you're happy and you know it, show some rage *FFFFUUUU!!!*
When you're happy and you know it, come of age! *"Mom, I have hair on my you-know-what!"*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, jump off the stage! *sound of chanting fans!*

When you're happy and you know it, play a sport! *footballwhistle: tweeeett!*
When you're happy and you know it, row a boat! *singsong: gently down the stream!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, call tech support! *Please stay on hold, your call is impotent for us!*

When you're happy and you know it, you're a fish! *Really?!*
When you're happy and you know it, on a dish! *Fried?*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, don't you wish? *Serious tone: That did not make sense.*

When you're happy and you know it, roll a joint! *Duuuuuddddee!*
When you're happy and you know it, make your point! *I'm too stoned maaann!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, you disappoint! *tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk*

When you're happy and you know it's murphy's law! *Happiness is WRONG!*
When you're happy and you know it, start a chainsaw! *dhhhrrrrnnngggg*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, *bored french accent* you're so bourgeois...

When you're happy and you know it, sell your soul! *Mwahahahahaha*
When you're happy and you know it, be an ASS hole! *Eww... gross!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, don't-you-wish-your-parents-used-birth-control! *Hey! My name is Jesus!*

When you're happy and you know it, drink some rum! *Glug!*
When you're happy and you know it, spank a bum *Ow! giggle*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, suck your thumb! *squelchsuckingsound*

When you're happy and you know it, drive your car *honk! honk!*
When you're happy and you know it, into the bar! *CRASH!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it's not your car! *Woohoo!*

When you're happy and you know it, snort a line *sssnorrrt!*
When you're happy and you know it, step on a mine *click!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, DON'T STEP OFF THE MINE! *You're not happy anymore!*

What?

2009-05-21T17:35:00.000+05:30

A lot of my recent random rants are either suppressed or I forget before I get to a computer or they're dissolved into a storyline that I'm thinking about or they're on Facebook or the latest twitter experiment I'm running (those are the really small ones which are like one line and I don't feel like writing an entire blogpost about them).

Nevertheless, this picture deserves a mention:

My Caption: Suck it, all you Gray's Anatomy fans!

Otherwise everything else is fine :D

An attempt to rap

2009-03-29T19:23:00.000+05:30

draft 1

shut up bitch, just because i'm polite
means not that i can't fuck you up in daylight
them laughing, don't mean you're too smart
you're the alpha-female in a gang full of old farts

shut up bitch, just because i'm polite
i'm takin' your shit cause i am too nice
it's not my party, no, it's not my scene
i wouldn't wanna dirty someone else's clean
day, right?

shut up bitch, you're talkin' shit
just cause i'm complacent and this is my third hit
you don't seem to make sense, you don't speak in words,
your mouth unleashes unflushable turds
(and the face is a target for potty training birds)
word?

shut up bitch, you think you're too slick
like jelly coated (pause) not donuts but dick
wait right there, the records need some scratching
(one line scratching)
your so-called claws won't work against my hatchet
in my cuckoo nest, i killed nurse ratchet...

shut up bitch, just because i'm like that
i'm self deprecatory, i know you won't know that
so i got you a dictionary, you can better at combat
of wuh-rd artillery, unlike the pregnant wombat
that you are... period, you missed that.

shut up bitch, cause i've got the mic now,
it's a phallic symbol of my masculine powerhouse
no, i wouldn't rape you even if you spread your legs
i'd practice my aiming with a crate of rotten eggs

shut up bitch, respect the last stanza,
of this cowardly rhyming extravaganza
i could take you down but i had to fight it
but you couldn't stop cause you had to shyte it
all!

[ps: 13 year old me wrote this...]

Nonsensical Mockumentary

2009-03-20T15:02:00.000+05:30

I have lost my sense of nonsense. It needs to be found as soon as possible. My (in)sanity has been suffering from irreparable attacks and all my healing potions have been consumed in attempts to write, write propah fiction that I am working on on the side (Not like it helped a lot, but nevertheless was worth a try.)

I didn't know I would ever post a proper personal blog entry on any of my blogs but unfortunately, the time has come. I wish I could carry an axe in my pocket only to fish it out at the right moment and then start attacking people. Hey, that gives me an idea, attempting to write, and documenting that attempt to write.

The Axe Murderer
In a far away land lived an axe murderer. He was so passionate about murdering people that he started carrying a portable folding axe in the back pocket, the one in which he did not keep his wallet. He invented the special axe himself. The axe murderer was rumoured to have an IQ of 190. He loved Sharon Stone though. One day, he swore upon his own axe that if he ended up killing Sharon Stone by his axe, he would end his life. He never met Sharon Stone in his entire life. He did meet another axe murderer who after sharing a cup of coffee swung his axe straight through the centre of his chest.

The End.

Hmm, not a bad attempt at all. But definitely not a good nonsensical story. For example, the story did not at any point make you go, gasp, or WTF? It was just too simple to be nonsensical. There were no interrupting aliens or surfer dudes who interrupted that coffee date and not even a poster of Sharon Stone. Let's try and modify this ghastly attempt.

The Axe Murderer
Axe Murderer, the early days:

In a far away land lived an axe murderer. He had a beautiful wife who called herself Sharon Stone. She did a few movies like Basic Instinct. Axe Murderer, yes that was his name, was so passionate about murdering people that he started carrying a portable folding axe in the back pocket, the one in which he did not keep his wallet. He wasn't that bright as a child. When he was six, he had fallen straight on his forehead and damaged his frontal lobe. One particular day when he was 16, he met a bunch of aliens who were riding motorcycles and carrying giant surfboards which had tiny blue flying saucers printed on them.

Impressed by his axe-work and getting drunk on all the human blood that flowed, the aliens gifted him the ultimate folding axe. He loved Sharon Stone though. One day, he swore upon his own axe that if he ended up killing Sharon Stone by his axe, he would end his life. He did not end up killing Sharon Stone though he did meet another axe murderer who ended up raping Sharon Stone and driving the axe through her skull. Our hero was seriously pissed and committed suicide by hanging himself on his fan.

The End.

Here's a rough visual representation of how things happened:

Now, that's fairly decent nonsense but unfortunately, it doesn't have the required brevity that is needed to transmit the nonsense over from my side to yours. Though, you may note a new development in the style by adding images which are not necessarily coherent. Among other things wrong with this nonsensical story, the sentences are longer and not as tight as they need to be. But well, Fuck you!

Happy New Year

2009-01-01T22:18:00.000+05:30

To everyone out there who ends up here every now and then and has a good time and not to those who don't.

Lessons we can learn from around us

2008-11-02T03:35:00.000+05:30

We have a lot to learn from King Bruce and the fucking spider and stories like that. Actually, we have just one thing to learn from each of those stories like maybe from the ants, on how they keep going on and on and on carrying if I remember correctly, eight times their own weight. Ancient wisdom that has been passed on for years has taught us to live by learning from the animals and insects. I'd usually ask, look where it's got us! But, I am going to change my attitude (I know that is hard to believe) a little and make an attempt to tell similar stories, lessons we can learn from around us.

1. Mosquitoes

Ah, the noble creatures of blood-sucking nature. They will do anything to suck your blood. They'll keep coming at you again and again despite they know they weigh less than your nail. To test, peel your nail and weigh it on the scales with a mosquito. Make sure you use rather delicate scales. They keep coming at you, hungry as ever, buzzing around you, getting smacked, losing their lives and yet they never learn. Their fat blood-filled selves can be seen clinging onto the walls in the morning, at least the ones that survived your slaughter. Lesson to be learnt: There is always enough blood! If your competitor is stronger, bigger, heavier, there is a good chance you will die but if you don't you're gonna be squished in the morning when you can't carry your own weight.

2. Frogs

Noble, really noble creatures, the frogs. There's a lot that you can learn from them. First and foremost, optimism. No matter how ugly, slimy and green you are and however sure you are that nobody will kiss you, you should keep croaking for a princess. God knows you maybe the Prince, cursed by a ton of bad luck, waiting for the kiss that will transform you into a star. So no matter how ugly, fat, sick, unhygienic you look, you can live your life proudly hopping from one lotus leaf to another in the hope that you'll find a sugardaddy or sugarmommy till one day when you'll just croak. (See, what I did there with the croak pun.) Unfortunately, if you're a toad, we can't help you. So try and be a frog, unleash your inner uglies and stick your tongue out ever so often. Who knows, you might just catch a fly.

Yes, more to come. I hope I keep learning from the many wise (and soon to be extinct) creatures around us so I can educate the rest of you. And no, we're not going to learn anything from the cockroaches. They can't be wise because they're never going to go extinct.

I lend my support to the smokers...

2008-10-20T23:35:00.000+05:30

I don't smoke and I don't intend to as of now but I totally support the smokers' rights which are severely abused by the so-called Human Rights activists and the anti-smoking lobby and so this post goes out to all the smokers in their support--

I wish all of you who support the smokers' rights, link this image on their blogs, somewhere. It doesn't matter if the authorities see this or this post inspires a revolution that will change the world because in all probability it won't but I still insist on taking a stand. I also know there won't be any revolution coming our way anytime soon but what the heck! Like we care! But we still insist on showing our unapologetic support to freedom!

Original Video by Tex Williams: http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=dbKQklwNScA

Nonsensical Stories, but still Stories - V

2008-09-19T17:51:00.000+05:30

Welcome to yet another edition of Nonsensical Stories, but still Stories. I really don't care if you've read the past four editions or not but for your own better, I'd advise you to. I'm not going to go through the effort of finding and posting the links to earlier four editions, you can do that yourself.

23. Holy Child
Once upon a time in a distant land, there lived an orphan. People called him the holy child because he could recite any scripture from any religion ever since he learnt to talk. Most people didn't understand what he was saying originally because he was reciting the old testament and sometimes even other scriptures in Pali. He had no control over what scripture he would vomit as a kid. So people thought he was a retard and they made him go work at a tea shop. Then one day, people recognised the whole Tulsidas' Ramayana coming out of his mouth which the idiots understood and fell at his feet. His tea became holy tea. They kept insisting he be taken away and treated like a king since this was the return of God himself but he refused. He had already found his simple joy in the simple art of tea making. It was his zen spiritual guide, the boiling tea leaves and their randomness, the impermanence of sugar as it dissolved and the ever changing and evolving colour of the liquid in the vessel.

The End.

24. A Sentence
Sentence was a good girl. She was named so because she never really completed her sentences as a young kid and her father and mother were famous grammar teachers in their city. They were really embarassed of her since they expected their child born out of their eight parts of speech conception to be really perfect. One day, she met a man named Full Stop. His father's name was Bus and his mother's name was Shopper's. They flirted, then there were sparks and then some romance. On a moon-lit night, on a park bench, she looked into his eyes and said: "You complete me" Their marriage was quite a riot. Her parents were finally happy. Soon they had twins Phrase and Clause. Tragedy struck when Full was working hard and he fell into a comma. A lonely Sentence didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to take care of her two kids. Soon, she came across a handsome but mismatched gay couple since they couldn't really do anything together. They just had the same surname, Question and Exclamation Mark. The unhappy couple realised that they both fell in love with Sentence at the same time. They loved each other as well. Thus started a polyamorous relationship between the three. They had eight more kids... C'mon you really want me to tell you the names? Don't you freaking get the pattern by now?! Jeez! I can't believe you aren't chasing me with a fucking sickle for writing this!

The End.

25. Strength and Courage
No, they were not two boys or two girls. They were just strength and courage. They helped a king win a war, a boy fight a bully, a wife beat her drunk husband and a fool die a miserable death.

The End

26. Sex, Whores, Dudes and Double Standards
[title credit to Phil from teh cult]
Guys hate it when girls have slept with as many people, or more than they have. Guys just want to be seed-throwers, so when girls start doing that and in order to compete they start throwing their eggs around, the guys get a complex! They go like "OI! only seeds can be thrown not eggs you dumb whore! Eggs fall and crack open and they're a waste anyways." And then the women go like, "Ow yeah! Fuck off piggyfucking bastard! I will throw eggs too and your mum threw them too!" Then the man goes: "Seeds can be sown and they grow into plants to bear fruits!" Then Paris Hilton says: "Fuck off, man-bitch! Haven't you ever eaten eggplant!" And the rest of womankind feels very sad.

The End.

[More, but later...]

Postcards from the Super...

2008-09-09T17:40:00.000+05:30

Dear Jugal,

Old Jungle Saying, Ghost who walks no write letters, only use talking drums.

Phan-tom

Dear Jugal,
Last time it wasn't bad timing, it was me.

Bzzzz, Splat! (& Love)
Orgazmo

Dear Jugal,
The princess is in the next castle and she's MINE MINE MINE MINE! Pling!

Taeun Taeun Taeun Taeun Taeun,
Mario

Dear Jugal,
No, you can't make babies with me! I'm 3D art!

Deep Heaving Breath,
Lara Croft

P.S.: Stop staring at my tits and concentrate on the game. Even with the cheats on, I don't enjoy being hit so often. I know you've not read anything after my sign-off line.

Dear Jugal,
I am not a superhero! I'm just a figure skater! Stop listening to those 4 white-trash potty-mouth American kids! So next time you're in deep shit, for heaven's sake DO NOT ASK YOURSELF, "What would Brian Boitano do?" Because every time you say that a little seal in the Arctic suffers a horrible death!

Brian Boitano.

P.S.: Why is this letter even here?!

Dear Jugal,

Thwack!
Chuck Norris.

Dear Jugal,
I am your father.

Yours forceibly,
Darth Vader aka Anakin "Papa" Skywalker

P.S.:

~~

Dear Jugal,

I'm sorry Gaia forgot to send you a ring. She just used her Planet Vision to notice your country. You see India wasn't an ethnic cliche in America when I was still on air. Well, we're not saving the world anymore from the rest of mankind so consider this an invitation to come hang out with us for some beers at the island.

The power is yours!

(I'm your hero
Gonna take pollution
Down to zero!)

... and also the planeteers.

My New Rant: STFU, EcoBitches!

2008-09-03T03:34:00.000+05:30

Maybe I'm just lazy or maybe I have a point but I think all you ecological preservation bitches should shut up! You can't save the fucking world if it's really plummeting down! You're too small, too insignificant and no despite whichever great man said what strong will and a bunch of sorry ass hypocrites forming a group CAN'T change history.

Global Warming-Schwarming, My Fat Indian Ass! I still don't believe that humans single-handedly farted so much that the CO2 Levels reached to the point of Greenhouse effect! Maybe they naturally were meant to rise as a pattern, stop blinding yourself to other possibilities and arguments! Nothing is a concrete theory, half of it is assumption promoted by political propaganda as well!

Animal Extinction: Wake Up! It's called Evolution! So if a stupid panda goes extinct, IT IS MEANT TO! It's like a bad magazine going out of circulation! You don't cling to bad magazines or watch bad sitcoms so STOP CLINGING ONTO THE ANIMALS! A few million years and the superhuman will put YOU in a cage and come to watch you in the Living History Museum, ACCEPT IT unless of course you go fucking extinct and the cockroaches survive everything and become the next super intelligent beings! If you go extinct, ACCEPT IT, you were the weaker species who caused your own destruction and couldn't survive the living conditions you created for yourself!

Yeah, we may have fucked up the planet but come on it's a human right that you inherited by having what they call "intelligence". Don't waste it!

You really really really want to be scared of something and work for some cause? Work against Religion and God and War! Try to make sure Religion goes extinct! It's not ecological exploitation that will cause human extinction but it sure as hell will be one big-god-ass war! Be scared of yourself, other humans and be scared of the government, be scared of power, be scared of population! Ask people to STOP FUCKING when women are ovulating! There's a difference between procreational and recreational sex! We'll drown in our own flesh and blood if we keep copulating at this rate! But then maybe that just will imply that some of us will become animalistic slaves to the elitists!

P.S.: Don't trust the Chinese government! The people and food and kung fu are nice!

(This is a rant and may be edited at a later stage if something else strikes me when I read this again tomorrow.)

Songs I could rap...

2008-08-21T00:44:00.000+05:30

Yes, I knew these two by heart!

My New Sig

2008-08-18T17:40:00.000+05:30

I ate your mother, with pasta, for thirty days in a row.

A Sea Full Of Orange

2008-07-10T13:50:00.001+05:30

Are you one of them? Are you anybody in there?

If you can spot your name, special prize for you!

Choke Motivational Posters

2008-07-02T17:04:00.000+05:30

With one of my favourite novels finally coming out as a movie with actors who I am in love with, I realised how much I missed doing fanboy stuff! So here we are viral motivational poster for Choke!

But first, the movie poster:

Here's my motivational poster, Rejoice! Man! The rush of working on a fanboy submission!

And no, it didn't stop here. I made four more after this one. To see the others, click here.

Nonsensical Stories, but still Stories - IV

2008-05-13T12:11:00.000+05:30

Welcome to the fourth edition of... whatever.

18. Twenty Four Hours
"If you had twenty four hours to live, what would you do?"
"Commit suicide."
"Why?"
"Well, for starters, I'd be hell depressed that I'm gonna die in a day!"

The End.

19. Chicken & curry leaves
Dinner is always watching chicken sizzling in a pan full of curry leaves and some oil. Beyond that dinner will not have any chicken because there are too many bones and curry leaves and if I wanted to fish then I'd have gone fishing and eaten fish!

The End.

20. Rocket Science
Waiting at the bus stop isn't always fun except you meet, "A Rocket Scientist."
And you say, "Really?"
"Yep, really."
"So you work for ISRO?"
"Nopes."
"NASA?"
"Nopes."
"I'm sorry, pardon my ignorance, I don't know any other organisations dealing with rockets. Which one do you work for?"
"I don't work for anyone. I'm just a rocket scientist."
"So you design/build rockets?"
"Not really."
"Then what do you do?"
"Didn't I tell you I am a rocket scientist?!"
"So what is the work a rocket scientist does?"
"Jesus, dude! Give me a break! It's not rocket science to figure out what a rocket scientist does!"

The End.

21. Your Father...

is offended because Your Mother jokes are so popular that they're on the verge of becoming a cliche. He came to me last night complaining, bitching and whining. He was drunk, "Your Mother's not funny!"
I smiled and looked up from my glasses, "Is Your Mother?"
"No, nobody's mother is not funny!"
"Then who is?"
"Your Father!"

The End.

22. Wayfarers

"What is cool?"
"Sunglasses."
"Why not caps or torn jeans?"
"Because."
"If you wear sunglasses when you're not in sun, is it cool?"
"Depends on what sunglasses you're wearing."
"What if I was wearing sunglasses indoors?"
"Wayfarers."
"Wayfarers?"
"Yep, wayfarers. Go for 'em. You'll look cool anywhere, even indoors."

The End.

-- more to come in the fourth edition --

Iggy Pop - Lust for Life

2008-04-17T16:32:00.000+05:30

A good word to describe the music is 'insane'.

One of the best on-screen romance scenes ever!

2008-03-30T13:35:00.000+05:30

Off lately, I've been catching a lot, and by lot I mean a LOfuckingOT of television series. I've watched all episodes of Two And A Half Men, How I Met Your Mother, 30 Rock, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Reaper, Chuck... Each of them cool in their own way but one romantic scene stood out distincter than the distinctest. It was just out there and I fell in love while watching it (with whom, I am yet to find out, but I did fall in love just watching this scene).

Chuck is a series about a geek who accidentally downloads the CIA-NSA intersect database onto his brain, two agents (one from each CIA and NSA) are out there to guard this "national property". In the first episode they discover that when triggered with the right visual input his brain gets flashes from the database that tell him more about the visual input. On the less exciting side of his life, Chuck is a nerd who repairs computers/electronics at an outlet store called Buy More. On one such boring day, he meets Lou. Lou makes sandwiches at a deli nearby and Chuck apart from being a nerd and a national secret, is a sandwich geek. That should be enough to enjoy this scene... Oh and the title credits animation with Cake's Short Skirt and Long Jacket playing as title them totally rocks this world.

P.S.: After the above scene ends the head chef says, "He had me at Pastrami..." Makes this the hottest romantic scene ever, doesn't it? What is coolest is they have this whole sandwich chemistry going on between them... Ah, it breaks my heart that she only did a 2 episode appearance in the season (of course owing to storyline and for no other reason).

Love, Labour and Fruits

2008-03-18T14:59:00.000+05:30

The one major difference between God and the Devil is that the Devil is downright and madly in love with his job.

The one reason why the Devil is happier than God is that the Devil is downright and madly in love with his job, which for now we shall call 'his labour' and God is in love with the fruit of His labour, His creations - Us. (That is if we go by what almost all major religions say, 'God loves you!')

And in all His infinite wisdom, God once said what I will now paraphrase: "Love your work not the fruits you receive when you're done."

Oh, oh and before I forget, I have a theme song for this post:

Melanin is the anti-Chlorophyll.

2008-02-19T23:40:00.000+05:30

This is the secret to why plants and animals are the exactly opposite living things of each other, the balance that is required to keep the secrets of the universe in their natural order.

Why Melanin is the anti-Chlorophyll?
1. Melanin does nothing to provide energy to the body. Chlorophyll is required for respiration, hence food production. Exactly opposite behaviour with respect to energy production in a living body.

2. The presence of melanin is more in the parts of the body that gets the most sunlight. Hence, presence of melanin is proportional to exposure to sunlight. The presence of chlorophyll is in inverse proportion to the exposure to sunlight. The side of the leaf which faces up ward or towards the sun is always lighter in shade of green as compared to the side of the leaf which faces downward or in the direction opposite to that of sunlight. Again exactly opposite behaviour with respect to sunlight.

Hence, proved.

Johnny B. Goode

2007-12-20T17:43:00.000+05:30

Since I've moved to Chennai, I haven't made any blog posts. This is my first from the Tam Land. There are a lot of things I should be blogging about, experiential travelling, etc bullshit. Yes, the same things that everyone has told you before but my point of view on them all. Accents, Bad Rickshaw drivers, Evil Maamis and the rest of the world.

Truly, I've been having the time of my life for the last three weeks and so fuck it all. Yet, I must make a blogpost. It all started with landing on this website. I saw the Reggae version of Johnny B. Goode on there by Peter Tosh.

Then, it made me miss the original Chuck Berry version - so I go and radioblogclub it.

While Radioblogclubbing it, I found the Jimi Hendrix version!

and the Judas Priest version:

and of course, the Michael J Fox version from Back to the Future:

Well, there was ACDC version as well but the damned thing wouldn't load!

So see ya around till the next blog post till then, Johnny Be Good!

(I know you saw that coming, so SHUT UP!)

Air - Playground Love

2007-11-27T00:53:00.000+05:30

Where have all my sowed seeds gone?

2007-11-19T16:08:00.000+05:30

Parody, yes I did a parody! It started as this intention to write a very socialist red protest song about oppressed suicidal farmers and then it just became a depressing dark humour song.

Sing to the tune of:

Oh I get me ready in a torn green saree
We need to go plough all night and day
No shelter in the summer heat
The hot summer sun to beat,
Look at our children pay
You will pick the cotton, While I go sew some shirts

CHORUS:

Where is my Rajnikanth?
Where is my Farming man?
Where is my happy ending?
Where have all my sowed seeds gone?

Why don't you work the evening
And send the kids to night school
I'll find a little something to eat
Oh I know your back hurts from working as a farmer
Please don't drink your tharra my sweet

Chorus

I am having my periods tonight
But you still just want to drunkfuck me
Say our goodbyes
Say our goodbyes
Say our goodbyes

We finally sold the bakri
When we had another baby
And you took the job in the factory
You made friends at work
And you joined them at bars
Almost every single day of the week
I will wash the dishes and you come beat me

Chorus

Where is my Raja Khaini?
Where is my suicide?
Where is my fertiliser?
Where have all my sowed seeds gone?
Where have all my sowed seeds gone?
Where have all my sowed seeds gone?

Nonsensical Stories, but still Stories - III

2007-10-17T16:42:00.000+05:30

By popular request of the author coughs, I am reviving the Nonsensical Stories, but still Stories.

13. The Bakery
There were five bakers sitting in a row. Each one had an oven. By the evening they had ready on display: Cake, Cookies, Bread Loaves, Cupcakes and Pastries. In a few hours all the produce was sold and the five bakers went to the bar for a drink. Four of them had tequila shots and one of them had a JD on the rocks. Three of them went home with a woman each. Two of them went home with each other.

The End.

14. The Lady
She was famous. She liked having rampant casual sex. The gossiping aunties said about her that she had a cave between her legs where men got lost and it took them a few days to find their way back.

One day, the aunties went out picnicking. They spread out a mat in the green grass and ate and gossiped some more. A one-legged elf, about a foot tall hopped up to them and asked them, "Would you want to meet young studs who would fuck even you?"

The aunties offended but tempted, reluctantly said, "Hmmm... are you sure?"

"As sure as the Pied Piper of Hamelin was when he promised to dispose the rats."

He hopped on as they followed him into a cave, the end of which there was a lot of light. There they met the young men who were ready as ever to jump them. The elf vanished, and the aunties were fucked till they didn't any longer want it and soon they were raped and one after the other they died of sexual asphyxation.

The End.

15. The Anthem
The Government promised to cover him with gold if he composed the most beautiful anthem in the world. He sat with all his instruments and recording equipment, locking himself up in his studio and meditated.

He wanted to make sure he caught the spirit of the nation. He did. He came out with the most beautiful one minute and twenty one seconds. When the government heard it, they covered him in gold. When the people heard it, there was no longer a government.

The End.

16. Fire in the mountain
"Fire in the mountain! Run Run Run!"
"Fire in the mountain! Run Run Run!"
There was chaos everywhere. One British man stood there, sipping his tea and reading the paper. One of the panic-stricken people came up to him and chanted, "Fire in the mountain! Run Run Run!"
"Oh relax, mate. I'd say the jolly old mountain just has a gas problem or something. He's just breaking wind."
"Fire in the mountain! Run Run Run!"
"What?"
Because he was cool and calm and everything like that, the running man believed him. He stopped his spot-running and poured himself a cup of tea from the British man's teapot, borrowed the funnies section of the newspaper and stood there chuckling to himself. And soon, there was one man after the other and another. Finally, when all men got together near the Briton, he got on top of his tea table and said, "Can someone get some Antacids please? Don't forget the anti-nauseatic pills too, else we might be facing the threat of a volcano."

Two truckloads of Gelusil (strawberry flavoured) and Domstal were emptied into the lava core of the mountain. The Briton was raised on the arms of the people who were running panic-stricken. The mountain exploded right then leaving a huge crater below it and a flying Briton who landed in Calcutta.

The End.

17. Flight of Lights
It was a sunny day in Heaven as it always is. Lord Ram was resting and it was somewhere around October and November on Earth. Orville walks up to Rama and says, "Dude, this is not happening!"

Ram pulls up his shades and looks at Orville standing over his head, puzzled. His facial expression says WTF but his mouth doesn't because you're not allowed to cuss in heaven.

Orville: "A few fucking fictional centuries ago you landed in an airplane which looked like a swan or something and people started celebrating that landing, it turned into a bloody festival of lights!"

Ram: "Huh?"

Wilbur catches up, panting (of course he didn't fly, he ran this distance): "You stole that plane too! You didn't fucking invent it."

Ram, leaning forward, whispers: "Can you cut down on the expletives, God gets really pissed off, you know. Sit down, have a drink, we'll talk about it."

Orville, pointing his fingers: "How? How can you be so cool about everything?! I am damn pissed! I want a festival of lights in the country I landed! I don't care."

Ram: "Are you in a tale of epic proportions? Was your wife stolen?"

"No."

"Did she ride back with you in that first flight?"

"Heck dude, we didn't even marry because we wanted to build the airplane!"

"Well, no wonder you don't have a festival for you."

"Huh?"

"See, for any story to be a hit, you need a woman. A love interest. Go watch The Rules of the Game and learn that. So when you land with your love interest and not ON your love interest, the story is a hit and a festival follows. You passed, son, you needed a feminine touch. Now, go back and play with your toys."

(Co-conceptualised with fellow nonsense connoisseur Sharan T.)
The End.

-- more in the third edition to come soon, right now out of nonsense --

Shukarwaar Ki Shaam Haseen Hai...

2007-10-09T14:55:00.000+05:30

Nayi Nayi Yeh Film Lagi Hai!

Khadi Khadi Kya Soch Rahi Hai?
Chal Ho Jaayein Nau Do Gyaara!

Addictive tunes

2007-10-01T22:59:00.000+05:30

Edwyn Collins - Never met a girl like you before

CCR - Have you ever seen the rain?

Blind Melon - No Rain

the glue girl

2007-08-31T10:31:00.000+05:30

or
the unanswered questions of a six-year old

mom, why does she do that?
why does she need to
rub the brown glue
from the big bottle
between her palms
and go sniffffff at it?

mom, why does she do that?
why does she need to
paint her nails with
the brown glue from
the big blue bottle
using the
plastic bristled brush
and keep scratching
her nostrils with them?

mom, don't you know
a-nee-thinngg?
teacher got her to
help with work,
you know sushila teacher
from ukg?
she is her daughter
from college.

she makes a mistake
everytime she is
writing our cards.
she's so dumb.
then she uses white ink
from a bottle
with red sticker to
erase her red pen writing.

mom, but why would
she go snifffffff
on sketch pens?
she can't write
two lines of home work
on white board
without a mark
on her nostril!

mom, why?

we know she is frail but
why would she eat chalk?
she even eats her lunch
with her mom!
doesn't she give her food?

mom, why did she go
snifffffff
on some chalk powder?
she bled from nose,
then they took her
in an ambulance,
you know?

mom, why?

* * *

Nonsensical Stories, but still Stories - II

2007-07-31T13:33:00.000+05:30

Yes, the threat at the end of this post is now being implemented.

9. The Threat
He said he would do it. He really did. I shuddered when he said he would. I thought he should have been dead when he said he could. I tried to stop him when he said he should. He looked out the window, saw his dad and called out, "Dude!"

The End.

10. Ping
Once upon a time, in a country far far away there was an old couple. Because their IQ was high, they did not want children till they were settled in life. So post retirement the woman decided to crave a child because she wanted some activity now that her workaholism had no job to devour upon. Both of them had MBA degrees and had been working long days at their respective jobs. They had many million dollars and their money was working for them now. They bought a mansion on the bank of a river and waited for Momotaro. The woman would just go to the river bank and wash her dirty underwear and linen in public only so that Momotaro would come to them. Unfortunately, she got one part wrong in the legend.

There came on a peach boat, a full grown man, a dog, a monkey and a pheasant. The old couple rejoiced. While they were making their calls to organise a grand party from their expensive cellphones, the boy from the peach boat shoved two long swords into their retired bodies and said, "My name is... Ping!"

The End.

11. An Interview with Caveman
"Hey Caveman, what are you doing?"
"Cave paintings, what else? Hunting season's over."
"What do you paint?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Err... ok... because I think you're lying. You're just hiding inside the cave because you're too scared of the T-Rex."
"Yep, that too."
"That too?"
"Yes. I am actually making horror genre paintings for the T-Rex. I will put them up outside the cave. That will scare the T-Rex into running away."
"What are horror T-Rex paintings?"
"There's one called T-Rex Kebab, Tandoori T-Rex, T-Rex Masala Fry..."
"That won't work. They don't understand paintings!"
"Well, they do understand seeing themselves as food, don't they?"
"Have you discovered fire yet?"
"No, but I've discovered the wheel. Want to ride?"
"You mean, you eat raw food?!"
"I actually decided to invent a time machine before fire."
"Raw food?!"
"No way! We go to the volcano to cook our food."
"Oh, that's a long walk."
"Yes, that is why for lazy days, we carry bucketful of lava back in this bucket. There's a lava tank in my backyard, go check on it."

The End.

12. Monkeys, Peanuts and Classical Conditioning
A woman walks into an office. Resume. Interview. Job Confirmed. Papers signed.
HR Manager says, "We pay peanuts."
Woman says, "Excuse me? I don't understand."
HR Manager smirks, "Start working, you will."
In December, out walks a frustrated monkey.

The End.

Harry Potter the Pansy Feminist

2007-07-21T21:17:00.000+05:30

It's a very simple conspiracy to turn a whole generation of men into sissy feminists!

The first three books were well written in fantasy land so as to establish authority over the reader and getting the reader addicted so much that there have to be die hard fans.
The fourth book showed the first signs of trashy teen romance sprouting in between the awesome magic and adventure.
The fifth book showed us a sapling but still magic and adventure ruled.
The sixth book is filled with sick trashy sweet valley high twins kinda romance and the aura, magic, adventure is all killed, killed completely. As one of my friends says, "When I'd read the first three books, I was so sure on a bad day that all I had to do was board the Hogwarts Express but now it all seems so sidey and nonbelievable trash."
Someone else claims that he could tear 250 pages off the 600 page book and still maintain the essence of the story. I wonder how the parents are reading this story to their kids and how do they exactly describe 'snogging' and the 'puckering sound that escaped Ron's mouth when he parted his snog with lavender'.

Every wise person on this planet now reads Harry Potter just out of curiosity of where the story goes and nothing else.

And with the way Rowling's began to deteriorate the standards of the book, I am damn sure that the next book is going to have a whole lot of M&B style erotica scenes!

Why was everyone busy pairing up with someone else when what they had to really worry about was how to get rid of a dark lord? Everyone doesnt only mean kids - Lupin and Tonks?! God!! What was she thinking?! Is this some fucking soap opera?! Bold and the Beautiful!

Whatever happened to...
* What happened to the magic?
* Whatever happened to all the classroom fun and the lecture descriptions?
* Whatever happened to the true spirit of adventure and research the the trio had?
* Whatever happened to Harry's awesome flying which came to him as a gifted instinct?
* Whatever happened to the awesome Quidditch games through the year? I wouldn't minded if they'd lost importance to greater tasks at hand but they lose importance to infatuation!
* Whatever happened to the importance of Dumbledore's words?
* Whatever happened to the mystique of Harry's inner voice and his hunches? (In this one we can see those tell him only to go grab Ginny and snog her!)
* Whatever happened to the innocence and beauty of a kids book?
* Whatever happened to Rowling's critics who'd once compared her to Roald Dahl? Can't they rap her silent right now?
* Whatever happened to Fred and George?
* Whatever happened to every awesome thing in the book?

Oh boy she's killed a generation of readers who could become something great - for now she dominates their minds and all they will ever read will be trashy books and never know what good literature ever was. God save the kids who grow up on Harry Potter. God save those kids who will never look at The Jungle Book or Enid Blyton or The Hardy Boys.

(The writer is not a professor or no authority on literature or theory. The article above hasn't been published in any journal. The writer is a serious fan of kids fiction. The writer claims that if we could compare Rowling to Lennon then he would be more than happy to be Mark Chapman+ - which obviously is an exaggeration but you get the point.)

+ For the uninitiated, Mark David Chapman assassinated John Lennon. http://www.crimelibrary.com/classics4/chapman/
The assassination revolved around people turning to 'phonies' and the book The Catcher in the Rye. The book is based on the theme of a thought born of innocence trying to protect innocence.

[This was written after the sixth book, let's see how right I am. Considering the fact that a eager friend read the epilogue and found out that Harry's elder son is named after Dumbledore and he marries Ginny Weasley, I may be right! I had predicted that to happen because I think J. K. Rowling had an unrequited crush from her childhood days for a cousin or may be some best friend's jock brother or something like that. So Rowling put herself in Ginny's position and told the whole story. Well, that's just a theory! :P]

I shouldn't have been alive

2007-07-18T17:31:00.000+05:30

This is the third time, I was going to attempt the Rajmachi trek. Done it twice with varying results. Four years back, with three friends (hostel room mates), wearing slippers and floaters, started early in the morning up to waterfall, stood beneath the water which washed through your head and then climbed up again. A good four hour climb with that big waterfall break, a simple route. Three years back, went up the simplest route, a nice sweet walk from Khandala going 4 hours smooth. That year, coming down was the adventure. Got stuck because we couldn't speed it up to reach the base before sundown and hence were lost and thus were rescued by the police (really!). Went with three female friends and one male friend that year. Each time enjoying everything about the experience, even the harrowing parts. The food is simply terrific up there, the village is ubercool, the lake, the vast surrounded-by-sahyadris is an experience not to be missed out on. Then no trek for a year and another. This year, in this eternally lukkha state decided to do it again.

Accompanying me was the only common male friend from the last two treks. This time we decided to scale up the mountain from the tougher Karjat side, stay up there for the night and start early morning on the Lonavala side.

What has changed in the subject between the last trek and this one: I have lost all possible sources of exercise from my life. I have gained more than ten kilograms in pure fat and not even an ounce of protein. I wore shorts and short sleeve t-shirt this time as compared to ankle length cargoes from the last two trips.

The guide whom we hired to take us up the trail (which we thought was a must-do after getting lost the last time) wanted to get back as soon as possible, so he took us up the fastest and the steepest and the water-less-est route up. There was only twice that we encountered the mountain water, one in a stream and the other at the small pool reservoirs that had been built since ancient ages. Some ubercool storage technology it was which I didn't bother to as about. Why? Because, I was dying. Yes, quite simple, I was. I had begun to hear Enya singing. I had begun to see the darkness creep in and the light flash. I began to see the distant light calling me toward itself and the jungle beats of the blood pounding through veins in my ears. With the increased lard in my body, breathing and carrying myself was becoming more and more of a problem as the path got steeper. No water meant no clean feeling, the sweat due to no rain and high humidity, the increasing mud sticking to the feet and the bugs came complimentary. Super mosquitoes in strange colours and still terrible were these strange 8 shaped bugs which stuck to your skin and immediately started sucking blood. You hit them away 2 seconds late and you can see blood trickle down your feet. They were some of the most encouraging things to happen which made me keep my feet moving.

My feet had stopped trusting my brain, my feet had become sure that the brain had lost its sensibilities about knowing what is good for the whole body. There were huge fights betweent he various communication signals from the feet, the ankles, the legs and the thighs. Each had their own story and their own complaints. The ankle would perceive the road and move ahead and wanting to bend. The feet wouldn't want to hit the shapeless rocks and would veer a little left or right, the thigh had its own no-stress policy and so all would move in some weird direction. All this while my mind was busy concentrating on my breathing because it would just go out of control and the heart would start pounding. Well, sitting for a couple of minutes after some climbing and so on and so forth finally we crossed the fencing which would lead straight to the village with no climbing. The legs relieved just decided to go with the flow. The autopilot was switched on and they just kept following the trail. For that last jig before the fence, I had mustered the last bit of my energy. Post that sudden burst, I suddenly heard my friend scream and howl, I was already hearing wild drum beats in my ears and my whole body was drenched in sweat, with that sudden howl, my heart received a sudden jolt and for a moment as my eyes widened, I thought the end was there and then.

As soon as I sat down at the villager's cottage and tried to bend my leg to sit: CRAMP! The whole leg muscle switched position and not just one small part like usually. I was rocking on my back at that moment, unable to move my leg an inch. In a few minutes, and a few strokes of massage by the bottom of my hot tea cup the cramp started to relax and the limping phase began. Well, post this as the sun began to set, the greens began to light up and the happiness began to sink in. The natural green beauty relaxed us a little. Soothed and the pain dissolved or rather not responded to by the brain, the sleep was deep and quick. Oops, forgot the mentioned the SLURRPPP dinner there. Cabbage and wild mushrooms cooked into bhaji, unfortunately no rice or naachni bhaakri, we had to make do with chapaati. The daal was simply kick ass! The breakfast next day was kaanda poha and chaay.

Post breakfast, we walked to the lake up there near a shiva temple. Lord Shiva was generous to us and the green peace was experienced again while we were surrounded by valleys and mountains. That's the beauty of a trek, green peace. Well, we started the descent at 9.15 in the morning. The smooth awesome road, legs on autopilot knowing well that rational thought was beyond people who came to trek so they didn't argue with my mind anymore. Luckily, the road was smooth and a walk so no brain usage was required at all. It took us about 4 hours to weave through a few mountains and reach the exit point on the Khandala-Lonavala highway. We crossed a few tragic sights where the invasion of mankind into this awesome smooth and green walk had begun. They're building one of those cunt tourist damns like Bushi dam to hold a reservoir there. So soon, the walk will become ugly and dirty and terrible. I will want to carry a shotgun the next time I walk that road. It will be a good hunting zone for me, to kill all those screaming bastards who would be screaming while sitting on a concrete dam with water flowing there like a concrete waterfall, bastards! Wannabes! Go to the real waterfall up ahead pussies!

Well, the good part was that it rained quite heavily on the walk back. So basically, we experienced every part of a trek in this one (as it always happens with Rajmachi.) Thankfully, Shreeji had the stubborn brains to get us back via the Volvo from Lonavala and unlike me, he didn't want to come back by Asiad. He said, "Fuck it, even if it's double the price, let's just go!" Well half my brain was thanking him and half of it was cursing him. That must've been the Gujju Baniya half.

Must go back, must go back! But before that, must lose weight, must lose weight! My life is worth just two and half hours man! I shouldn't have been alive!

Goin' Out West

2007-07-15T05:19:00.000+05:30

Time to blog another of my all time favourite songs! Mad and macho as a song can get, music with a style of it's own and behold, a voice which has been described to be sounding "like it was soaked in a vat of bourbon, left hanging in the smokehouse for a few months and then taken outside and run over with a car."

Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear it for Tom Waits!
(Oh, and for every time you go, "Did he say what I think he did?" some select lines in the song to double check with have been pasted here.)

I'm gonna do what I want
And I'm gonna get paid
Do what I want
And I'm gonna get paid

Well I know karate, Voodoo too
I'm gonna make myself available to you...

I'm gonna change my name to Hannibal
Maybe just Rex

I'm gonna wait for the sun
To shine down on me
I cut a hole in my roof
The shape of a heart.

Testing 1... 2... 3...

2007-06-28T08:50:00.001+05:30

Rate the levels of Insanity on this Blog! Just hover mouse over and click...

(Hint: 1 = Healthy.)

blurred love in black and white

2007-06-24T23:23:00.000+05:30

99 Luftballoons

2007-06-19T02:12:00.000+05:30

You and I in a little toy shop buy a bag of balloons with the money we've got...

Sounds like a nice little song, little did it know that it was a cold war era protest song! I didn't!

But that's not it! I am obsessed with this song lately!

Nonsensical Stories, but still Stories

2007-06-12T13:01:00.000+05:30

1. The God who said, "Cunt!"
"We are inside an ancient temple where at least one thousand gods are said to have lived at some point or the other. It is also said that they still come back for a holiday at times. They come here to relax away from the prayers of their devotees because it is said that this is the temple where the gods let go and relax."

The ceiling at this point illuminates with red borders and a voice booms: "This is an asylum, cunt! Gods come here to get cured of their mental illnesses, stress and trauma that cunts like you fill our lives with."

The End.

2. Pastonji, the pig
A long time back, there lived a pig. And a short time back, there lived Pastonji. The pig had helminthes called Taena Solium. Pastonji had the pig.

The End.

3. Impending
The smell of burnt onion wafts into the air, I can smell amul butter with the onion too. Practice of 23 years of smelling what's in the kitchen before deciding the mercury levels on the appetite callibre markings on my stomach. Right now, mercury rising. The smell of burnt onion brings the image of an impending dosa, in a ladle, the sizzling sound and the colour yellow of potato-onion sabzi. Now, there are a few things in the world for which killing, bomb squad, blood splatter can all wait.

The End.

4. Post break-up furious
There is always a furious make out session post break-up. There are times when one of the two doesn't have balls and there isn't. There are times when one doesn't have balls and there is no break-up. There are times when one doesn't have balls and there is no affair in the first place to break-up. There are times when one has smashed balls pre-affair or post-break-up and at times mid-session break-up, usually the last words in the last case are inaudible.

The End.

5. Outsourced Thinking
God outsourced the world's thinking to two people, Ling Wong Chai in Shanghai and me here in Bangalore. Your father really worried about the pack of condoms he bought from the paan-wallah. Your mother, unfortunately thought in chinese, so I can't tell. You for that matter should worry about your monitor right now, it won't like that bottle of beer, really.

The End.

6. The Movies
Om Mangalam Bhagawaan Vishnu
Om Mangalam Garuda Dhwaja
Om Mangalam Pundari Kaaksha
Om Mangalaaya Tanno Hari

If this is a hindi movie. Then *coughs* someone is getting married.

Kanya ke pitaa kanya ko le aayein...

The End.

7. The Emperor's New Move
"You got to learn to shake your pelvis to be able to impersonate Elvis!" The dance master shouted.

The Empress giggled as the Emperor wiggled. So the emperor got pissed and he fucked the empress over it. He fucked her good, I've been told.

Furious, he then shouted, "I'm the emperor, I don't need to be a king!"

The End.

Note: No. 8 is written by friend and ex-colleague, Sharan, a true connoisseur and practitioner of the art form. So here we go, ladies and gentlemen, presenting Sharan!

8. The Monkeys of SharaRa
There once lived a monkey in SharaRa. And then, he married Shamita Shetty. And that's about it.

The End.

-- More might come --

TMNT - Making of an Ogre

2007-05-30T04:47:00.000+05:30

Trilogy.
Made in the same way as the one below.
Sukamal sent me a silent film.
I added dialogues. I sent him a talkie.
He didn't like length. So just like Tarantino, he decided to release in 3 volumes.
(Err... Tarantino released Kill Bill 2 volumes because of length.)

So this is the new TMNT episode with new special visual and sound FX! Check it out!
Episode 1: http://trashhead00.blogspot.com/2007/05/ogre-first.html
Episode 2: http://trashhead00.blogspot.com/2007/05/ogre-second.html
Episode 3: http://trashhead00.blogspot.com/2007/06/ogre-third.html

Enjaay!

TMNT the movie

2007-05-17T22:11:00.000+05:30

http://trashhead00.blogspot.com/2007/05/teenage-mutant-ninja-turtles.html

Sukamal's camera and direction and Sharan's actor produced a silent movie.

They then sent the movie to me. I said, why not have dialogues?! Ta-da! So then I wrote dialogues which I see the Sukamal has decently corrected a few things which would've been taken up as an issue by the moral police. So yenjaay the movie :)

Incubus covering Massive Attack's Tear Drop

2006-12-03T21:00:00.000+05:30

Ok, dead, I am dead. I saw this title and knew that I had to listen to it.

Brandon Boyd's vocals do magic.

(Of course the Massive Attack track is a phenomenal number. But you see when your favourite artists cover your other favourite artists, it is quite an overwhelming moment.)

Rage Against The Machine - Star Wars Theme!

2006-11-18T14:27:00.000+05:30

Or, so have they claim! But who cares... It's awesome, sounds like Morello! Yes, but I do wish to know who made this one? Anyone who finds out will be given a reward!

What kind of Samurai Jack fan are you?

2006-10-13T15:35:00.000+05:30

	I'm a Samurai Wannabe! Jack is an inspiration to us all. Makes me regret the samurai caste was ever dropped.
What kind of Samurai Jack fan are you?

	I'm an Art Loving Critic! Everything from the backgrounds to the characterizations. This isn't a cartoon, this is *art!*
What kind of Samurai Jack fan are you?

Samurai JACK! Gotta get back, back to the past, Samurai Jack! Jack, Jack, Jack!

A Song

2006-10-07T00:12:00.000+05:30

ladies and gentlemunn, this is dedicated to all you reggae fans and awesome writers out there...
(which basically means language not be jamaican but sing to a reggae beat)

at the end of the day we'll be just fine
when i'll scratch yours and you'll scratch mine!

uh! uh! uh!

we sound like we are a feminine canine
but i scratch yours and you scratch mine!

stories were never really our turf
in free time, we will kill free verse
sugar coated saccharine, our words
we act like we'll win the booker first

bucketful of horse crap, line after line
but i scratch yours and you scratch mine!

oh! oh! oh!

we write literature which is so divine
while i scratch yours and you'll scratch mine!

nothing i ever wrote really made sense
but you had to put in your two cents
you lick my ass, through the day
someday i'm afraid you'll ask me to pay

we write bullshit 'bout lust and wine
but i scratch yours and you scratch mine!

put your hands in the air!

your english exam had a red line
still, i scratch yours and you scratch mine!

no matter how bad we really write
never ever will we have a fight
some people out here, real uncouth
they sometimes dare tell us the truth

who really cares much 'bout those swines!
cause i scratch yours and you scratch mine!

if poetry were physics then i'm einstein
i scratch yours and you scratch mine!

everybody!

i scratch yours and you scratch mine!
i scratch yours and you scratch mine!
i scratch yours and you scratch mine!
i scratch yours and you scratch mine!
i scratch yours and you scratch mine!
i scratch yours and you scratch mine!

[applause, whistles, screams, screeches]
[guitar riff]
[applause, whistles, screams, screeches]

thank you, you lovely people, we love you! mmmwuaahh!

[tosses cap into the audience]
[louder applause, whistles, screams, screeches]

Some women suck brains out with a syringe OR Zzzgk!

2006-09-29T00:14:00.000+05:30

No, no, they do! You see they're the ones who're a little pretty, flaky, carry themselves off like prom queens in a scary movie and talk with an accent that's a brilliant blend of about twenty thousand accents. Now, this is a story about my encounters and how my brains were collected in a jar which I never saw.

You see, I was out with this female friend once and she was quite pretty. She had a quacky voice which scares you so much. This piece is also a direct reflection of what I felt in that process which of course I don't exactly remember because whatever bit of my brain regenerated, it has been placing together the memory cells and deducing the occuring of events. These are the brain cells which ran for their life and stuck to the walls of my cranium.

You see, the theory is such that these women have been endowed with these syringes which they carry in their handbags. Their needles are extremely sharp and their diameters are measured in microns. The women practice swift hand movements while they're talking animatedly and zzzgk! There goes a part of your brain. Now the first incident is with this particularly talented female, talented at the art of sucking your brains with syringe said, "There's something in your hair..." Her finger pulled out a dry yellow tamarind leaf which had fallen on my hair, but by the time I figured it was a leaf, I felt strangely empty in my head.

Since that day, I've been particularly afraid of the sound, zzzgk! You see my fears are not baseless for the sound didn't stop there. I took this really cute chick out once for dinner and she started talking about how she went to buy the perfectly pink sandals for her perfectly pink skirt which she was wearing that day but she figured she had the perfectly white top which she wanted to wear with it so she ended... zzzgk! You see how it works... and by that time, the waiter arrived with a piece of paper in a dish, I said, "I'll consume this dish!" It was the bill.

Since the last six months, every attempt my brain has been making to regenerate... zzzgk!

Coming back to my practicals during college days, at 6 am in the morning, this chick was so well dolled up that I thought she didn't sleep at night. She used to be my lab partner, I turn around and ask her, "Hey, how come you get so much time to glitter your hair, mascara your eyes, choose the perfect colour combinations, the matching set of earrings..." and I just waved my hand gesturing, "all that." She looked at me and said, "You see... Zzzgk!"

So as I was saying, that there was this woman once, who was walking down the street in that perfect shade of green, the one that my heart would go for. I smiled at her and she smiled at me. I went up to her and was thinking of this really awesome line to say but then now I don't remember what that line was because I know I said something clever which she didn't quite understand and before I understood that she didn't understand... zzzgk! Well the story so became that we went dancing that night to find that I couldn't think of anything, not even what I wanted to drink.

Last I heard was that they advanced their technologies to something called digital syringe or probably that was given to officers of higher ranks. I was talking to this woman on phone and well... I'd barely spoken ten words in half an hour of a conversation to feel lighter in the head only to call her again after five minutes. The unbelievable bit is that her high pitched voice really camouflaged the zzzgk on phone.

Ah well, so after coming across a few women like that I realised that the world had to be saved and it was in my hands because I was the only one who realised it. I called up a female friend of mine, one of the intelligent kind and told her about this. She said, "Oh dude! You can't believe it! They do that to me too!"

"What the fuck! This is not just a crisis for the men, it is a crisis for mankind! We have to do something about this!" I climb up my loft and pull out our old clothes bundle which we had decided to give away to this NGO and fished out a white dhoti which my granddad used to wear and he'd nearly worn it out. Tying it around my neck, I said, "This is a job for... Zzzgk!"

Then my friend came over, she had bought a cardboard sword from the hawkers sitting outside shaadis, the one that was covered with silver paper. Yes, we were ready to fight the evil forces. I look at my friend and say, "Did you find the source?"

"These women are not women, they're from the planet Zorg!"

"We can't travel to Zorg! We don't have a spaceship!"

"But we don't need to travel to Zorg! There are two women we have to choose from. One with an orange top and one with a green top!"

"Orange, it must be orange."

Zzzgk!

i can also ramble...

2006-09-25T21:58:00.000+05:30

i dont want my house
i dont want my family
i feel guilty for not wanting this because they love me so much
i am responsible abt so many things but i dont want this because its pulling me down. This thought comes into my head at least once in a day and then i sulk like hell for even thinking this
im tired, im fucking tired of anything and everything that's shitty, crappy, sad, bad, unhappy i so wish to just become a recluse and live by myself... having fun starting all over again ground zero
im bored
i dont feel like going to work
im procastinating
im sweaty and stinking
heat's killing
im bored
im dying
im itching to just go and jump off a building
and i want to just go and dive in a gutter stink there and live there
i want to get drunk and puke everything that i've eaten out toss myself around like no ones business cathartic drinking puking all the fucking vile out.

i want to take a big hammer and break down some house, probably mine.
i want to take a gun and go on a killing spree killing every guy i meet on the way
i want to bring down a guy using my fists, punch him, punch him hard and harder till his face looks like a rotten lollipop
i want to kick someone in the ribs so bad so hard that his insides come straight outta his mouth and he dies
kick and kick and kick and kick till every rib comes outta his mouth.
i wanna take a car and run it into every shop which is having it's shutter down and break into it.
i wanna graffiti on the big hoardings that they've put up on every street.
i wanna bomb the bank, burn everyone's money.
i just want someone to hit back at me hard so that i start crying someone to take a revenge against me for all those things i do so that finally i cry and cry and cry and may be die.
im bored
im bored because i dont know what will happen tmrw
im bored because my mind is paranoid about it
im bored because i think too much
im bored because when im bored i think too much ahead in time
im bored because i know im thinking dreams and not a plan
im bored because i REALLY dont want to plan
im bored because why the fuck do i have to think so much ahead
im bored because i think no one really appreciates me...
im bored because im mindfucked
im bored because i want a break
im bored because im sick
im bored because i hate the world
im bored because i hate everyone who lives
im bored because i hate myself too
im just bored.
had fun reading all this?

It was a calm and bright morning (contd. 4)

2006-09-18T04:57:00.000+05:30

"Where are we, Cavez?" said our man as we see their legs entwined as lovers and a man in custom's uniform has opened the box at the dock and is staring around. "Who the shit are you white uniformed white boy?"

Whack!

When he came to, he was in a prison. The scotland were investigating his case. They thought these were a bunch of skinheads trying to import themselves into England. But instead of the Nazi swastika why was there a 333 written on their heads? That was a question they'd decided to ask the two men. But then the medical reports said, those weren't tattoos. Those were birthmarks. Hence out of fear of the movie Omen, these two were left free. They were given clothes, similar to the ones they'd worn at the dock. The story so goes that they were the only two survivors, stuck inside a floating box when the ship they were travelling on sank.

Whack!

Those men obviously had read the anime comic that was enclosed in a polythene envelope in the box so that it doesn't get wet. They wake up at the airport. Handcuffed and they really don't know what to do.

"This kinda freaks me out, Cavez."

"Oh, I'm loving this. I've always had a handcuff fetish!"

"This is no time for a joke, Cavez!"

"What else do you expect me to do? You think we can do anything else?!"

"Hmm, you're right. So let's discuss jokes. You heard about the sardar whose wife found him with the neighbour's wife?"

"Who is Sardar?" Cavez asks and our man gets pissed.

"Bah! You cultural snob! Jokes are pointless with you!"

Cavez looks at him and says, "You heard about a nun who walked into a bar?"

"A nun inside a bar, that is not a joke, that's sacrilege!"

Cavez smirked, "SNOB!" and they start kicking each other hard since their hands are handcuffed to the chairs. In the middle of the fight our man asks Cavez, "What's that in your pocket?"

"Hey it's there in your pocket too!"

"What is it?"

They bend a little and pull it out with their teeth from each other's pocket. They tear the envelope together with their teeth like two lovers eating noodles. Meanwhile at the Heathrow airport Elton John passes by, "How romantic and bold!

Not giving a damn about that comment, our friends in overcoats, fedoras and handcuffs open the envelope. They saw air tickets inside each of them. One was a ticket to Mexico and the other was to India.

"Cavez, what if we change the air tickets and pockets?"

"What?"

"I'll go to Mexico."

"NO! That's my home there!"

"At least that way we'll fool them saying that they didn't send us where we had to go. Then we can sue them and may be get the british citizenship for free!"

Whack!

In an unconscious dream our man talks to a talking monkey, "I'm tired of these people wacking me!" I'll kill that Chinese when I see him.

-- i n c o m p l e t e c h a p t e r --
but wanted to post it anyways, so now you've read this :D

Third Person Expanded Timesense

2006-05-29T06:27:00.000+05:30

You know how it feels? I'm sure you do. All of us do at some point or the other. You must've and I will now. You how what feels? Go ahead ask me that. You know how it feels to be beaten up by a gang of thugs? Not exactly thugs but people who're say unreasonably violent for a cause that may or may not concern them but may make it their concern if provided generous compensation in units of the lowest common denominator? Not exactly units, but may be tens, or hundreds or thousands.

There it comes, you see it don't you? Don't tell me you can't fucking see that hockey stick being swung at you? It's about to hit your right eyebrow and miss your eye by an inch.

There you go. You went and got yourself hit. Is it blue yet? Oh! It's a cut! it's bleeding. Why and how do you get yourself in such a situation? There it comes, there comes a chain swinging right at your elbow. Damn! They ruined your fucking shirt! Why do they use bicycle chains for hitting people and that too without cleaning the fucking grease off it?!

By the time this will be over, I doubt I will be able to stand on my feet. But it's interesting you know, it's very interesting to see yourself being beaten up from the third person point of view. How did I achieve that? I spent three years at a monastery in the Himalayas, learning the art of meditation from the Buddhist monks. They taught me how the soul is not a part of the body and can leave the body whenever it wishes to. The important part being making it wish to. In the beginning it felt like I was showing the dog a bone and shouting, "Fetch!" But strangely enough, the master came to me and said, "Your soul is not a dog, your body is." I learnt a strange truth but that made me learn something new. My soul was the bone. I had to make sure that I toss my soul so far that my dog doesn't feel motivated enough to go catch it. Eastern philosophies are filled with such strange analogies. You can't find the right one that suits you, you can go ahead and make your own - no one will figure out the difference.

Not the fucking balls! Ouch! That must've hurt! They kicked you in the balls! Shit! I can see your cringe, I can see your curl up in pain! Look out for those leather boots! I can hear you howl as your hands are bamboozled, your senses have lost their touch, their enigmatic touch that god placed upon them to make the right choice. Your senses have reached a point of status contention - testicles or intestine?

Now the interesting part about floating out of your body and watching every action from the third person point of view - is like you're watching a movie in 3D! No matter how hard you try, you CAN'T help Chhota Chetan, he has to DIE! Or if you were born after 1995 then he has to be turned into a bat and stay camoulflaged in Urmilla's leather bosom. Hmmm, the word bosom brings a strange thought in my head -

Oww those fucking faggots! They pounded your back with a stump, the blunt end! They might as well dig the sharper end into your neck and kill you for once!

Coming back to our conversation - the word bosom brings a strange thought to my conscious mind. Her lovely curvaceous bosom! That's what landed me here, right outside my body, watching how easy it is to land into the hospital. And I always wondered why do those doctors and nurses keep running like they've got a hundred people dying. It's because there REALLY are a hundred people dying. There are things you have to know about me still - about how I got floating around a place like this and watching my dog being beaten up like this. Those things mostly involve one or more of the seven sins performed regularly as a ritual or at least a fix. So this one evening, I'm drinking at the bar. There's this one thing about alcohol that I learnt from the arabs is that alcohol made from dates is special - it has aphrodisiac powers. One glass of date wine equals at least two or three onions crushed and juiced well into a glass, very potent. Then that evening they made me prove that with personal experience. Later they told me that they fooled me only to prove that your head is the biggest aphrodisiac. I still didn't believe that bit. I still believed you need some kind of intoxicant to believe that. So there I was mainlining tequila and after seven shots - I knew that it wasn't tequila but it was date wine. Now, I was the invincible phallus!

A boot is about to stamp your thigh flat. You twitch and he misses. You bitch! Don't twitch! If you twitch he comes back again with more force. The next time you don't twitch but this time he's jumping high in the air with both feet about to hit your thighs. Holy fucking shit! That must've hurt. I can almost hear your bones crack. You know when you pull down your trousers later at night you will see dirty boot marks turning greenish blue there. You can hate them in peace then - as of now, no matter how much you hate them it doesn't make a difference. So you might as well love them - trust me it doesn't hurt as much.

"It doesn't hurt as much when you steal from someone you love a lot."
"What makes you say that?" I asked him, "I think exactly otherwise."
"How many times you've stolen from someone you love?"
"Never."
"So what do you base your claims on?"
"Hmm, ok."
"Tell me, whom do you love the most?"
"That woman from the bar who stopped me from impersonating the phallus."
"Good."
We went-a-stealing from her. This dialogue I just had was with a thief who has said to have gotten his talents from the thieves of the past when people still were sensitive and their senses were really sharp. He is a genetic thief technically otherwise he's just a man standing in the corner who you don't realise will eat your bread but steal the remaining jam in the bottle too. So well we went-a-stealing and it proved to me that when you love someone as much - it doesn't take much effort to steal from them. Your basic assumption is that since you love them so much, their stuff is yours anyways, where as people you hate so much - you're always afraid they might catch you - mental state weakens and you're a weak thief. I learnt this from him. I do the delivery very well, don't I?

Motthherfuckker! They're carrying a knuckle duster too! Your days are numbered my friend. Now before a fist runs into you, close your eyes and imagine - a flying stainless steel semi-flying saucer and then there's a good chance that you'll be see on Mars. That is providing Scotty still mans the flight. Soon enough your nose will be broken, bleeding, one tape won't work. There are chances that you will carry half your nose in an icebox to the hospital to get it stitched back again. The best part would be if they find you after the stitches are done with and you're getting cured. Imagine them plucking each stitch out minus anaesthesia. Imagination doesn't require you to pay taxes.

Well later that evening I met Scotty. He'd been roaming around in search of a specimen and I just about knew the right one. So I take Scotty in his flying saucer right above Kshitij's house. "You see that fat fuck sitting and eating there, Scotty?" Holy Fuck I know you don't understand my words. So I had to talk through thoughts to Kshitij and Kshitij didn't know - when, what and how something hit him! So out of pure envy, I make him see the flying saucer. Kshitij is that woman's boyfriend.

On first, second and third thoughts, stay that way - once the pain's gone I'll be back. Without the soul there can be no pain. I learnt this at this hutment in the middle of the jungle. In the whole hutment there were men and women moving in ascetic clothes. And there in the middle - I saw a saint sitting in all serenity, "Sir, I want knowledge." The only way to get food is to talk about what they like, it's more like you can't scream Chelsea in a ManU club. Else you don't even get the happy hour discount. The saint taught me that the key problem in life is pain and pain vanishes with the soul. It's the soul which spreads the senses and emotions and not our bodies.

You're having fun. You can't even feel what they're doing to you. They might as well sodomise you. Suddenly, completely enraged this man comes running with a knife in his hands and stabs your stomach. Then pulls it out making that weird sound like lots of small squirts. Then pushes it again, the out again. He then continues stabbing you, on and off till he's sure that you're innards are ready to be served as hot keema soon. Don't forget the onions. That's when I realise something! Shit! I have nowhere to go but one place. I am dead. The soul has no place to go. I meditate to try and get out of my soul - assuming the soul is another body for another soul.

Well after making sure Scotty and Kshitij had some good time together, I let him out and he's been smiling eversince. I was proud of my shit! I was, I really was. And I thought it would be all dramatic to see my soul escape my wounds but now there were too many for one to escape - they made a soul-shredder out of my body.

I'm about to die and you want a last few words? How shameless! But still it's fine - I like this publicity, even if I'm dying or dead. After a few years my samadhi will be used as a set to shoot either the graveyard scenes of a movie or probably a complete horror movie - Ramsay Bros present, "Daravni Kabr" So here're famous last words: "Those things I said about the monastery, the saint, the thiefprince, the scotty and his saucer - all figments of my imagination, my great publicity stunt, my path to the news! But looks like I didn't make it. It's a plain case of attention seeking disorder who died disorderly seeking attention!"

* * *

The Two Fluoroscent Pink Buttons

2006-04-21T00:52:00.000+05:30

[Sorry for putting Our Man with a Fedora on a hold. We are not currently aware of his GPS co-ordinates else we would've traced him down. Our news sources tell us that he's in some box with his twin brother Cavez and both of them are of course unconscious. The box is in the Lost and Found department at some Airport. Once they wake up, we'll return to their story.]

"I have a plan." said Aman.

"What is it?" Danny said in a nonchalant 007 scientist type of voice.

"You know we have a final semester project that we have to submit."

"So? You think I care?"

"Dude! We have to submit that project to get out of this place."

Hesitant but still Danny agreed that Aman had a point, "So what's your poing?"

"I have a plan for the project."

"Will you stop smoking that for a few days now?"

"Dude! I'm serious."

"And I am Brad Pitt!" Danny mocked.

"Dude! At least lend me your ear for a few minutes. Then you can kick my butt if you don't like it!"

"Theek hai, bak!"

Suddenly Aman loses the fun in his voice and makes a very telemarketer serious tone, "Do you use a remote control for your tv set?"

"No. Everytime I wish to change the channel, I get an erection and change the channel with my long cock! OF COURSE I FUCKING USE A REMOTE CONTROL!"

"Dude! At least listen to me, I can almost visualise the tv commercial for the product that we're going to be designing. It will test every skill we've developed in the past four years and the ones we've had in the last twenty one ears."

"Will you fucking begin?"

"Alright, imagine this: You're holding a remote control in your hand to zap channels, " pauses, "BUT this is no ordinary remote control. It has these two fluoroscent pink buttons at the base..."

Danny interrupts, "Why PINK?"

"Doesn't matter, just listen. The buttons read, 'Fight' and 'Fuck' respectively."

"WHAT?"

"Doesn't matter, shut up, just listen. So now these buttons need to be programmed using our software skills which we need to design using our aesthetic abilities and deep sense that we've developed in the last twenty one years and finally of course our electronic and hardware knowledge will be used when we embed the software in to the remote control and get the microchip working with two extra buttons."

"Aman, if I wanted to work so much, I wouldn't be sitting here with you doing nothing."

"Dude! At least understand this thing! Imagine our positions, great rich millionaires! They might even give us a Nobel Prize. Imagine the profits waiting for us outside once we release the model to the masses."

"Aman, what do those buttons do? I hope it's not what I think they do."

"Dude! They do!"

"Fuck! Tell me, I wanna hear you to believe you."

"You see whenever you're bored watching tv..."

"...which we perpetually are because television sucks."

"All you have to do is press one of those pink buttons as per your mood! And voila!"

"Voila... what?"

"Voila they begin to do the task the buttons is marked as!"

"You mean if a soap episode with two sister-in-laws acting like snobby bitches comes on tv - then all I have to do is to press the 'Fuck' button and I can see some freaking wild hot girl-on-girl action?"

"Bingo! But now the twist comes up when we use the 'Fight' button."

"What's the twist?"

"They can only fight in Matrix styled KungFu stunts."

"Wah! Brilliance Aman!"

"So imagine when you're watching those dumb rigged world wrestling bullshit - they CAN actually fight!"

"Whoa!"

"Still better, if you want to be grossed out, try using the 'Fuck' button on them." Aman starts laughing hysterically and Danny mimes a barf.

"You know what will be the special feature of the device?"

"Only people who have the remote in their hand and ask for the change of scenario see it happening. For the others, the telecast remains the same."

"We might not be able to implement all these function all at once!"

"Ok then add them in the Future Expansions section in the documentation. But we're adding this implementation. It's very important."

"Why so?"

Aman said, "That is because I've already imagined an ad commercial for the product to hilight this feature of the product."

"Ha! That's cool. We really really need that feature then. We can't let an ad commercial idea go waste!" Danny was serious.

"You know what Danny, I just realised."

"What?"

"Those buttons around the base would look terrible. Let's place them on the right and left edge of the remote like those special feature buttons on all the jazzy cell phones these days."

"Ok, done."

* * *

Last heard, the FF Remote was made. Like every commercial software product, the name FF of course was ambiguous. For the layman it would mean - FastForward Remote Control - It fast forwards TV telecast too. But the real users knew the special pink buttons too well to know that FF stood for something else. Thus, the FuckFight Remote Control was a huge success at least between the two boys if not the world.

The boys have just been reported to have swapped to Discovery Channel to the CrocDoc Steve Irwine's show. So which button will it be as our dear aussie Steive enters the marsh to meet his favourite friend - the alligator.

P.S.: Wow, what an uncanny co-incidence even 'favourite friend' has initials FF!

* * *

It was a calm and bright morning (contd. 3)

2006-04-05T04:07:00.000+05:30

He comes to inside a dark club where the bassline's bursting with hiphop beats and black rappers rapping extempore, "Hey everybody come to 313!"

There was no one familiar around. All black guys and a couple of white guys shaking their hands and heads as fast as they could trying to catch up with some insane beat that was irritating him. He ran out where the drinks were being distributed.

"Hey Amigo Fedoro!"

That voice sounded familiar. He turned around to see Cavez waiting with two glasses of beer, "Beer taste so much good than Tequila! I love America!"

"How are you here? I was wacked?"

"I don't know Amigo!"

"Were you wacked too?"

"No Amigo but I fainted when you were whacked!"

"Cavez you need a shave! Your bristled ugly moustache will get us in to some trouble here with the law."

"You mean?"

"I mean, look at your dirty mexican self. Dump that sombrero. Dump the hair on your body. Look around and find a good camouflage. You'll be kicked out for being illegal here."

"Blah!" Cavez guzzled down both the glasses of beer. The walked out from there.

"But how and why did you come here?"

"I came in the same DHL box with you and with this brochure in my pocket with your name written on it."

"Ok."

They walk towards something but they don't know what it is. Hence they keep walking.

"Cavez, we need to get you some clothes."

"I am wearing clothes."

"I mean some real clothes."

"You mean like an overcoat and a fedora like yours?"

"Yea. I love this dress. We could look like twins and may be then people won't suspect us."

He picked up a stone and hurled it randomly at all those closed shops. One of the glass panes burst open. Both of them entered the store. It had clothes! Wow, what luck! So they started hunting for the fedora and overcoat. Soon they find both of them. While Cavez was changing, our man finds a razor and shaves his facial hair off. It was ages since he shaved and it had begun to itch.

Soon Cavez came there and our man forced the razor on his face. Cavez got scared and said he will shave and come. Soon Cavez shaved his full head and came there. Out of fear what he'd done had eventually left not a strand of hair on his face and red mexican skin all over. But it wasn't that which left our man dumb founded.

In sheer joy and shock he turned to Cavez and said, "Shave my head."

"What?!"

"Shave it!"

"Ok."

With complete pleasure and vengeance Cavez shaved our man's head off. There was written in a triangle - 333. Then our man said, "Cavez go check your head in the mirror." There was just another such tattoo on Cavez's head too! It said the same thing, '333'.

This scared the shit out of Cavez, "How can I be a semi-demon? I don't mind being a demi-god BUT a SEMI-DEMON?!"

"You fuckhead! Don't you see the obviousness?!"

"Which one?"

"We're together for a purpose! For the destruction of the world. Hence we've been travelling all over the world. I've been at least trying to look for you with those wacks. You were out on your way too but then since I was closer God called you back to your house and not in Columbia. Now you know why you survived?"

"Oh my God!"

"Huh?"

"Oops! Oh my devil!"

"Yeah that's the right spirit!"

Soon enough they were sitting on the chairs at the shop like they were the evil tyrannical rules of the world. Atleast they thought they soon would be. Suddenly a bunch of homies walk in to the shop, "What you mofos doin' in here? Want something up your ass dawg?! This is our zone! We steal and breaka shops around here!"

"Oh ok!"

"We're both half-devils each and you're banned from the hell," said our man.

The group started laughing. It was quite obvious they didn't give a double fuck. Then one started rapping as the other pulled a gun out, "You fucking bitches are at detroit! Two bald mexicans are shivering in fright! Look I got a fucking gun and I fucking ruined their fun! They got no fucking names and I'm about to ruin their little game!"

"I'm not mexican. I'm Indian."

"Who cares?"

"I do."

Wack!

When Cavez and our man came to this time around - they were sitting inside a small room. It had a lot of mirrors. It was a room that could be called 3' x 3'. Here they were two bald men with overcoats and fedoras nearly hugging each other and standing inside a freaking small room, smaller than a toilet!

A voice from outside screamed, "Dawg, these bitches seemed to have woken up. What do I do?"

A distant voice: "Get them outta the fucking dressing room!"

"Ok."

The man opened the door, let out these two men and asked them, "How the fuck did you pain?"

Meanwhile Cavez had already started drawing inside that anime brochure. He drew a hand moving towards their tattoos! "Is that what happened?" This was asked to Cavez by our man. And Cavez said, "Yes."

"Good. Now we find a good armour cap for our head once we're out of here which seems doubtful. Do you'll guys eat some humans? African bastards!"

Wack!

"Where are we, Cavez?" said our man as we see their legs entwined as lovers and a man in custom's uniform has opened the box at the dock and is staring around. "Who the shit are you white uniformed white boy?"

Wack!

(to be continued)

It was a calm and bright morning (contd. 2)

2006-04-03T05:50:00.000+05:30

Wack!

The next time he woke up, all he remembered hearing was, "Usted es loco?"

"Main kahaan hoon?" Old bollywood saying, man who wakes up from knock-out always talks in mother tongue.

"Senor, you are in Mexico City," the man with a sombrero was as astonished as our man with a fedora and he repeated again, "Usted es loco?"

"Do I look fucking Mexican?"

"Somewhat."

"I'm not."

"So?"

"I don't know Spanish! Trans-thefreaking-late!"

"Oh ok! No no, you are not to be late. You are to be on time. You arrive in beeg box. My son thought you're the my elder son Cavez who never came back from big city New York."

"I've never been to New York and I don't care about Cavez."

"I know. Man from Kenya send me anime-comic book which is a folleto on how to take care of you."

"Ah that dumb Okinawan book."

"Okinawa no, Kenya. After Kill Bill everyone either want to go to church in El Paso or drink sake in Okinawa. The hollywood is destroying world tourism. I'm starting signature campaign against Quentin Tarantino. He also polluted our own Roberto and licked toes of Salma - the mexican honour!"

"Roberto whatevero! I-o want-o to-o go-o hom-o!" Our man with a fedora screams. Not that his fedora still looks like one, it's lost it's stiffness and shape after those days in the FedEx box and before that the DHL box.

A silence followed after that. Pedro started eyeing him with suspicion. He quietly goes out and brings him tacos and some extra beans. Hungry and weak, the man starts eating with both hands. While he's eating, Pedro went and talked to some other men outside. Soon a certain senor Vargas in his mid-forties turns up and stands behind our fedora man and then suddenly feeling like he's being leched at the man turns to senor and stares.

Senor Vargas: "Usted es homo?"

Pedor walked in then, "He asking whether you are homosexual. Don't be shy, say yes. You really look like you're in dire need of some sex. You've been abstaining from Okinawa to Kenya to Mexico."

"Yes I haven't even masturbated BUT I'm not homo. I thought about Salma Hayek the last time I got off."

Wack!

When the man with the crumpled fedora woke up, "Donde estoy?"

Suddenly he stared into the mirror. His overcoat was hanging on a string besides him and his hat was nice shaped and back again but wet still. He had a sombrero with 'fedora' written on it and a poncho around his neck, BUT no pants! Biggest of all things he stared at his tongue first and said, "Oh mi dios! Estoy hablando en espanol!"

Then Senor Vargas walked up to him from behind carrying a 'English in a few easy steps' book, "Are you want coffee?"

"I want to go home."

"You want homo?"

"You ugly old perverted bastard, take me out of here."

"You want go out with me? Really? For a date?"

"Nooooo!" Our man screams and this time by mistake faints without a wack. Senor Vargas checks the anime-brochure once again, puzzled and feels cheated, 'This isn't how it's supposed to work! I didn't get to wack him' and then wacks him anyways - Wack!

When he comes to, Cavez is back from New York and they're standing near a wooden stage near their house and a few people are performing live. It's a mexican band singing the song loud and clear. The guitarist and the way he played his guitar makes our friend homesick. He stared thinking of Mithun Chakraborthy and his famous disco dancer dance, the one when he holds the guitar to his chin and plays with his wrist.

Cavez there, was a man of few words or so realised our friend who decided to get a silver shining suit to look like Mithun Chakraborthy. He was obsessed. He wanted to dance, he wanted to dance like the disco dancer to salsa music. He turned around to Cavez and asked him, "So Cavez, what did you do in America?"

"I didn't go to America but don't tell my father."

"Then what happened?"

"I met some rastafarii and we smoked up a lot of weed then I called them black africans. The lat thing I remember after that was a wack in my head."

"Then what?"

"Then I was found on the Mexican border right at the border post and they were checking for illegal immigrants. They arrested me. I was sent back. I found another group of rastafarii but they were white rastas and were going to Colombia. I worked for them silently till one day all of them were killed by a few Columbians. Then I got wacked again for insulting the Columbians. Then I woke up in my own backyard. I don't know why, I didn't ask why. Papa said I arrived just like you did, in a FedEx box. Now we have two FedEx boxes in the house and we don't have places to keep them."

"Why do you want to keep FedEx boxes?"

"Because I love FedEx boxes. I ran away from home because they threw away two small FedEx envelopes and one medium FedEx box. Now they know better than throw away two nice huge FedEx boxes."

"Ok."

By now our hero had started discodancing to latino music. All the women started laughing at him and all the men mocked. There was but one woman, Julia who stood far behind the stage and was staring at this weird half-mexican man in a fedora and black overcoat, dancing in weird disco steps to the fabulous salsa music. She was turned on by his dance steps. He suddenly noticed her blushing as he danced. He went there and asked her to the dance floor. She readily agreed and started performing her hot salsa moves on his discoing body. Soon enough they danced their way into one of those small warehouses where they kept lots of hay like it is shown in every western movie that shows a Mexican town. There're barrels of tequila and lots of grass. It's obvious about what happened next. He asked her if she was married, she lied. They then drank tequila and he said how he found latina women hot. He kept talking and talking. She suddenly felt that this was an insult and they were supposed to be having hot indian sex in that warehouse. She didn't spend time performing those hot salsa moves for nothing, at least not for a dumb disco dancer! So...

Wack!

This time around when he came to he saw a lot of black people crowding in to see inside a FedEx box. It was his FedEx box, his anime-brochure on his lap. One white guy came in as he slips from between the huge black hiphop urban homies. He picked up the brochure as our man was trying to crawl out of the box. He started laughing. He showed it to the other men around him, they started laughing too. Our man turned to them and asked, "What's your problem, dude?"

Wack!

He comes to inside a dark club where the bassline's bursting with hiphop beats and black rappers rapping extempore, "Hey everybody come to 313!"

(to be continued)

It was a calm and bright morning (contd.)

2006-04-03T04:19:00.000+05:30

Wack! The next time when he came to, he saw a tall thin negro offering him an orange.

"Where am I?"

The negro said in a very strange accent, "You want orange, man from box from India?"

"Where the fuck am I?"

"The orange is very juicy. Here try using that to come back to senses." He held the orange to his head for sometime and mumbled something as our fedora man started looking for where he was. It seemed like a primitive hut in some forest.

A huge DHL marked box was placed inside that room, upside down where the negro had kept a fruit assortment. In a few seconds the negro squeezed the orange onto the man's forehead with all his might.

"What the fuck?! Where am I?"

"This is Kenya. Hello I'm Mwamba and I am a member of the Masai tribe here. This is one of the last few rural areas left where original traditions and religion is followed. Everywhere else they've modernised. You're our first modern gift from mankind. You came by DHL service addressed to me. I've been promoted as leader of my tribe. Thanks to you. You're the man who come in all black to absord all the heat from us in the summer and cool us down. Hence, first I cool you down with orange juice. That's what you foreigners drink in summer, right? I had to import this one from the city - not a good omen but anything for you."

"How do you know so good english?"

"I spent five years in New York."

"What the heck?"

"I was about to be selected for a basket ball team for NYSU but later on they become racist and tell me I am animal from Africa."

"You claim this vilage be unadulterated?"

"Only legend. The chief's daughter be made love to by white man two years back."

"Whatever. See dude, I last remember being Shanghai."

"Yes, I know. The DHL man said to me, that this parcel was from China."

"I'm damn hungry." Then he started feasting on the fruits that were placed on his 'vehicle' as the negro called it.

Later the man and the negro took a walk in the village. There was only one white child playing there with the whole lot of black children. Our man couldn't help but ask, "Whose child is this?"

"No one is supposed to say. We supposed to say that no one knows. He be white god's child."

"God's child?"

Wack! The next time he wakes up the negro's offering him another orange. He grabs it and eats it with the peel. The negro says, "No insulting the child or white god."

"Who is white god?"

"No asking questions."

The man shrugs.

"How did you know I was Indian and how do you know where to hit me like the Chinese do?"

"Chinese be good people. They send me letter with diagrams and explanations on how to tackle a foolish Indian like you. Here see this."

There was a nice airport safety brochure styled but with anime-figures drawn on a piece of paper. The man who was being hit in the picture didn't look like our man, he had big anime-eyes but he had the same clothes that the fedora man was wearing since the last howmanyever number of days. That stink from his body made him think of what date was it. But before he could ask, the negro turned a page and said, "You see that picture here. They describe how to switch you on and off. You be a good chinese toy, Indian."

"What date is it?"

"One week since your first blow the chinese girl hit you for calling a korean a chinese."

"How do you know that?"

"They make anime-comic of that too and send from Okinawa."

Our man stopped caring all of a sudden and said he wanted to meet white god. He wanted to pray for well being of his family and so that he could return back home soon. In truth he had no family, he was an orphan but considered every street child his family. Some times he thought he must be having some family somewhere far away - he would pray for them.

"Where is white god temple?"

Sometime later the negro and our man are standing next to a wooden small church on the outskirts of the village, "This is no freaking temple, it's a village."

Suddenly it began dawning on our man. It was the case of every missionary joke. The missionary must've fucked the chief's daughter and he must be called the 'white god'. And then Mwamba took him inside and pointed at Jesus Christ and said, this is the white god. He was born without sex and he has given birth without sex. The chief's daughter is still safe and clean and pure. I might marry her next year.

"Who sold you this junk?"

"Messenger of the white god."

"Bullshit. You people are dumb long legged ancient stupid fools with brains in your pingpong ball sized kneecaps. Some white fucker fucked your chief's daughter and your chief and that white priest are fooling you completely."

Wack! The next time he woke up, all he remembered hearing was, "Usted es loco?"

(to be continued)

It was a calm and bright morning

2006-04-01T19:12:00.000+05:30

It was a dark and stormy night. The man walked in the rains on the streets of the city. The streetlights were poofed off by someone. No one knew who. He wore a long black overcoat and a black fedora. He tried smoking a cigar for effect but it got extinguished in the rain and the cigar became all wet and looked like a smudgestick. You could start writing with it on a white wall and get greenish black dirty coloured fading letters. But that's not the purpose of the story, the purpose is - it was a dark and stormy night.

So then, on that dark and stormy night the man kept walking and waiting for something to happen. Nothing did happen and soon it was a bright and calm morning. On his long walk which never stopped because nothing happened, he saw a man practicing Kung Fu in the garden. The man looked chinese, the man turned around and said, "Ae chingpong, you do good kung fu."

"It's not kung fu, it's Ju Jitsu and I'm not Chinese but I'm Korean."

"Bah doesn't make a difference, all you narrow eyes are the same." The man kept walking.

Suddenly he got a straight wack on the back of his head as he fell down. He came to in a small hut where a man with narrow eyes looked at him, "I'm very sorry for my daughter's misbehaviour. She doesn't stand our culture being dishonoured so easily. We're chinese. You called a korean chinese so she was pissed."

"Ah never mind. But that was kung fu right?"

"No, it was Karate."

"We're from Okinawa but we're Chinese."

"Yea, whatever. As if it matters to me. But what the heck are you doing in a slum in Bombay?"

Wack!

The next time he woke up, he saw a lot of people around him, "Welcome to consciousness O man in black coat and fedora! We're sorry for our brother's misbehaviour. He can't stand people not caring about our culture. He takes it too personally that we're being ignored like insects just because we're a huge country."

"Where am I?"

"This is a basement in Shanghai, China."

"Ahh. Ok." Then he suddenly went bonkers, "WHAT?! What the heck am I doing in chingpong country?"

"We were leaving your country, we didn't know what to do with an unconscious you so we got you along, it's against our honour to leave you there. Our ancestors would've been pissed at us."

"Ancestors, Fancestors, Blah blah, Whatever. Take me back to Bombay."

Wack! The next time when he came to, he saw a tall thin negro offering him an orange.

(to be continued)

Be very wary else you'll be very weary

2006-03-28T18:18:00.000+05:30

Now now, see there are a lot of things one should be wary of. But never be wary of what you can be weary. The problem basically arises when you realise that the two words are actually homonyms. Not that they're words of the same kind and indulge in sexual fantasies, no. It's basically got a lot to do with the fact that homonyms do not have anything to do with the sexual preferences. I'm sure all of you actually know the meaning of homonyms. No, it's not a colloqial way of calling out homosexual nymphs. It's homo-NYMS, and that's it. But the whole motive of me writing this remains that you forget what homonyms really mean. Homonyms are basically HOrMOnal synoNYMS. Like Testerone in men is synonymous to Oestrogen in women. This really shows my biology is terribly weak and now you're actually wary of reading any more of this. But I'm sure I'll continue till the time you're actually weary of reading this. I'm quite sure you still know the real meaning of homonyms. It really means Horticultural Momentary NY (New York) MudfighterS. Ha! You still know the meaning of homonyms. Hollywood Mallu NatYa Madarsas - It's an elite association formed in Hollywood, CA by Mallus following the religion of Islam and are from the any of the basic Indian dance families/schools like BharatNatyam, Kuchipudi, Kathak, Kathakali, etc.

Somehow I have a strange recollection of weird thoughts that tell me that we all have been discussing precisely the wrong meanings of Homonyms all this while. They're just the long form of the colloqially shortened word, 'hymns'. You actually sing homonyms to the lord. But on second and third thoughts I feel homonyms are just homonyms and we should let them be else they'll all form an assemblee and come for us with vengeance and furious anger, then take us to the hangar and dump us in an airplane and make sure we're flying on a different plane and promise us various spiritual planes and soon enough our career graphs, our ECGs will all be plain plain and our bodies found in the next lane.

Is this enough insane?

Insanity

2006-03-25T03:42:00.000+05:30

Insanity is the beginning of every reality and sanity the end... and in the middle there's forty two.

If at any times you feel sanity seeping through, please don't hesitate in registering your grievances. Honest attempts are made to avoid patterns, styles and stuctured thoughts. There are things that one sees only from a wonky perspective. There are lives that can only be led from a perspective that is lost. We are trying lead one. Now clap, then tap your feet, then snap your fingers after which there really is nothing much to do, so either comment or go do something that makes sense. If you think you can stand this and still better create it, get in touch. We're always on look-out for insane people who want to rescue themselves from the Nazi factories - The Dwindler's List.

Thank you