Monday, December 15, 2008

This post is not gay . . . not gay at all

Sometimes I wonder what being gay is all about. I mean, is there someplace I need to go and signup for membership? And then get it renewed every year?

Does it change my life so much that I suddenly start enjoying the things I didn't enjoy earlier? Do I have to watch all the episodes of Sex & the City before I join? And do I have to watch every lame gay movie out there even though I won't be able to identify with any of the characters?

(Okay. So what if I will watch any lame gay movie which has gratuitous nudity. Sue me for showing some human emotion. Geez!)

A lot of people around the world say that being gay is a lifestyle. But you don't need to have an IQ of more than 15 to realize that it's not as simple as a lifestyle choice. Being vegan is a lifestyle choice, choosing to drive a hybrid over a gas-guzzling hummer is a lifestyle choice, choosing to have apple cider instead of wine is a fucking lifestyle choice.

How do you choose to be gay? Do people suddenly wake up one day and decide they would like to bang people of the same sex? Does anyone in their right mind think that people would suddenly choose to be something that is fraught with so many complications?

But it's very hard for people to even try to understand how you're just born gay. It's not something you choose. It's something you just know and thanks to society's fake morality, something you ease into.

Why do people fall for society's fake morality?

Well that's because who would you rather listen to? The guy who tells you that you need to be good otherwise God will send you to hell or the guy who says that it's not perverted unless it's forced and unwanted.

People are scared of going to hell. I don't know why. I saw Speed 2. After seeing something so horrid, nothing scares me know. Not even the idea of hell.

See, all religious books are like collections of short stories strung together with a slightly boring narrative. They should learn how to write short stores from Jhumpa Lahri.

What? Am I the only one who loved Unaccustomed Earth?

I mean, c'mon. I believe more in the wicked witch of the west (no, we're not talking about Oprah here) than believe in the one about how heaven and earth were created by God on a Monday morning. I mean I don't know about you, but I pretty much never used to like to work on a Monday morning. I'm pretty sure that God would have done what I did. Pretend to be sick and pocket some free aspirin.

But most people buy into this morals and values stuff and drink the kool aid about keeping up appearances.

Like some members of my family. My Dad and my brother can't even bring themselves to tell people that I currently am in my 'gap' year. Okay, the second gap year has started, but that's my problem. Not anybody else's. However, my brother doesn't see it that way. He sees it as a bad reflection on the family.

We even had a sort of "discussion" about me being gay a few months ago. Remember the pride parade in Delhi? I had gone on a luncheon that day with some of my friends. So my brother reads about it in the papers the next day and assumed that I had gone to the parade. Not only do I feel stupid for not going, he also asks me if I am gay. Now, I didn't want to come out to him at that very moment, because that would have been out of spite, even though I was tempted to very, very much, so I just answered with a "So, what if I was?" And he rambled about how I'm bringing bad repute to our family's name and shit like that. So words were exchanged between us, he said things which he meant, I said things which I meant and people were told where they can go and the word "fuck" was used both as a verb and as an adjective, mostly by me.

Anyways, I'm sure my Dad and Brother will have a lot of words for me when I do eventually come out to them.

But you know what? I really don't care. Because I am what I am. I'm not going to change or be apologetic because of some idea of a perfect world both of them have in their mind. Worst case scenario, they don't be part of my life. You know, I love them and all, but I won't lose any sleep over it.

I can't expect everybody to be as progresive as my Mom.

When I came out to her I never realized what a big bombshell it was for her. The good thing did was continue to talk about it with her. We've had various conversations about my future and being gay and all. At one time, she wondered if I could have my cake and eat it too (with a Tom Cruise/Shah Rukh Khan type of deal). But I told her I'm not like that. Then a few weeks after that, one of my brother's friend came to visit, and she told my Mom that her husband had left her and their kids for another man. So that day my Mom told me that she completely agrees with me that a sham marriage is a really, really bad idea. Really, really bad.

Fine. I'll stop saying really for the rest of this post. But it is a really, really bad idea.

And now, after almost eleven months of knowing that her son is gay, my Mom is actually a tad bit enthusiastic about it.

And no, I don't need anyone to feel bad about the lack of projected support from the rest of my family. Because my Dad knows better than to argue with me and my brother thinks that repeating the last 30% of what the other person just said consists of a comeback.

And the world knows that if I have an argument I want to win, I'll move heaven and earth (well, no one can actually do that, but I do promise to move my fingers. A little bit.) to win it. Even Socrates ended up agreeing with me when I went back in time to argue with him. (Okay. I did not. But Speed 2 reminded me of Speed which reminded me of Keanu Reeves which reminded me of Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure in which both Bill & Ted time-nap Socrates. I'm really digressing, aren't I? Fine. Be a bitch about it.)

To steal a quote from and end in the spirit of gossip girl,

The truth always comes out, it's one of the fundamental rules of time. And when it does come out, it can set you free or end everything you fought to preserve.


Rambunctious Whippersnapper

p.s. Why does it sound sexy when Kristen Bell says it and so lame when I do?

It's because I'm fat, isn't it?

Thursday, December 11, 2008

All that hard work down the drain

You spend your whole life trying to build a reputation. Then, one wrong move and everything you worked hard for is taken away from you.

My whole life I have worked hard towards achieving certain goals. And one mistake, one stupid, silly mistake and all that is no more.

Ever since I was a kid, I have worked and worked to have my family accept me as a no good neanderthal who cannot be trusted to do a day's hard work and who is constantly on acid or some other substance.

Now, a few months ago I my family asked for my help for something. Now when they ask me to do something, I'm usually the LAST possible person they could turn to. So, I obliged. No, not out of any guilt. That's because guilt is mostly for religious people.

Anyways, before this incident, my family was well programmed to ask me for a favor only every six to eight months. And they didn't even trust me enough to walk the dogs. Not that I am a big fan of walking the dogs. I mean, it involves three of my least favorite things. Walking, dogs and helping out my family.

Now ever since I unselfishly granted them that favor, without even debiting the six monthly account, things have started to change.

Suddenly, my opinion is being sought on something. My opinion. You know how dangerous that can be. Last time someone sought my opinion, there were tears, broken bones and the threat of bloodshed. However, certain members of my family have started treating me like some insider. They act like I am part of this social group.

How rude is that?

Just yesterday, my sister asked me to watch one of my nephews. Me. You know, l thought she knew better.

Years ago, a cousin of mine who was not privy to my reputation had asked me to watch her kid. She belonged to a family which believed in the evil practice of vegetarianism. By the time I was done watching the kid, his favorite breakfast was sausage and he started eating Pepperoni pizza every alternate day. Needless to say, I was never asked to watch anybody else's kids again.

Even though, all I did was give the boy a real taste of freedom,
no one ever asked me to watch their kids again. I wonder why.

Am I not a good role model or something?

Then there's Dad. Who expects me to help out a little with the business. He thinks that it's okay to ask me to help him with my tax return just because he is preoccupied with something urgent. He thinks I have no life.

I don't. But that's not the point. It's the spirit of the thing, really.

And my Mom. Just because I forced her to fire some of the domestic help because I was allergic to their face, she expects me to help around the house. Do impossible things like making my own cup of coffee.

Ha!! Fat chance of that happening!

I simply order out. Hmph.

This is why I used to have that six month rule. All that is in the crapper now.

Although, now when I think about this, maybe this is a good thing.

Now that my family treats me like I belong, it must translate into more money. Maybe a bigger expense account or something?

Look. I'm all about the silver lining in the dark cloud. Cause when life hands you a couple of lemons, you slice them up and add them to your cocktail.

Isn't that what they teach you in business school?

Friday, December 5, 2008

One by one I see the old ghosts rising . . .

Today is truly a weird day. I've had this line from the John Fogerty song playing in my head since morning, even though I haven't listened to the song in ages.

Anyways, as I was not feeling like crap after a long time, I was eagerly waiting to start wasting my day, as usual, when I got a call from an former classmate. Dude was standing outside my alma mater and gave me a ring-a-ding for ol' times sake. After the momentous effort it took me in trying to place him, and having what can only be described as a one-sided conversation, wherein he reminisced about the good times we supposedly had and I pretended to remember and made all the right noises, we hung up with the usual empty promises to meet again for a beer. Yeah, sure. That's so gonna happen.

I also got a call from a college friend of mine who told me that the only girl to ever break my heart. Okay. That's a stretch. She obviously didn't break it. She just took it out of my body, made a little smoothie out of it, added a sprinkle of nuts and chocolate, drank it in one gulp and then came running back for seconds. As I said, nothing dramatic. You know I hate being dramatic. Okay. She is getting married to her boyfriend of seven years who was once caught cheating on her, screwing another girl in the powder room . Classy, I know. It was a total if-that-doesn't-keep-kids-in-school-then-what-will kind of moment.

Although, I'm glad she did what she did to me. It helped me grow and fine myself.

Who am I kidding, I would have found myself anyway.

I'm was gay as Tom Cruise in that scene from Risky Business.

(Which begs the question, whatever happened to Tom Cruise? When did he turn into this crazy psychopath who keeps babbling about some crazy religion which has totally untrue and unreal notions about life. I thought that's what the Pope was supposed to do? I'm confused now.)

Alright, I'm digressing. Now, she also made me read her diary. And though I'm not the one to read and tell, she was once in love with her cousin.

Yes, her cousin.

Who she made out with.

On TWO separate occasions.

And that's not even the worst part.

That boy was ugly as hell. He looked like a pre-pubescent Joe Pesci.

Okay. Let's all calm down. No harm, no foul.

I'm just glad that all of us have moved on and bear no ill will towards each other.

I hope her fiance loses all his hair before he's thirty. Serves her right, the little shit.

Hey, she's the one who kissed a blood relative and is marrying the cheater. What are you judging me for?

Okay. Focus. Moving on, as I was trying to read my book, which coincidentally is also called The Ghost, picking up from where I left off the day before, suddenly my phone rings again. It's a very familiar phone number. A number from which I have received more than a thousand calls and messages over the past few years. Most of which have gone unanswered. No, not trying to be rude or anything, but that's what you do to a former stalker. No, I don't think she's crazy. Of course not.Are you kidding me? She's just stark raving mad. A absolute lunatic.

So I was shaken a little bit, but still determined to do at least one constructive thing in the whole day, I tried to distract myself by trying to concentrate on some good food. But before I sat down to eat a scrumptious meal, I remembered that I had an important email I was supposed to send. So, in the spirit of a post-procrastination existence, I logged into my email account and was preparing to send that email.

Lo and behold!! Who do I see signed into chat for the first time in four years? Yes, the chat status of he-who-shall-not-be-named, was set to "available".

I stared at the screen in disbelief and horror for a few minutes. I tried to come up with a plan of action. There was a tug-of-war taking place inside me. The self-hating-glutton-for-punishment part of me wanted to try to say something to him. The sober part of me (which rarely speaks up) wanted to log off right away. The medicated part of me was wondering how much time remained until the next scheduled dose.

Anyways, as a truce, I opened the chat window, typed "Dude ...", waited forty seconds for a reply that didn't come and then immediately logged off. I don't know if I suddenly turned into a 17 year old or that upping you dosage without consulting a medical practitioner is harmful, but right now, I can't feel my legs and my hands are still shaking.

Seriously, it's like Deja Vu all over again.

Okay. I know some of you may feel sympathy for the other people mentioned above. But remember, you don't know them. You know me. So, take my side when the lawyers call.


Thursday, December 4, 2008

Isn't it morose that life has a way of making you eat the very words you once said?

Or that sometimes even words seem to fail you?

Saturday, November 29, 2008

This was written yesterday night. The crisis is finally over and I have been able to switch off my TV.

I can't seem to tear myself away from the TV for the past forty eight hours. I want to look away, I want to sleep, but I can't. I just look. In horror and morbid amazement.

It's not that there haven't been terrorist attacks before. There have been. Like a lot of other people, I felt angry for a day, talked about bombing a country or two and moved on. Because that's what we are supposed to do. Move on. Human spirit is supposed to triumph over everything.

But today, as I see the Taj burning, I don't want to move on. I want to remain angry. I cannot switch off the television. I cannot bring myself to talk about anything else. I cannot even think about anything else. Everything seems so insignificant.

Today, like those innocent people killed by those miserable scums, a part of me had died too. Yet, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

I wonder why those innocent people had to die? What was their fault? Is this what our world has come to? To think that a lot of them were just there to have a meal. To celebrate a wedding. To celebrate a promotion. To toast new business partners. To get a taste of an exotic country.

Has all this what our life has come to? Having a meal is now dangerous?

What about those people whose house was taken over? Even sitting in your own house is not safe anymore?

I want to feel different. I want to feel safe. I want to talk about the frivolous side of life. I don't want to think "What the.." every time a hear a firecracker going off. I want to order new books online and then wait for them to be delivered with childlike anticipation. I want to be able to see something besides the news. I want to worry about the life of my favorite character on Brothers & Sisters. I want to keep refreshing my the frontpage of my blog to read everybody's comments with a little glee. Yet, today none of these things matter.

Maybe I will feel all those things again. Maybe, when this is over, I will finally be able to touch the power button on the remote and switch of visuals of a horrid nightmare which my mind has not still been able to process.

But I won't forget the sacrifices of the brave men and women who gave up their life so that other people could live. I will not forget the sacrifices of the general who thought it better to lead from the front than bark instructions from the back. I will not forget the bravado of ordinary men and women in the most extraordinary of circumstances.

Yet, it doesn't matter.

My heart goes out to all those who have lost their loved ones. To them, all this is words. To them, tonight, nothing matters.

Maybe now we need to wake up and do something while we can.

Otherwise, one day, we won't be able to.

Maybe, right now, even that does not matter.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Fun fact for today: Gay men are not accesories

Now, some of you already know this, by virtue of being Gay men or by having a slightly more evolved brain than the common house rat. However, some people seem not to be aware of this fact.

This article
in Outlook which defines the relationships between gay men and straight women as "the need for straight women to have a man to take along shopping because their husbands and boyfriends refuse to do so".

It's such a stereotypical article, right down to the picture of a token gay writer and his female friend.

Here is a newsflash for the reject Dostana script writers Outlook calls staff reporters: Gay men are not something you carry around like a handbag made of alligator skin. We're not all about , "differentiating between forty different shades of brown" as you say. I only know one person who can do that, and even he can only tell the difference between a maximum of three different shades of brown. (Am I right, Pepe?).

Also, I can't speak for other people, but me and my hag have a friendship based on something much deeper than some superficial reason. We're friends because both of us are more intelligent and much better suited to run the world than other, lesser mortals. And both of us hate shopping like it's the plague. Although, our collective book collections could fill an Olympic sized stadium. And before you go out on a limb, ask us, and end up wetting yourself, we don't lend. Nothing personal, we're just very cheap and uptight.

Also, from what I know, even Will & Grace, which seems to be your source of knowledge about the gay universe, have a much deeper relationship than
the convoluted logic that "a gay friend also keeps women safe from other predatory males". Excuse me, these women live in India. Even the secret service couldn't keep them away from "predatory males" (aka husbands).

And FYI, the only gay people who get girl talk are a special interest group.

They are called Lesbians.


Now please excuse me while I search for a lonely, fat, straight woman who looks at issues through the same "emotional eyeglasses". Cause, those big, large eyeglasses are just so 2007.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Does everything have to have a point?

So I got an email a few days ago from "that" site. It said that I haven't used it for about four months and they were wondering if I forgot my password. I know, I know. I am to blame for not trying and blah blah. That's not the point right now. It's that I wonder if I can ever get over myself long enough to actually try to find someone, and if by some divine miracle I do, I just wish I don't get turned off because he starts every second sentence with the word basically or thinks that being a vegetarian will slow down global warming.

Yes, I have issues. Lots of them. Duh.

Which, by the way, is another fear. That when I actually let someone in, he'll find out how neurotic and fucked up I am and run as fast a gay person used to run in biblical times when he was being chased by a congregation of catholics waiting to stone him.

In fact, my life right now is like a Merchant-Ivory film. Everybody is in their own self-imposed misery and the fat guy never gets laid.


I'm really going to print out a big sign which says "I don't work right now. Ask me why and I'll kill you and get an alibi". People need to stop thinking their Oprah. Some people just don't get it. I mean, if looking through a person while they are almost choking to death on a piece of sushi doesn't get the message through, I don't know what will.


Remember when I was in a funk and had nothing to say? The voices in my head have still not returned. I kind of miss a few of them. Specially Victor. He always made me feel that there is something on my shirt which is making me look funny which in turn is causing everybody to point and laugh at me.

Again, Issues. Clusterfucked brain. Crazy.

Run, baby, run.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

You knew this was coming . . .

I promised myself that I wouldn't be cynical and not react to the bigotry of the retarded polygamist Jesus freaks who helped in the successful passing of Proposition 8. Then I realized that I am a very petty and cynical person. So here goes:

Dear People who voted Yes on Proposition 8:

What I do know for a fact is, being aligned with Satan and all since I'm gay, is that when the "end of days" finally comes, your fearless leader, Wassila Wackjob Sarah Palin, is going to sell out your secret location for a double mooseburger. So, be afraid. Be very afraid.

Dear American Media,

Before you pat your own back and paint yourself as a "progressive" nation and all, keep in mind that South Africa had a black President before you did. They also have Gay Marriage. So South Africa has more equality. Uh-oh.

Dear Democrats,

Grow a pair for once in your life do the right thing for the LGBT community. You have the triple crown. Use it for something good before one of you gets a blow job from some fat woman and you hand the world back into the hands of the people who want to make out with Joe the Plumber in airport washrooms. (Ugggh).

Dear Rest of the world,

Get a fucking life and try to concentrate on your own elections. Geez.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Bringing you news which no one else does

Although by now we all are familiar with Proposition 8 and our stand on it, there are other lesser known propositions on the ballot which do not garner the same attention.

Proposition No, Hoff, No - This proposition makes it illegal for David Hasselhoff to appear in public without his shirt ever again.

Proposition 90210 - This proposition prohibits any further remakes of series originally broadcast in the last century.

Proposition Palin - This proposition requires a that a person nominated for the vice president of the United States be at least smarter than a fifth grader.

Proposition Can we talk about something else now - This proposition requires the people of the United States of America to recognize that it should not take two years for an election. It's not that you can't do short elections. American Idol, anyone? A sub-note of this proposition requires certain bloggers to stop making stupid election jokes in their posts and try to do something a little more constructive with their lives.

Proposition Blubber - This proposition requires people around the world to recognize that double chins and fat stomachs are sexy too. It also requires hot, six pack surfer hunks to date at least three fat people per year. In fact, usually, I am very careful about espousing my opinion, however, I put all my weight behind this initiative.

Proposition Shave that mustache, woman - This proposition requires women to keep their facial hair out of public purview cause ewwww. Unless of course you're a bearded lady at a gypsy fair.

Proposition People who wear magic underwear cannot make rules for other people - This proposition recognizes that it's hard to take people seriously when they beleive in the story of the serpent and the poisoned apple. Instead of spending all that money to prevent two guys from doin' it, get some help for your neurological disorder you call a religion. You know the last guy who interpreted the Bible to mean that certain people do not deserve equal rights? He was called Hitler. And we all know how well that turned out.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

California, you little slut, put the weed down for a minute and say NO to proposition 8

Listen up, California. You really want to do this? Stop gay people from getting married? For what reason? To protect your marriage? Really? And can you please tell me again how two people who love each other and want to spend the rest of their life together harms your marriage?

Unless, you and your wife are huge closet cases.

Oh, honey, then you don't need a ban on gay marriage, you need a fucking shrink.

Now, let's face it. You actually want to ban gay marriage because you're scared. C'mon. You can tell me. It's because you fear that if those promiscuous fags can make it work and you end up in divorce court and lose everything you own, your self confidence might take a little dip to the south side. Just like John McCain's poll numbers. And then you would be forced to recognize that the only threat to your marriage is YOU and viagra.

Or it's because of that medieval book rumored to be ghost written by God?

See, it's okay to believe in such fairytales. We all need some crap to believe in so that we don't pee in our pants everytime the wind gets a little strong the it seems like you're on the set of Deep Impact. But just because you believe that the earth is flat does not mean that other people have to marinate in the pool of your ignorance.

It's okay to practice your ignorance in the safety of your own home/trailer/make-shift box like structure. Even if it means wearing that magic underwear like those freaky mormons or live a flintstone-themed life like the Amish.

Look, Sparky. Let me level with ya. I don't beleive in marriage either. Straight/Gay/Brangellina. If God wanted human beings to spend all their life with one person, he would have made everybody look ugly. He didn't. Ergo.

Anyway, the fight for gay marriage is not just about being recognized as a couple. It's about having the right to visit your partner who is in coma because of some weird kama sutric position you were trying to spice up your monogamous (ughh) life. Or being able to file joint tax returns to sock it to the man. Ye-ah, baby. Or being able to adopt a child together (God knows why).

It's even legal to get hitched with the guy sticking a pole up your arse in the land of the Queen. You see, the British part their stiff lips to blow each other every now and then. So chill the fuck out and say no to proposition 8.

Otherwise, the terrorists win.

Monday, October 20, 2008

The one in which we have nothing to say ... well, almost

So the past few weeks have been kind of surreal. Mostly because I have not felt like talking to anyone. For the first time in my life, it's like I have nothing to say.

I don't know what it is but it's like been very quite in these here parts. Which is very unusual because I even talk when I'm sleeping. Maybe the alcohol is wearing off or my brain has gone into a coma and forgotten to inform me or something like that. Hell, I can't even hear the voices in my head. It's like all of them got together and decided to go for a road drip leaving me behind.

Usually I am very anti-social and talk to a very selected few (mainly because not a lot of people cannot stand understand me), but this is even strange for me. I mean me not wanting to talk is like Paris Hilton refusing to have sex or Sarah Palin not horrifying people with every word that comes out of her mouth. Hell, I haven't even clogged the interwebs with my moronic opinion for quite a while.

I have this uncanny urge to put my head in the sand. Metaphorically, of course. As I said, it's quite strange for me. I ALWAYS have something to say. About everything. Even about things I don't know shit about. Like that time when I gave an advanced discourse about "the birds and the bees" to one of my straight friends who was about to get married. (I had to tell him what goes where and how. By far, one of the worst nights of my life. I still shiver and puke when I think about it.)

I hope this "phase" or whatever ends soon. Cause I don't want to turn into one of those people who speak very little and always think and weigh their words before they say anything.

I just want to go back to being the village idiot, with a ton of suppressed issues, who says everything that comes to his mind because he does not have a filter. The person we all know and want to always keep a little drunk because if he is sober, he might be tempted to take over the world.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

This post is anything but normal

So I ran into this old school friend of mine. Actually, I shouldn't really say friend. More of an acquaintance. I mean I don't even have him listed as a friend in facebook. How much of a friend would he be?

Anyways, we got to talking, and by talking I mean he was saying something while I was nodding along trying to remember his name. Which, by the way, I couldn't. So the words "dude", "buddy" and "bro" were used a lot.

Anyways, when I finally gave up trying to remember his name, (to be fair I even tried word association but all I came up with was Freckles, which I think is self-explanatory), he told me he was getting married. I looked at him with the same expression of shock and disgust that is usually reserved for when I hear Sarah Palin talk. Anyways, after a few minutes of silence, I asked him why he is getting married and wondered aloud if I should congratulate him or feel sorry for him.

So, my old buddy, whatishisname, told me that he was getting married because, and I quote, "All his friends are getting married too". He applied the same excuse I gave my parents when I got bored of my atari and wanted a Nintendo (that's pre-playstation gaming consoles for those young fucks who don't know) to marriage.

After I fake numbered him and sent him packing, I realized he is like most people. Those who take major life decisions because everybody else is. For them, life is like walking into a resturant, sitting down, looking at the table on the right, and telling the waiter "I'll have what he's having."

These sort of people spend their whole life keeping up appearances. You know, people who just want to be like everyone else. People, who if you look at from far away, will all look the same, right down to the bad haircut and the mass-market trousers, because all they want in life is to be normal.

This is why i think being gay is like a blessing in disguise. The mind numbingly painful teenage years and social ostracisation aside, part of the reason why I can see things from a refreshingly different angle, is because I am gay. Hey, my point of view may not be plausible and might have resulted from too many blows to the head and a little extra vodka in my orange juice, but it's still my own.

As Jodie Foster once said, Normal is not something to aspire too, it's something to get away from. Boy, I always knew good ol 'Jodie was a lesbian.

Lastly, for those who are wondering, I did congratulate him. And I asked him to offer my condolences to his fiance

He thought I was kidding.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

The one in which we actually think about other people ... well, sort off

So due to some unforeseen circumstances, I was sitting with my family, while they were having a conversation and I was nodding my head to assure them that I haven't slipped into coma. At least on the outside anyway.

Then suddenly this bit about me getting married comes up. Now, my family knows that this subject is not broached with me. But it was a joke, and everyone was having tea, so I let it pass. Another nail in the coffin of my happiness. Why bother, really? Anyways, it was something about building a separate apartment for me in a few years/whenever I get married whatever comes first.

It was assumed that I would actually be staying with my family whence I go back to wasting my life again.

Now don't get me wrong, I wouldn't like anything better than living at a place where the food is good and there is ample parking, but really I don't see this scenario happening.

This is because, well, all the members of my family who are not my mom don't know for sure that I am gay. Of course, they might suspect and hope and pray that it's just a phase and one of those things that boys do like install a basketball board in their yard and never use it or get a weird haircut.

I figure that when I do tell the rest of my family that I am gay, I do intend to move out of this place I currently call home. No, it's not because anyone would say things to me. They know better than that. If I had really cared for their opinion and advice, I would've lost weight ten years ago. That's not the point.

It's that I don't want my family to suffer a smear campaign because of me. I mean I'm used to people looking at me and whispering (Oh, that's his third helping, you know or who the hell wears reeboks with corduroy trousers?). So it's fine by me. I am immune to other people's opinion. That happens when you consider yourself know that you are a superior life form. Anyways, this is not about me. It's about how I don't want my parents to go through all that because of me. Because they have always been respected and spoken about fondly. Even though they have a son like me.

And secondly, when that mob comes to kill me, I just want them to focus on me. Nothing major, I just love the attention.

Hey, turns out I do care about my family. And here I was thinking of selling their secrets for short-term personal gain. Damn you, Oprah.

No, Oprah's got nothing to do with this. I've just always wanted to say that.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Too tired to think of a title

So yesterday, I did something completely out of character and did a task that had been pending for the past two and a half years. No, I did not suddenly wake up and become a do-er of things, it was the absolute last day I could do the task. The final extension had already been granted. I checked. So I pulled up my sleeves (metaphorically only, mind you) and actually finished it.

My parents, who really expected the time limit to lapse and were resigned to another disappointment from me, were surprised to know that I did it a few hours before the clock said that it was midnight.

Strangely, this got their hopes up and they are counting on me to do another thing that has been pending for the past six months.

Six months only? Ha! It's too early and not urgent enough for me to even think about starting to work on it. Hell, I am tired right now and need a break of a few weeks/months.

I mean, parents never learn do they? They always expect their children to come through for them. Even someone like me.

Really, when will they realize that it's not about what I can do for them, it's all about how I can get through life by doing the minimum amount of work whilst getting maximum gains. No, I'm not lazy. That's simple economics. Maximum utilization of minimum resources. Or something like that.

Seriously, aren't I a catch?

Saturday, September 27, 2008

The one in which we talk like a drunk activist

There is this huge discussion going on in our country about homosexuality.

And by huge discussion mean a 100 word article on page 26 of the newspaper expressing the views of three people.

One of the things that stem from the discussion proves is that homosexuality actually exists in the country. Wow. That's so hard for me to believe. You mean to say there are fagots running up and down giving each other blow jobs in the land of the mahatma?

Sex without trying to make male babies?

Sex for fun?

Really. I am shocked is what I am.

As buddha once said, "Holy Shit, Batman!!!"

But isn't homosexuality illegal in our country? As it is written in the Indian Penal Code? The one authored by the British who illegally occupied our country for a few centuries?

Wait Penal Code? The law banning anal sex is called the penal code? You got to appreciate British humor. After all, it's the land of the spotted dick.

What? That's a fucking food item.

But didn't we throw out the British some sixty one years ago and wrote a new constitution? We did that but we still retained the "penal" code as dictated by the British?

So let me get this straight. We can burn buses, destroy public property because of some stupid movie no one is gonna watch anyway, but because some dipshit in the 19th century was a motherfucking prude, we can't pound each other like the alpha dog pounds his little bitch?

You mean to tell me that The right to lube isn't one of them fundamental rights?

Wow. Gosh darnit. Ten thousand blistering barnacles.

So the Indian government feels that just because a few million people want something, it doesn't justify giving it to them.

Oh wait, where have I heard this before.

Oh yes, that was the same logic Winston Churchill gave to the house of commons when the British army in India violently crushed peaceful protests asking for independence.

You can't argue with such genius logic. You just need to grin and bear it.

(Note: I can sneak in innuendo into anything. I'm like Joey from Friends. Only uglier, fatter and gayer. Oh, and less Italian. In fact the only Italian connection I have is my love for Spagetti and meat-a-balls. Fuck you, that's a food item too you pervert. Yes, I'm talking to you unsung.)

You're right Scotty. We have come a long way. Just because things change, doesn't mean they cannot remain the same.

Oh yes. And we can all believe our government when they say homosexuality is against the order of nature. They promised to protect our cities from those evil doers and look at the wonderful job they have done. We're safe from terror as long as we don't step out from our home. Also, don't go to such dangerous places as shopping malls and movie theaters. In fact, our government is the recipient of the first annual George W Bush You're doing heckuva job award. Congratulations. There couldn't have been a clear winner.

My point is that if we expect things to change in the concentration camp we call a country, then we must ask ourselves What are we smoking? And even, somehow, due to some hand of God, even if the law is repealed, people's attitude are not going to change.
That is because in our country being open minded is defined by driving a car manufactured in Korea and eating a chicken steak. Most of the people in our country are living the same lives their ancestors lived 50 or 100 years ago. They just have better technology. And by better technology I mean they use a nokia phone.

Anyways the point is that you can never trust the majority to make the right decision. That is so because the majority of people are stupid. They believe anything their priest, politician and reality show contestant tells them. And most of them are born to be followers anyway.

I'm not saying we need to give up fighting for our rights. I'm saying is that we shouldn't expect things to change in a day. We still have a long way to go.

But what we should not forget is that just all of us have a right to be happy. Just because old people who fart in public tell us that something is perverse doesn't mean that it is. Just do whatever and whomever makes you happy. Even if you are into some weird S&M shit.

Which, by the way, if you are into, please call. Thanks.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack

Contrary to rumors floating around the blog world, I did not die and go to gay heaven (i.e. hell), although I am convinced that's the only way I'll ever get any action. My fat ass is still very much on this planet. I'm not going anywhere. At least for the next two millenia.

Also, to dispel other rumors, I did not join the cast of Weeds, the blind guy didn't see me and I certainly did not have sexual relations with that woman.


(I hope that was the right sound effect. If not, well, I'm not a fucking sound technician, so give me a break.)

However, the rumor about me having a big schlong is something that I'm neither going to confirm nor deny. Draw your own BIG conclusions. Though with my luck, you know which one it would be.

Anyways, before I humiliate myself anymore and drive away the three people who still love me, I just wanted to say a big thank you to all those who missed me. I love you all even though I do question your intelligence. (insert wicked smiley)

And to all those who did not miss me, well, sleep with one eye open tonight. There's going to be a fat guy climbing down your chimney with a big brown bag and it ain't gonna be Santa.

*cue evil laugh*

(I said I'm not a fucking sound technician. Geez.)

p.s. I wasn't away on purpose. There were some extraordinary circumstances that required my immediate attention and were the cause of my absence.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Is that a banana in your pocket or are you really happy to see me?

So I enter this espresso bar, grab a table, sit, take out my laptop, pretend not to notice anyone else, actually not notice anyone else, order my caffe poison, put on some music and start typing/browsing.

Then, as luck would have it, I accidentally notice that a smart, almost-hunk is on the opposite table is checking me out. I pinch myself three times to ensure that this is not the usual nightmare where the hunk turns into godzilla and starts eating me up. Once I confirmed that it was in fact reality, I proceed to process the information.

Is he for real? Is he really checking me out or just looking at me so as to make jokes with his friends? Not that I really care. Is he one of them wonderfully big-hearted chubby chasers I keep hearing about? Does this mean that there IS a God? Does my hair look good? Who am I kidding? My hair always looks good.

Then he started to smile.

I put on my best I-may-be-fat-on-the-outside-but-let's-pretend-I-have-a-personality-on-the-inside face so as to enable him to fall in love with me.

Anyways, he keeps looking and smiling and I keep getting more and more conscious. I even almost drop my cup of java.

Then his friend, who had her back towards me looks at me and says something to me. I guess that she is his fag hag and was just approving me. After all, I had just the right expression on my face.

So she turns towards me and asks me politely

Fag Hag: Excuse me, what song is that?

Me: Which song?

Fag Hag (a little taken aback): ..ummm... The one you are listening to ...

Me (snapping out of planning my first date with the almost-hunk): Oh..,that

Me: It's .... (forgetting name of song ) ...

Me: *long pause* .. How to save a life by The Fray....

Fag Hag (smiling): ... Cool ... Thank You ....

Me: That's quite alright ...

Me (inner voice): Quite alright? What are you? A 1896 homosexual or a log cabin republican? Couldn't you say, that's okay or no problem .... Are you kidding me with this shit? .... Who forgets the name of the song? ... You fucking listen to it a gazillion times a day ... you moron .. you'll never have a boyfriend ....

Fag Hag: My friend here likes the song ....

Me: He has good choice in music .... hahaha (--> the i-love-him-laugh)

Me (inner voice): Why are you so fucking lame? Seriously, since when did you turn shy? Is that even a joke.... No, dumbass ... that is why no one's laughing ... and you don't count pinhead ....

I play the song again. The almost-hunk smiles again.

Then it happened.

Both of them got up. The fag hag looked in my direction. She smiled.

Then, the almost-hunk wears dark black shades, picks up his walking stick from under the table and both of them head out.

The almost hunk was BLIND.

Yes. Someone who couldn't SEE.

He was visually challenged.

So he was not checking me out, the moron was doing some fucking eye exercises.

Whoever runs this bloody planet is a really big frikin tease.

Now please excuse me while I go make fun of people who don't have much going on in their lives.

Anyone who points out the irony is going to have one big fat lip. Men or women. I don't discriminate.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

My own private Idaho

So I'm not dead yet. On the outside anyway. I died on the inside a few years ago, when I found out that John Cena has a girlfriend.

Anyway, I'm away from home at this mountain retreat. Sort of needed a break. "A break from
what?" some of you may asked each other, in a hushed tone. Good question, however, history teaches us that some questions are better left unanswered. Like Who killed Peter Pan? and Why did the chicken cross he road?

So this hilly town I am in just has the basic bare necessities one needs to survive in the world. Like an alcohol bar, two espresso bars, a bookshop, a baskin robins, two pizzerias, and an out of this world bakery. It's safe to say I'm roughing it. I mean the hotel only has basic cable and no satellite TV. That's equivalent to camping in the wild or trying to climb Mt Everest.

And this place always has a strange effect on me.
It's like Bizzaro world up here. I do unusual things like walking for fun and pouring my own glass of water. I even almost smiled to someone. Also, when the reception gave me a wake up call, which I had not asked for, I actually did not beat them up within an inch of their life and did not even have Satan confisicate their souls for the next three eternities.

Another weird thing I've seen is that ugly people only mate with other ugly people and good looking people only mate with other good looking people. There are very few people who really stand out as a "What-the-fuck-is-behind-nose-no-1 and Oh-fuck-look-at-that-ass" couple.

Which is both a good thing and a bad thing. Good thing is that I might have a chance and bad thing is that he would be as ugly as me, which means I'm going to die alone, because I would certainly not date me. I have standards, ya'know.

Maybe I should look into this "wife" thing. If I am going down, I'm taking some poor, unsuspecting, soul with me. Or at the very least I will have someone to polish my shoes when other help is busy. You can never have too much help these days.

Anyyywayyy, I still like it here. The weather is nice and most of the employees at the hotel I'm staying in have the same name. In fact, it's common to almost all service employees. Everyone answers to "Excuse Me". How very thoughtful of the tourism department. That's called putting your customer first. When you don't need to know the names of people who bring your morning cuppa tea or serve you dinner. That's what keeps bringing me back here everytime. That and the fact that I can ignore almost everyone here and not give an excuse.

If only there was a Gay bar here somewhere, this would be a perfect Paradise. Even the chicken crossed the road because there was a gay bar on the other side.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

I promise that this post will eventually end

You know what people lack in this day and age? In fact, something that has been lacking since the dawn of time. Ever since Adam fell in love with Eve's brother, Evan.

A sense of humor.

I don't mean a sense of humor like the ability to crack funny jokes, but the ability to lighten up.

People take themselves way too seriously. The reason there is so much sadness everywhere we turn is because (a) People voluntarily remain sober and (b) Most people let others define who they are.

It's so easy to label someone. And when you do, that someone does his best to live up to that label. Consciously or subconsciously. For example, we somehow have come to the notion that pink is gay. Everything pink is now associated with being gay. Gay rights is called the pink revolution. Wtf, right? Why not magenta? Or coffee brown? Maybe not. Coffee brown sounds too straight.

People also let other people define what is right or wrong. There is this ideal person that everybody wants to be. Someone who by a conscious majority is deemed as an ideal citizen and a moral authority. Someone who always does the so called "right thing" and sacrifices his happiness for others. Personally, I would rather soak my nuts in boiling hot water than sacrifice my happiness for someone who is not me.

Some self-righteous morons have the tendency to define what standards certain people need to uphold to qualify for a particular label. Like if you don't like bollywood or cricket or don't speak your "mother" tongue, you ain't truly Indian. It's like saying that if you prefer to listen to Lupe Fiasco or enjoy a pizza more than you enjoy *insert name of Indian food item* then you might as well go and piss on the memorial of the unknown solider. Personally speaking, I'd rather eat vegetarian food than care about what label other people put on me. And by the by, I only eat vegetarian food when a gun is put to my head. Or if dry humping is involved. It depends on the situation, really.

I am of the opinion that anybody's signoff of "acceptance" on who you are is not required.

I'm not trying to diss anyone, even though I love to do that. Everybody has their own definition of right or wrong and that's how it should be. Like I believe that breakfast is best washed down with a light cocktail. A few might disagree. That does not change my mind.

There is also this irritating habbit that people need to have similar opinions to hang out. There is this notion that people with opposing ideas cannot be friends. I have many friends who completely disagree with my heavily medicated point of view most of the time. But then that doesn't stop me from being good friends with them. And being a good friend I mean not screwing them over for material gain. Well, err... maybe a little. Tee-hee.

Like my brother's beliefs about religion are the complete opposite of mine. But I don't hate him for that. That would be ridiculous. I hate him because even though there is a half-decade age gap between us, the fuck looks younger to me. Grrrrr.

So people need to lighten up and come down from their high horses. People literally jump from their fucking seat to stereotype someone. It's the easiest thing to do. People don't realize that there are always two sides to a coin. My side and the other wrong side.

My Jerry Springr-esque conclusion is that people need to stop marinating in their own pool of self inflicted misery and need to get lighten up. Laugh a little. It's simple and easy. If you find it difficult, please signup for my simple and easy eight-step program.

p.s. I realize that most of my analogies revolve around food, drinks and nuts. But I can't help it can I? I'm fat, alcoholic and gay. So sue me.

Friday, August 29, 2008

Career Day at Whippersnapperville

So I heard some lady on CNN talk about glass ceilings and being what you want to be and so I thought it would be great to have a career, once again, even if it is for a week or two. Don't wanna try too hard, too soon, y'know.

I thought I'd be a politician but then I realized that it involves being nice and telling ugly people that "Beauty is skin deep" and doing other crappy things like kissing babies and shaking hands. That's really not any fun. Plus if you're in the system, it's pretty hard to criticize it and blame it for your unwillingness to do something about all the shit floating around in the world.

I wondered if I could be an activist working to change society and uplifting the poor and the downtrodden. Then I realized that it would mean that I would need to go to places which don't have air conditioning or bottled water or an espresso bar. Without these things, it's really impossible for me to exist. And I'm allergic to fresh air anyway. Also people who look like they haven't had to eat in ages freak me out.

So I thought that maybe I can try to be a lawyer. While I was reading article 1 of the constitution, I realized that why try to change things which already have a system? Poor people vote rich people into office. That's democracy. Poor people come into office and rob other poor people. That's socialism. And when poor people come into office and become rich by killing all the rich people, that's a revolution.

Then thought I'd become an actor. However, there's not enough money in the world to make me pretend to be a straight guy again. Unless it's straight guy who does other straight guys on the side. Then I'm up for it. Alas, to my utter disappointment, I found out that in the reel world, fat people don't have sex. So that ended all my silver screen dreams.

So on a bright, sunny day, I thought I'd take up a gig as a motivational speaker. Then, when I was getting ready to write my first speech, it dawned on me that telling unsuccessful people that there is still hope in their life and giving them a reason to live is really not my cup of decaf mocha. I mean with one stupid speech, I can't change their destiny, right? There is a reason lethal prescription drugs are sold at most pharmacies. I'm not suggesting anything, just pointing out some facts. Don't shoot the messenger.

Then I thought I'd become a psychologist. Why the fuck not, eh? But something made me realize that if I hear one more person bitch about how fucked up their life is I will go ahead and beat them with their own arm after I tear it out from it's socket. And then shave them bald and write "this mind is clusterfucked" on their big, bald head. Finally, just when they think it's over, I'll make them watch John McCain speeches in an endless loop. Nothing can be a more fitting punishment for such people.

Afterwards, when I was flipping through CNBC, I thought that I can try to be a successful Investment Banker. However, good sense prevailed over me. It's not that I won't enjoy wiping out the life savings of unsuspecting shareholders right when they need it. I just don't see myself spending the rest of my life copy/pasting things into a Microsoft Excel speadsheet. And all this talk of bulls and bears puts me to sleep. It also turns me off for some reason. Maybe because it's so unsexy.

So I came to the conclusion that I should stick to my current career path. It's the only thing I'm good at. And the only thing I want to do, really.
Being fat man passed out on bar stool.

Sounds like a perfect profession for me.


Wednesday, August 27, 2008

You know you are really fat & lazy when

- all the eateries around your house have installed a special private line just for your calls

- a restaurant introduces an "all-you-can-eat" offer for it's regular patrons, it sends you a notarized letter informing you that the offer does not apply to you

- in a time of crisis, your family turns to you after they have exhausted ALL their options

- you don't want to have children and/or pets because taking care of them will be "too much work"

- you receive an award and you phone in your acceptance speech

- when you show someone your photograph, you tell them that "the camera adds 1800 pounds"

- at your favorite restaurant, when you ask the waiter to bring "the usual", it actually refers to everything on the menu

- your t-shirt size is "oh my god! what the fuck"

- the reason you got late for the meeting? the escalator got stuck

- you classify dialing a phone number as exercise

- your daily intake of food could feed three countries in Africa, for a month

- your doctor privately refers to you as "my house-in-the-Bahamas fund"

- when a car bangs into you, you barely notice while the car is damaged beyond repair

- you are legally required not to jump because the last time you did, it cause an earthquake which was measured at 7.5 on the richter scale

- you have your own postal code

- your blood group is sugar

- you supersize you burger and fries and order a diet coke

- you'd rather die of thirst then go to the kitchen 5 feet away from your room to get a glass of water

- you get invited for an event, your first thought is "how can i get out of it?"

- your insurance company pays you in tubs of your favorite ice cream instead of money

- you haven't watched tv in ages because you can't find the damn remote

Monday, August 25, 2008

The world is going to the dogs

So I was half asleep, lying on my bed, out of sheer exhaustion, having been working the whole day. And then ...

Fine. I know you folks wouldn't believe me anyway. So let me rephrase that.

So I was lying on my couch, almost passed out from having had a little extra to drink than usual, when suddenly I found myself privy to some strange conversation.

I have always suspected that animals speak to each other and just pretend to be dumb in front of us. Yesterday, I got proof. I heard my family's pets talking amongst themselves. Coincidentally, it was about me.

So let's call these pets M, D and S.

Here's whatever part of their conversation I could remember:

M: So he's passed out again on the couch.
D: I'm getting sick of this shit, ya know. This guy has no life.
D: I mean, I'm not trying to judge here, but get a job, buddy.
S: I know!! He just lies around all day doing nothing. What a bum.
M: What are you guys talkin about? Don't you see him typing away on his notebook most of the time?
D: He's probabaly seing some porn again. What a fuckerhead.
D: That's the good thing about being a dog. You don't need porn. You're always naked.
M: You're such a dweeb, you know.
S: Shut up both of you, you'll wake him up.
D: Oh, don't worry. He's not going to wake up for another few hours.
D: Even a bazooka wont be able to wake him up right now.
M: That was funny, *giggle*
D: I'm funny like that, sometimes.
S: Oh, shut the fuck up asshole. I already hear him say that the whole day long.
S: Now you don't start. If I hear it one more time, someone's going to need a rabies injection.
M: I know. He thinks it's funny. Someone needs to tell him that it's the best seller at the lame-o-rama.
M: Lamer than his joke about calling us "Sons-of-Bitches" the whole day long.
M: I mean, for the love of the big woof in the sky, get a new joke. It's been two years, jackass.
D: Oh, he thinks he has a sense of humour.
S: Well, I don't know where he gets such weird ideas from.
S: And he's really been unstopable the last few weeks.
S: Someone's been giving him the wrong idea that he's funny.
M: You know, sometimes, when I hear him talk, I want to kill myself, just to feel a little better.
M: I agree. It's just not worth it.
D: You guys, you should start meditating.
M: Where do you get such weird ideas from?
D: Well, I was hungry and got one of his books to eat, but it was this new age spiritual book and it got interesting.
D: I now know three types of meditation. Yay for me.
D: And, I started my second bok already. I'm currently half-way through something called The Secret.
S: What's it about?
D: It's about positive thinking and shit like that.
D: You need to tell the universe what you exactly want and it ends up giving it to you.
M: Like a drive-in McDonalds?
D: No, not exactly.
S: Then?
D: Well, it's complicated. Too deep for your primitive minds.
M: Who died and made you a neo-guru, huh?
D: You know M, you can be such a bitch sometimes. Bow.
M: Yeah, like totally.
S: You dogs are crazy, you know that.
S: You're stealing and eating too many of his "special cakes".
S: I think you're getting delerious.
M: Oh, man, fuck, those cakes are delicious. They take me to a place I never even new existed.
M: Like a higher ground or something.
D: Forget that. I was talking to you about catharsis.
D: Whenever you get angry at him, just go and pee on his car.
D: He hates that.
D: And I love it when he gets a panic attack everytime I leave my man-juice on his car tires. The expression on his face when he discovers that is priceless.
D: It just makes all his bad one-liners worth listening to.
M: D, stop licking you own balls. You should know how to behave in front of a lady.
S: Like you're a lady. Ha!
M: Well, I'll have you know, that I pee sitting down. Hmph.
S: Oh yeah, that's the most important thing for a lady. You're right. My bad.
D: I'm hungry. I need some chow.
M: Well, I think he got a new batch of his special cakes made today. It's on the table in his room.
S: Let's go.

Friday, August 22, 2008

The Dream

After having a zillion bad days, finally he was having a good one. It was as if, for him ,the tide had suddenly turned. Finally all the pieces of his life were coming together.

Just yesterday, he had received the reply to his message. The first real date of his life was going to be tonight.

And now the call from the publisher. His dream of seeing his name in print was finally coming true.

All those years of struggling to come to terms with himself and all that time he spent wondering whether he was doing the right thing or not was a now a part of the past. The past which he could now bury and move on.

He would not be a failure in world's eyes anymore.

He could not wait to tell is parents. He cut his morning walk short and started running towards his house.

Then, in a flash, it was all over. He never even saw the car speeding towards him.

His name did appear in print. It was in the form of his obituary.

However, he would have to wait for that date. For an eternity.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Finally, the whippersnapper offers his wisdom to the world

Read this before you read anything else: I know most of you are going to ignore this anyway, but let me warn you that the following post may contain language and or euphemisms which might offend you if you are any of the following: God, Women, Men, Gay people, Straight people, Bi people (wtf), Sad people, Happy people, People with big wankers, people with small wankers, people without wankers, anybody who can read. It also compares the so called sacred institution of life with male genitalia. It also equates happiness with having a big wanker and a bubble butt. Wat the hell didja expect? I'm gay after all. D-uh.

Don't tell me you haven't been warned. Read at your own risk.

(Why is the disclaimer bigger than the whole fucking post?)

Since almost everyone in our blogging clique (are we a clique? possibly) is getting serious and profound, and because I cannot offer them individual sessions, I think everyone needs a dose of the world famous, universally renowned, tried & tested (mostly by me), WhipperSnapper Wisdom.

Firstly, all of us have questions. Questions about life. About why we are who we are. About our purpose on earth.

To tell you the truth, no one really knows the answers to these questions. Everybody just wings it. Even God. Or any other fairytale you believe in.

You see with all the shit that has been hitting the fan lately, I think G-d's been dialing it in for a few centuries. Or maybe he's getting laid in the Bahamas. It just depends which particular issue of Satan Times one is reading.

Anyways, I grappled with these questions too. For almost a week. And considering how short my attention span is, that is the equivalent of ten light years in whippersnapper time. What i found was deep and disturbing.

Basically, God was having fun one day and decided to create the earth. He made men who loved men and women who loved women and kids who could be ordered on Amazon dot com. So almost everyone on earth was living happily. Then God's wife saw how everything was going so well and decided to fix it. Typical woman. She made men who begun to like women and women who begun to like men. And people talked about feelings and monogamy. Pffft. Not that there is anything wrong with that. However, there were some original inhabitants who were too powerful even for Mrs. God. So she made priests whose only job was to condemn the original inhabitants. Soon the printing press was invented and everyone started believing this crap. Because people believed that everything that is published has to be true. So after a few centuries the original inhabitants were marginalized. Why? Because most people are stupid. Stupid people believe anything. That is why China does not want democracy and fifty million people voted for George W Bush. Holy Mother of God.

Now, a lot of people think that life is cool and shit and that positive thinking will cure anything. Fuck that. Life is supposed to be one long foreplay before the sweet orgasm of death. That is why alcohol was made. So that you can delude yourself that you're actually enjoying the foreplay and also fasttrack towards the orgasm. That's called killing two birds with one stone. Or licking two nuts with one mouth. Depends on which team you play on.

What I'm trying to say is that people will always find a way to be unhappy. Even if someone has the biggest wanker on earth or the best bubble butt ever, they will find some way to fucking fell sorry about themselves. It's natural. it's human nature. Happens to the best of us. That's how God intended it to be.

That's because if people start thinking that life is one constant blow job after another, who the fuck will pray?

People also wonder where they will be in a few years time. Let me break this one for ya. In a few years time, this beautiful, flawed race will be gone from the face of this earth. Yup. All of us. That's because we'll either choke ourselves to death or we'll nuke everything that breathes. Meanwhile, the best idea is to stop worrying about the future and concentrate on getting laid. Or getting high. What I'm sayin is pick a fucking hobby.

That's all.

Edit: By the way, I hope it shows that I'm an optimistic person. It does, right?

Sunday, August 17, 2008

The one in which we further the "homosexual agenda"

There are those when you get up and you have that feeling that it's going to be a really, really long day?

And even though you wake up at 2.30 in the afternoon, you have this feeling of impending doom. You know it's some festival but you don't remember which exactly? And after having your coffee you realize that you actually promised your sister an actual gift this time around for rakhi instead of handing her some cash and saying "Dude, get yourself sumthing nice." Then you remember that you didn't get her anything but you know she's gonna forgive you when you go sniff sniff and tell her that you have a "bad cold-d". And she knows how lazy you are. She's probably expecting it. So why to shock & awe her?

But that's not why it's going to be a long day. Or a long post. It's because people are coming over. People with kids. Kids of people who I am supposed to be related too. Which is scary. In both ways.

I mean cousins and relatives are kind of funny. I mean people you meet once or twice a year. I, as a rule, don''t bother with their names or occupation because I mostly just say a simple and effective Hi or nod my head to them anyway. The point I'm trying to make is that it's strange that people you are so unfamiliar with act like they're your best friend. Which is kinda stupid but the whole concept of "relatives" is kinda stupid. So I guess it goes with the territory.

Anyways, so this women (cousin? cousin's wife? avon lady??) suddenly decides to take it upon herself to talk some "sense" into me about marriage. Though almost everybody in the room cautions her against it. There have been great men and women who tried to argue with the whippersnapper but alas everything they said or did came to nought. So this women thought that she could change the course of history and change my opinion about something.

So she started her monologue about marriage and she said the usual stuff like you need to further the human race by having more children and that according to her I should now bring in someone take "care" of my parents. Yes, exactly. Like there aren't already enough children in the world and like my family needs a maid or something.

And then I realized, that like most people, she really doesn't know what she's talking about. That she doesn't get it.

I mean isn't mariage supposed to be about two people who love each other and want to spend their lives together. Not because they want to further their clan or get someone to cook & clean. Just like those idiots who accuse the proponents of Gay marriage as trying to further the homosexual agenda (can anybody memo me on this please?) their marriage is based on the wrong principles.

I mean if this is their definition of marriage, then I really don't want any part of it. I'd rather have a "commitment ceremony" or whatever other kinds of crappy names we can come up with.

Not that I woudn't call two people who would want to spend the rest of their lives together lazy and a little bit dellusional, but in a cute way. Cute like having a double chin.

p.s. We have a double chin. So cracks about double chins will not be appreciated. Well, unless they are funny. We'll laugh at anything, really.

Friday, August 15, 2008


Freedom means being able to choose your own destiny.

Freedom means giving and receiving love, without being judged for it.

Freedom means not worrying about what someone else thinks about the choices you make in life.

Freedom means wanting to embrace who you really are, without worrying about what other people say.

Freedom means not wishing to be anyone else but yourself. Nothing added, nothing subtracted.

Freedom means not having to compare your own life with the lives of other people.

Freedom means feeling happy for others for the love & happiness in their lives, even though it may be missing from your own.

Freedom means following your own bliss and not living your life according to someone else's script.

Freedom means to always be yourself and not pretend to be what you are not.

Freedom means making mistakes, owning up to them and learning from them.

Freedom means the right to find your own way to God. Or not believing in him/her at all.

Freedom means not subscribing to the classification of every action into good or evil.

Freedom means realizing that the world is your oyster.

Freedom means chasing your dream, even though everybody else and their uncle think you are meant to do something else.

Freedom means the ability to laugh at everything, especially your own self.

Freedom means opening your eyes to see the funny lining of the dark cloud, even though others choose to be blind to it.

Freedom means not becoming a prisoner of your own mind.

Freedom means not owing anybody any explanation.

Freedom means not to fall in the trap of "right" or "wrong".

Freedom means not putting a label on yourself or on anyone else.

Freedom means not living up to any stereotype.

Freedom means saying what is in your heart and not worrying about the consequences.

Freedom means trusting your own judgment, despite those various moments of weakness.

Freedom means defying convention to do your own thing.

Freedom means laughing at your own joke even though no one else thinks it's funny.

Freedom means letting go. Finally.

Freedom means moving on without looking over your shoulder.

Freedom means singing your own song, no matter how much out of rhythm it is.

Freedom means to look fear in the eye and saying "Bite me, bitch".

Freedom means deciding to risk it, just one more time.

Freedom means telling someone that you love them. Even if they can't hear you.

Freedom means leaving the job you didn't love to chase after the job that you really want.

Freedom means having that last piece of choclate cake. Even though it's too many calories.

Freedom means that even though they can chain you, jail you, trap you, maybe even kill you, but they cannot change who you are and what you believe in.

Freedom. Independence. This is what it means to me. What does it mean to you?

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

How to be a dumbass in four easy steps

Step 1: Inspite of having a severe cold, shower with very cold water.

Step 2: Right after the shower, sit in your room with the AC on full blast and the fan running on full speed because "
The weather is so bloody humid."

Step 3: Instead of having delicious chicken soup your Mom has made especially for you, go and have a cold can of diet coke. Add ice for extra dumbass points.

Step 4: Refuse to adhere to anyone's advice and have only those kinds of food which aid the frikin flu. Use your own "Hit a cold with loads of ice cream" dumbass logic.

Final Result: End up worse then before and have no one but yourself to blame.

Congratulations, you're now a perfect 10 dumbass. Please take your head out of your derriere and collect your prize.

A two day trip to Urreallyfuckednow town. Enjoy.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Whoever said that happiness is a state of mind was an alcoholic

They can put a man on the moon, send a mission to mars, shoot a camel in the middle of the Kalahari desert from the sky, divide a fucking molecule into sub-particles, but they cannot come up with a cure for the common cold? Priorities, people. Where are our priorities?


You're bravely weathering the flu. You fell as irritated and helpless as the guy trying to teach John McCain about the internet. You decide to watch TV to distract yourself from everything. Then you switch it on, expecting to be entertained out of your miseries, when suddenly you see the following message on your tv:

"The STB cannot receive a signal".

You try to stay calm. You restart and try again. Maybe the bad message will go away. It does not. You then remember that it's satellite television. It does not work during rain, tornadoes, eclipses, sunshine, moonlight, boogie nights etc. Basically the equipment is a piece of crap. Then you get more cranky, call up the customer service and ask them to shove the stb up their useless asses. They pretty much don't have an answer to that, so you bang the phone down. Yes, you showed them.

Then you realize, that you still can't see the flippin TV. Aargh.


Thinking positively only works when you're high. Or when you're scaling Mount Everest.


I have more medicines flowing in my blood stream right now than Courtney Love has in her medicine cabinet. In fact, I think all the bacteria in my veins must be really, really high right now.


Does anybody else find it strange that even though I'm heavily drugged, I can still recall who Courtney love is?


This has been one boring, big-ass post. However, please do not blame me. Please blame western medicine. Thanks.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Open Letters: Rated "O" for offensive

Warning: The following post might be offensive to people who love children, dogs, mothers, early morning risers, parents, family members, know-it-alls, women etc. Consider yourself warned. The author of this blog takes no responsibility whatsoever. Well, you already know that, don't you?


Dear Blogger,

Could you please remove those pictures of those darn kids from my blogger dashboard page. No, I have nothing against children. I sometimes even acknowledge their presence. However, I really don't want to see someone's grown up sperm every time I wish to blog. It really freaks the crap out of me. And I don't freak out easily. Yeah.

which reminds me
Dear parents of infants,

You have a child. Well done. Good for you. They cry. They poop. They suck on their mother's tits. Unless baby's first word is the f-bomb, please don't call me with stories you think are funny and cute. Everything a infant does is not worthy of ohmygodyouknowwhatthelittleonehasdonetodayitssocute.
And I really don't give a rat's ass. It's that simple, really.

Dear Dog Owners (including my family),

You have a dog. Good for you. They bark. They poop. They smell each others ass. I don't find that cute. Not by a long shot. Thank you. Some of them have that "oh-I-am-so-needy" look going on which reminds me of suppressed straight married (oxymoron) guys. Just keep them out of my room. And my life. Not the straight guys, stupid. Just the dogs.

Dear People who use "." instead of space in their text messages,

Do you see the zero key? For the love of all that is good and pure, please, please, use that to separate your pearls of wisdom. Otherwise.I.Will.Go.Crazy. When you put a "." (referred to as a full stop) after a word, it becomes a sentence. This was perfect when people could only communicate through telegrams. However, advancements in modern technology has provided us with an ability to put spaces between the words we type. Not only is that better, it also does not freak me out. Which is what makes the world go round. No, seriously.

Dear the next person who asks me to buy insurance from their company or get liposuction from their hospital or get their company's credit card,

May a thousand camels feast on your nether regions. May a thousand birds shower your head with their choicest excreta. May your first born be a reality show contestant. May the next muffin you eat be sneezed upon.

Dear people who sit on their high horse and look down upon other mere mortals,

There is no bigger fool than the one who thinks he knows everything. There is also no bigger source of comic relief.

Dear people who love getting up in the morning and are beaming even before their first cup of coffee,

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?? STOP READING THOSE SELF-HELP BOOKS. Life is not all rosy and shit. Jesus frikin Christ. Why can't you wake up groggy and sad like the rest of us. And fyi, it's not called being an optimist, it's called being delusional. Thanks.

Friday, August 8, 2008

Baby's first hate mail

Sometimes, just when you feel a little down the dumps, something happens which warms the cockles of your heart. The universe lets you know that it is watching over you.

So I thought I'd check my mail a little. Then, I saw a couple of mails which really made my day. It was such a pleasant surprise. My first anonymous hate-mail. Then another. Then another.

Usually I receive hate mail from people I know/have crossed paths with. But for the first time, unknown senders have taken it upon themselves to cheer me up.

Yes, for the those uninitiated in the ways of the whippersnapper, I love it when I receive hate mail. It just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. No, I'm actually not being sarcastic.

So some wonderful souls out there, have asked me a series of questions. Some are personal and some are spiritual. Some are just statements which I've interpreted as questions. I know what you're thinking, that I clearly have too much time. Well, yes, you're right. However, my first few hate-mail senders deserve an honorable mention. After all, they bought me such joy & happiness. So let's answer some questions.


Q: You said you don't work. You claim to be mooching of your parents. Don't you have any self respect?

A: Self respect is hypothetical. It was made up by some poor schmuck in the early 20th century England because he couldn't afford a room in the Ritz. So, to convince himself, he invented the words "Self Respect". Legend has it, that he kept muttering "I've got self respect, I've got self respect" over and over again to keep himself warm. Alas, that didn't help and after a few hours, he died of cold & hunger. So self respect doesn't even get you a warm cup of coffee or even a torn blanket. Also, modern usage includes a middle-aged woman who leaves her philandering husband after she catches him screwing his secretary. She continuously tells her spinster sister "At least I've got my self respect.". What she really wants is some action. This demonstrates that there is really not much practical use for "self respect", except maybe to provide motivation for a few vague characters in a Daniele Steel novel.

So to answer your question, no, I don't have any self respect. I have air conditioning.

Q: When you say that people hate you, you're right. I hate you more than anything else in the world. I hope you DIE.

A: Awwwww ... You really mean that? Thank you. It's really touching when someone says something so sweet.


Q: How will you reach out to God to atone for your sins?

A: Usually, I just send him a muffin or something through facebook. That does the trick.

Q: When did you sell your soul to the devil?

A: When I was five. But then he couldn't enforce the agreement when I grew up because according to Satanic Laws, contracts signed by minors without the presence of parents and/or guardians are null & void and are not valid in a court of satanic law. You see, I was a sharp cookie even back then.

Q: Your lifestyle has already reserved a seat for you in hell. Repent. Change you ways now and the lord may forgive you. Accept ***** ****** as your lord and savior. If you continue in your ways, you will roast in hell for eternity. For ETERNITY.

A: Meh. I'm pretty much set in my ways. I don't think I can change them. Plus since hell will be filled with a lot of us, I'm guessing I'll be getting lots and lots of action there. So thanks. It's the math, really. Though it's sweet of you to ask. Hopefully, you can find some other chump who will let you ruin his life. There's one born every minute. By the way, I've said it before and I'll say it again, people like you shouldn't be reading Gay blogs. You might CATCH it. *gasp* *gasp*. Now stop tickling my funny bone and get back into the asylum, you hilarious little thing.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Missing Blogger found . . . . . alive

The Blog police has finally managed to locate the missing blogger, Mr Rambunctious Whippersnapper aka Whippy aka Ramby aka RWS aka Ramb (you get the drift).

Mr WhipperSnapper was found today, lying unconscious on his bed.

He was wearing a black t-shirt which had the words "Mayor of WhipperSnapperville" on the front and "I disappear like that, sometimes" on the back.

The police got suspicious when various blogs started to miss a few stupid, lame, repetitive and moronic comments. It led them to the conclusion that Mr WhipperSnapper is either dead or in a coma. Sadly, he was just missing.

After they found him, there were various attempts to revive him. One fine day a mysterious lady appeared wearing a dress made out of the Union Jack and threw some dew drops on his face. The next day a minister wearing a bandage on one hand and holding a dumbbell on the other, came in and read out some hitherto unheard of psalms from the bible. Also, all the time there was a fly buzzing around him, watching his every move, clamoring for him to wake up.

Then, thanks to his co-conspirators, after a few days, suddenly, he woke up, still a little sedated, muttering "I need to blog ... I need to blog .....", over and over again.


I know, I know. Very, very cheesy. But I couldn't resist. We shall resume normal programming shortly. You all are wonderful people.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

I can't think of a title for every post

So one of my neighbors is getting married. His funeral marriage procession is just passing by. The band is playing some irritating hindi song which I have drowned out with some hip-hop. I'm practical like that, sometimes.

I don't know why but this suddenly reminded me of the time when I wanted a traditional wedding. That was very long ago, much before I had discovered my inner Satan and dispensed with any and all traditional garbage.

I actually felt bad for my parents. Which in itself is new. They would never have this whole big-traditional-wedding with cute-invitations and multiple-cuisines as far as I'm concerned. Not that they would be surprised. I am anyways a big disappointment and have never made them happy, really. Except that February in 2002 when I suddenly got good grades for the first and last time. No, I hadn't studied, the person sitting next to me was really easy to bribe.

I wonder why suddenly I am concerned with other's happiness? It's quite a strange and unusual feeling. I think it was the vegetarian food I had for lunch. Vegetarian food makes you think. Note to self: Please stick to destroying the ecological balance. Nothing is more noble, really. Dumb green vegetables. Gimme a steak anyday.

When I was younger, I thought I'd have India's first traditional gay wedding. Be the first to send out those groom weds groom cards. But then some stupid lesbian couple beat me to it. Sheesh. Women. They just have to do everything first, init? I mean you got multiple orgasms, let us have something for crying out loud.

Anyways, realistically, if I actually have a wedding, (which I doubt because nobody really likes me), it'll probably be in some first world country which has gay rights and all, with three or four people as witnesses and some kooky old judge pronouncing us as "Partner & Partner". And then we'll head to a dinner for eight at some overpriced restaurant. I mean where's the romance in that? Stupid homophobic straight people.