The ‘Butt’on Brigade

This post is for the person who gave me that screwball lecture on Global Warming,  

I sat through a long discourse on global warming and how it’ll affect the kind of clothes we wear on a daily basis. Apparently, the Earth is going to become too hot for us to wear clothes and we’d all be walking around butt-naked on the streets, sweating like pigs. Nudists are going to have a field day, however, but for the rest of us unfortunates, we will be forced to do something drastic to preserve whatever ‘little’ decency we have.

From the Stone Age to the Information Age and the present Boobage, we’re hurtling towards another Ass Age. Strangely, this comes just before the next Ice Age, and the two pronunciations are not to be confused. So, what do we do in this ex-ass-perating situation?

There will come a time when people’s butts will become a taboo – as taboo’d as the other ‘private’ parts. Unfortunately, people will not share the same obsession they have for these parts and we’ll see them being bared in public. But the butt, it’s gonna be highly private. Someone will invent a Butt-Guard or a Butt-Off or something similar in all shapes and sizes and fake ones too, that will protect the butt from prying eyes. More than anything, these inventions will prevent Ass Lovers from their eye-candy.

These Ass Lovers will create a secret society called the ‘Butt’on Brigade, and their main objective will be to beautify the backside through underground videos. Scores of people will be misled into joining the ‘Butt’on Brigade and kids as young as 10 will be brainwashed and made to join. Law and order will fail against the sheer numbers of the Brigadiers and the kids will create their own version called the ‘Little Asses.’

And since all the truths about Global Warming would have been proven to be true, the Governments of all the countries will decide that they need to ignore the ominous signs again. Their anal logic would be: Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, so why should Global Warming?

But the logic would turn out to be just that – anal and stinky, Global Warming would strike again, bringing an end to the Ice and the Ass Age. The taboos would return to normal. We’d be flashing our butts in public again and hiding other parts.

If only this fucked-up version of the future were true. Unfortunately, it’s just a dream. An ass-piration…

The Funny Guy! :)

I have recently been awarded the dubious distinction of being Mr. Funny Guy by my friends. I should be honored, and to an extent, I am. How this title came about and why I am not really satisfied with it will be apparent after you read this whole post.

It was a dark and gloomy Wednesday evening, around six, when I decided to wrap things up in the office and go all the way to Yelahanka, where my brother was waiting in the police station after his bike had been towed away. I had to go there and pay the fine of 600 bucks to bail the bike out. When I left, the rain had just about abated and I made quick time in traveling the 30-odd miles to Yelahanka. We both got drenched on the way back, but that seems to be a minor point of little or no interest to the readers, who’re probably well accustomed to my bouts of bad luck. I met a few friends for dinner that night and decided to liven up the night with a joke.

“Okay, people! I am going to tell you a joke!” I announced. Everyone fell silent and listened intently, being aware of my reputation for spinning a lovely yarn. I was actually trying to impress my friend’s cute cousin who’d joined us. She was sitting next to me and seemed to be hanging on my every word. I desperately wanted to impress her and make her smile. So, I dug into my vast database of corny jokes and pulled out the best one!:D

“There was this scientist,” I began, “and he had just invented a biologically-engineered refrigerator. The fridge was so cool (no puns intended!) that it could order groceries online and make instant breakfast. It ran on some pretty cool DNA-computing circuits and was state-of-the-art! It was more intelligent than the most intelligent computers of the day. So, this scientist was selected for the Nobel Prize that year.”

I looked at the cute girl, paused for effect, and smiled. Everyone on the table was gripped. “The Nobel Committee waned him to fly over to Stockholm and demonstrate his bio-engineered refrigerator. So, this scientist rented a single engine Cessna plane and started his journey. Halfway through the flight, the single engine died and the plane began to crash. The pilot screamed, “Hey scientist! We are too heavy and the plane can’t handle it! You have to throw your fridge out!”

“No way!” screamed the scientist. “I have given my whole life for this invention!”

“Look, fella! If we don’t throw it overboard, we’re all going to die. It’s too heavy. You have your research data with you anyway. It’s just a question of assembling it again. Please understand!”

“So, this scientist, after careful deliberation, opened the door with a heavy heart and threw the fridge out.”

I stopped talking and took a sip of water and leaned back with a smile. Everyone on the table were leaning forward, intently waiting. “Then what happened?” asked the cute girl next to me.

“Nothing,” I said. “That’s the end of the story. “

When they all realized that I had conned them, it was too late. The expression on their faces was a million dollar one. I started laughing out so loud that I drowned their angry retorts and groans and the hotel manager came up, glared at me and said, “Sir, please don’t laugh so loud. You’re disturbing the other guests!”

I continued laughing in a whisper and the other people around the table were ready to drown me in my tomato soup. “Okay guys, I am sorry,” I said. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll tell you a better joke this time and I swear on the graves of all the men, women and children who died building this hotel that you will not be disappointed.”

My reputation as a funny guy preceded me and they all agreed to give me one more chance. “Last chance,” said the cute girl next to me. “I’ll slap you if you do this again.”

I wanted to tell her that I would do anything to get her to slap me because that would mean she would have to touch me. Oh, she was so cute!!

“Okay, get ready,” I announced and cleared my throat. “There’s this beautiful lake in the middle of nowhere and in the center of the lake is a small islet on which the most beautiful flower is growing. The lake is infested with crocodiles and sharks and piranhas and just about any man-eating critter nature has created. On the banks of the lake, a man and a woman are sitting, cuddled up. They are very much in love with each other. The woman asks the man to swim across and get that flower for her. He protests and says that he’s going to killed trying to cross the lake. “Is this how much you love me?” asks the girl, very depressed. So, the man takes offense and says, “If you want me to prove my love to you, then I will cheat death and get you the flower.” He strips down and starts swimming. He battles all the critters that come in his way and finally reaches the middle of the lake, plucks the flower and swims back, again battling nature’s fury. He reaches the shore and climbs out holding the flower. And then, right in front of the woman’s eyes, he dies!”

I paused for effect. “Why did he die?” I asked, looking around at everyone.

They were all listening to my story so intently that one of them immediately said, “The flower was poisonous”

“No,” I said.

“Something attacked him!”

“No”

“He had a heart attack?”

“No”

The cute girl then said, “Tell me, tell me! Please!”

I couldn’t ignore her cries. Oh, and her voice was so sweet. So, I told them the answer – “The fridge fell on him!”

For two minutes there was complete silence and I inched closer to the cute girl and turned my head at an angle so that she could get a good whack at my cheek. But to my surprise, she burst out laughing and so did the others. They liked the stupid joke! I was so annoyed!

So, that’s how I got the title and that’s why I am not too excited about it! She didn’t slap me! Now, I don’t know when I am going to see her next. Damn!

The Foodie Meme!

The word “food” evokes in me a primal instinct to mark my territory on the table, crouch in a corner with my plate of food and growl at anyone who comes near. I devour my food quickly lest someone steals it from me and smack my lips and return to my normal state of mind. I black out when eating, and sometimes, don’t remember what happened. I once came out of such a black out with the thumb of my left hand in my mouth, my white shirt covered in chocolate sauce and my hair smelling of onions. It remains a mystery till today!

Shefaly tagged me with this very interesting food meme, and finally, I get to show off my love for all things edible. I would best describe my culinary afflictions as: “I am, therefore I eat!”

Now, lets get down to the meme, shall we!

1. What’s your favorite table?

I wouldn’t want to go over the edge and make a big cliché of myself by saying “Any table with food on it!” or something on similar, drab lines. Actually, my favorite table happens to be in the corner of a cafe called Barista, on MG Road in Bangalore. It was at this table that I was sitting when I realized that my life was going in no particular direction (but down) and that I had to do something about it. So, I ordered a cold chocolate, went home and got a haircut.

2. What would you have for your last supper?

I am going to die on November 4th, 2078 at 3.49 in the evening, while walking down the road after my routine sessions in the local laughter club, where I will perform for free, just to get rid of the boredom. My heart will have weakened enough for me to say my last goodbyes that day in the club, and that afternoon, my last meal will comprise of two chicken sizzlers on BBQ sauce and a portion of potatoes. I will drink half a glass of wine and choke on the other half, and finally, realize that its time to walk out of the club one last time…

3. What’s your poison?

Keeps changing with my mood and the season, and right now, it has to be roadside Dahi Puri with extra sweet on it. For more information on Dahi Puri, take a deep breath, smack your lips in anticipation and please click here.

4. Name your three desert island ingredients.

Imagination, Perseverance and the ability to eat anything remotely edible! (PS: Cast Away was supposed to feature me, but they chose some guy who was a lot thinner than me and a disgrace to foodies all over!)

5. What would you put in Room 101?

Leftovers!

6. Which book gets you cooking?

No book can get me to cook! God forbid, if I cook, I shall be responsible for mass hysteria and will be arrested for intentional food poisoning!

7. What’s your dream dinner party line up?

Me..!

Ok, I was kidding… Dream dinner party would consist of… um… uh… let’s see… no, I think it would still be me!

8. What was your childhood teatime treat?

Tomato juice, followed by salted biscuits and half a potato bun! Sometimes, when I’m feeling a bit nostalgic, I still follow this ritual.

9. What was your most memorable meal?

December 2008, New York City, Lexington Avenue, Shravana Bhavan – That meal was perhaps the best because the whole day had been spent walking around the city and my feet were aching so badly and my insignificant breakfast had long been digested!

10. What was your biggest food disaster?

My roomies and I once decided to cook a South Indian delicacy called Bisi Bele Bath. Its a concoction of rice, dal and lots of spices. We called everyone over and were so proud of ourselves, when we realized that we had forgotten to add the dal…

We made up a story that we got the recipe from MySpace, and that the dish was called Ranatunga!

Some people actually bought the story and liked the dish. Never been near the kitchen since!

11. What’s the worst meal you’ve ever had?

My very own insipid version of chicken soup!

12. Your food hero/food villian?

The food in my hand is the damsel in distress. She cries out for help and begs for mercy from the huge villain, who wants to eat her alive. The hero is no where to be seen. The villain lifts the helpless damsel and brings her close to his mouth. She can smell the foul breath and see the remains of her brothers and sisters sticking to the villain’s teeth. “Hero! Where are you?” she screams. Her screams are in vain. The villain devours her.

13. Nigella or Delia?

I don’t know what either mean and as long as they’re not some exotic, tasty food items, I don’t really care!

14. Vegetarians: genius or madness?

Paranoid and morally confused! Plants have life too, you freaks!

15. Fast food or fresh food?

Edible food!!

16. Who would you most like to cook for?

I can’t think of anyone who has a death wish!

17. What would you cook to impress a date?

Hmmm…

18. Make a wish.

I wish every living being in this world can taste Tiramisu before he/she/it expires.

19. I tag…

Namrata, who would be doing her first tag with this one! I wish her all the best!

Fruity, who seems to be bored enough and senile enough to be tagged!

Suda, who seems to have gotten all techie all of a sudden!

Meghana, who would be doing this as her first tag on wordpress!

Rekha, who is, like me, from South India and her answers would give me a clue to my sanity!

Virginia Tobacco :)

Note: The following post is protected under strict copyright laws, owned by Nam and her Nandu Mama. Copying this material or using it in any context without the explicit written and/or verbal permission of both the owners is punishable by the just laws of the glorious country of Sheikla Abbu. The following is not a true story, however, any resemblance to any person or animal, living or dead, has been included deliberately after a great deal of procrastination. Thanks to Nam for keeping me awake last night with this fascinating tale of deception, treachery and greed. I would have dozed off if it weren’t for her.

Once upon a time, in an imagination far, far colorful, lived a Sheik who ruled over the glorious country of Sheikla Abbu. He had a thousand camels and a thousand horses and a thousand elephants and a thousand ten wives. He had an enormous palace, where he used to spend time with his wives and eat the best food in all of Abbu, drink the finest wine, listen to the best music and dance to the best tunes. He was also a bit greedy.

The Sheik was an accomplished warrior, who had conquered his enemies far and wide and wanted to expand his kingdom even more. So, against the wishes of his wives and wise men, he set out, leading his huge army south, to the kingdom of Virginia. This name is not to be confused with its namesake in the USA. He led the army through blistering deserts and freezing nights, and finally reached the doors of the castle in Virginia. They had been traveling for a thousand days and all were tired, including the Sheik.

He knew that if he declared war in his state of fatigue, he would lose terribly. So, he extended a hand of friendship to the ruler of Virginia, who gave the Sheik a pack of Virginia Tobacco, as a gesture of good faith. This is where our story kicks off into a bizarre world of madness. For two years he completely forgot about this packet of cigarettes in his possession, and went about his daily routines. Once, while cleaning out his writing desk, he found the unopened pack of Virginia Tobacco lying there, under a heap of death warrants.

Curious to try it out, the Sheik took out a cigarette from the pack and took a drag from the sweet tobacco, he could hear someone counting – “One, Two, Three, Four, Five…” in his ear, loudly. He looked around him, astonished at seeing no one, and yet, the voice was very clear in his mind. Someone had counted loudly and he had heard them! So, in his confused rage, he ordered the heads of all his guards to be chopped off.

The next day, when he was sitting on the banks of the river, he took out another cigarette and started smoking it. As soon as he took the first drag, he could bear someone counting again – “Five, Six, Seven, Eight…” and this time, the voice seemed to be very near to him. He looked around, and finding no one, ordered all his animals to be beheaded. No one dared to question his madness when he was in one of his rages. He sat back down and took another drag of the cigarette. Again, as before, he heard counting in his head - “Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen…” and he got really really freaked!

He started stripping down his robes, thinking that there could have been some sort of black magic going on. As he removed his shirt, something fell down to the ground. It was the pack of Virginia Tobacco. He picked it up and for the first time, read what was written on the pack.

“Virginia Tobacco: The Tobacco That Counts!”

Letter to Cupid :)

Dear Asshole Cupid,

When you first met me, you chose a lovely, red, pointy arrow and shot it right through my heart. I bled and bled but you didn’t really care. You moved on to your next victim, impaling everyone you met! I so hate you for pulling that arrow out forcefully and hurting me more! When you did that to me, you not only ensured that two lives would never be the same again, but you also made sure that I can never be affected by your childish charms and sharp arrows again!

Just because you’re a child with wings and you carry around a bow and arrow, you think you can play around with people’s lives and emotions and feelings? Who gave you that right, you idiot child? Just because you are written about in books and sung about in stupid love songs, you think that you are the ultimate puppet master, making your victims dance to your tunes? You’re nothing but a spoiled brat, you hear me? Your curly, blonde hair, your red and rosy cheeks and those brilliant blue (apparently) innocent eyes may fool others but not me! I think I know what you’re planning for me!

You want me to take the tried and tested path of begging for your arrow to be impaled again in my heart, drinking myself silly in filthy places and in my stupor, calling out for that cardiac pain again and stabbing myself with chemicals in the hope of seeing your bright wings again – think again, asshole Cupid! I am not going to give you that pleasure. I am well and truly in control of my emotions and for all I care, you can take those arrows of yours and thrust it up your ass. I don’t really care how you do it, but given a chance, I’d do it for you myself! I dare you to come before me again, as you did last time! Stand before me like a man and face me!

Oh, I forgot – you’re a child!

So, here’s what I really had to say to you, Cupid. Drop Dead!

Yours sincerely,
Nikhil