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.
- if you saw the first Die Hard in a theater during it's original run
- when you can speak of a time when George Micheal and Micheal Jackson were cool
- if you ever owned a Nintendo, a gameboy and a sony walkman
- if you played snake and brickbuilder on your computer
- if you ever owned a dot matrix printer
- when you couldn't imagine an Oscar or Grammy award ceremony without Billy Crystal hosting
- when you remember a time Woody Allen had not yet become a creepy old man and Oprah just had a few hundred million dollars
- if you remember when people used to say "Can we look it up on that internet thing" instead of "google it, bitch"
- when being an Indian tourist in a foreign land meant being asked about "where you park those damn elephants?" or "Is snake charming a high income profession?" or "You mean to say you have electricity in India?"
- if your angst filled teenage days were provided a soundtrack by the music of Linkin Park and Korn
- if you had a huge collection of Simpsons memorabilia
- when you remember a time that music channels used to play only music
- if you used ICQ and IRC chat to connect with all your friends
- if you ever thought that an Indian winning the booker prize was a big deal
- you used to have two words for your friends and teachers (a reference only wwe fans would understand)
- your first cellphone was as big and heavy as a brick
- if you remember the controversy caused by that episode of Seinfeld when they talked about "masturbation" (without actually using the word) for the first time on prime time television
- if you remember the pre-K Jo-ed Shah Rukh Khan and a moderately angry Amitabh Bachchan with real black hair
- if you remember when there was no Gmail and your hotmail account only had 2.5 MB storage
- if you had a huge collection of Archie, TinTin and Asterix & Obelix Comics
- you thank your lucky stars that you were not born at an age when harry potter came to life
- you're a fan of David E Kelly shows
- if you ever thought that reality shows were just a passing fad
- if you've hummed MC Hammer songs
- if you remember dancing to "Everybody by Backstreet boys" when you were really, really, really drunk ... i mean reallllly drunk!!
- when you remember paying for music
- your fist blog was your diary
- if you've ever "chilled out" or made someone "talk to you hand" or exchanged wasssssuuupppppp's with your friends
- you get arrested for attempted homicide and all you think about is how to spin this into a funny anecdote for your blog
- a friend tells you a personal event or anecdote, you thump the table yelling "Post", "Post" (live demonstration provided by this woman)
- you break up with someone by leaving a comment on their latest post in which they gush over your most recent date
- you consider your blogs as part of your estate
- someone says something personal to you, they never fail to add a stern, "Please don't blog this!!" followed by "I MEAN IT"
- you legally change your name to your blog pseudonym
- you don't blog for a day and your readers assume you're dead and they call your local emergency number
- you receive a bad appraisal, and ask for a justification, your boss shows you browsing records which show that you spend 99% of your workday on yourblogname.blogspot.com
- your parents leave the following comment on your blog "Son, please come down and have your dinner. We miss you. It's been four weeks."
- you pretend to suffer from MPD just so you can use the same username for all your blogs
- your conversation skills are limited to "LOL", "Gr8 Post", "LMAO" and "ROTFL"
- your children are named after the people who comment the most on your blog
- you get fired because your boss reads about your "sexy and fun shopping trip to SOHO" on the day you took off supposedly for visiting your sick grandmother in the hospital
- you blog about your date WHILE you are on it
- you can identify your readers by their IP address
- the most exciting thing to happen in your life in the past year was on the day your blog had 100,000 visitors
- you publish more posts in a day than the number of times you take a leak
- you start a blog on the lines of stuff white people like, hoping for a similar book deal
- you quit your job and start writing a book when danbrownfan_1965 writes a comment praising your writing and calling you a future booker prize winner
- you only listen to music by artists who have their own blog on my space
- you haven't seen daylight in six months
- you need to get surgery done on your index finger as it has gone numb because of being frequently used to refresh the comments section of your blog
- your comments on other people's blogs are bigger than their posts
- you remind people that they already have blogged about a particular event
- people close down blogs because of the frequency of your comments
- you ask other people to felicitate you in exclusive blog posts on their blog because you are their most frequent commenter
- you write a list which enumerates symptoms to identify obsessive blogging
"You need to go out a little" he said. "You can't stay with me the whole day".
"I can. I don't want to be anywhere else but here". I told him.
He looked at me and smiled. He really did not want me to leave.
"Will you promise me something?", he asked me.
"What?", I inquired.
"That you will love me no matter what. That even when I grow old, start losing my memory and appear haggard & wilted compared to the young ones, you will still love me". I could feel that he was scared. My heart ached for him.
"I promise to be by your side for as long as I shall live", I assured him.
He sighed.
"I need another promise", he said, looking away from me.
"What now?", I said, in a mock-irritated tone.
"If I .... cease to function one day,.." he said carefully picking his words, "you will find someone else. You will not grieve over me. And you will give away parts of my body to those who need them. So that I can live another life through them".
I didn't answer.
"Promise me", he demanded.
I nodded my head. It was like acknowledging the elephant in the room. I sighed.
I didn't have enough strength to look up and face him.
"Get the new model to replace me. The one you had your eye on", he told me, half in seriousness, half in jest.
"No one can take your place. You're special. You will always have a place in my heart", I told him.
I meant that and I wanted him to know that.
He then appeared to go into a long slumber.
We knew what was coming. The virus had taken over him. It was just a matter of time.
I thought of all the time we has spent together. All those times we shared a good laugh, those times when he bore the brunt of my anger to relive me of my stress, those long Saturday afternoons we spent playing games with each other. Those winter evenings which we passed reading books and listening to my choice of music and all the good and bad movies we saw together.
I still remember everything like it was yesterday.
We tried all that we could to keep him alive. To make him live another day, to witness one more sunset.
However, the virus was too strong for him to survive it.
Then , suddenly, in a flash, he was gone. Gone forever.
That's when I knew that my favorite computer had processed it's last binary digit.
Ever since I got up today, it feels like a Saturday. Yes, i know it's a Friday, but somehow today, it just feels like a Saturday. Now some may ask what exactly a Saturday feels like, but then we really can't answer such philosophical questions. Specially on a Friday which feels like a Saturday. Now, usually people may consider this to be an upside, but we know better. If Friday feels like Saturday, then Saturday will feel like Sunday. And Sunday will feel like Monday. The whole process will be ruined. Although, a question arises if that hasn't the whole process already been fucked up beyond recognition and repair?
And the reason we find that feeling like it's Saturday on a Friday is strange because usually life is just a haze. Sunday to Saturday, all pass by in a flash. Each day is filled with the same, dreary feeling that nothing is ever going to change. No day is different. It's all the same. So why does it then, seem like a bloody Saturday, on a bright, shiny Friday?
Maybe there is a deeper, philosophical meaning to all this. Or maybe my mind has finally caved in and actually gone crazy? Who knows? Who cares? Who gives a fuck? Not us.
And then suddenly on a Friday which feels like a Saturday, we have an epiphany. Among other things, we realize that we find the world, so ....... so ........ so ...... funny.
Don't know why, but today everything just seems funny.
It's funny that people kill each other because they don't share the same religious beliefs. It's funny that we are fussy about olives in our martini while orphans in Africa die of hunger. It's funny that a 15 year old kid is killed by his friend because he dared to ask him out. It's funny that people make their own lives a living hell because they want to subscribe to some sort of moral standard. It's funny that people live their whole life trying to fit into the role that society has set for them. It's funny that the very same people who have children so that they aren't alone when they grow old, end up in an old people's home. It's funny that the world has just been deprived of a good writer/doctor/musician because a husband wants his wife to stay at home and attend to the kids. It's funny that someone right now in some part of the world is thinking of killing themself because they feel alone, neglected, and have lost all hope. It's funny how people take themselves so seriously that they forget how to laugh. It's funny how some people feel that it is okay to deny other people the same rights that they themself enjoy, because they fear that their own children might grow up to be like the others. It's funny how that even thought most laws say that all people are born equal we still honor kings and queens, crowned and uncrowned?
Yes, on a Friday which feels like a Saturday, I am highly amused. Or maybe it's just me.
Isn't it funny that if by accident you did something nice for someone, it might have restored their faith in humankind? Isn't it funny when you finally realize that the only acceptance you were looking for, was your own? Isn't it funny how we want to keep trying to define other people based on our own judgment and understanding? Isn't it funny that when something that turned out to be disastrous at one point of time, actually made everything fine in the end? Isn't it funny that if we don't lose hope and keep searching, one day we will find what we were looking for? And then look back and think that all the stress, all the mental turmoil, just seems a little bit ...... funny? Isn't it funny that your stubbornness is the only thing preventing you from picking up that phone and calling your loved one? Isn't it funny that the only thing preventing you from chasing your dream is you? Isn't it funny that when people you had pegged out in your mind, turn around and do something which catches you by surprise? Isn't it funny that people make life a game, which they try to play every waking moment? Isn't it funny when you realize that all the games were futile and all you need to do is to listen to your heart? Isn't it funny that someone, somewhere right now, just decided to give life another chance? Isn't it funny that a phone call can prevent a person from becoming a dead statistic? Isn't it funny that we spend all our lives chasing after money and fame and when we get it, it feels empty and hollow? Isn't it funny that sometimes happiness is just a good book, a warm cup of coffee and the pitter-patter of rain on your window?
Yes, on a Friday which feels like a Saturday, I am highly amused. Or maybe it's just me.
So I'm kind of in the middle of an important decision about which book to read next and then suddenly I get informed that there are some people who have come to see me. I wonderd who they were because usually people are polite and well mannered enough to call before coming to see me. This way I can make an excuse to not meet the people I don't want to. Nothing personal, but I just don't like to meet people who just love having the same conversation over and over again. I mean, college and school were a few years ago, get over it and learn to talk about books, music and politics. That is why it's important to screen your visitors.
Anyway, I go to receive these people and I am surprised to see them. Because I don't remember who they are and what connection I have to them. And the worse thing is, they are very happy to see me. Then in my mind, I eliminate various possiblities about their identity. First, I rule out the possibility of them being my cousins. Clearly, these people look like they survive on two meals a day, so I cannot be related to them and even if I was, they wouldn't be happy to see me at all. So then I think that they must be from my ex-workplace. Because I remember I used to ignore most of the people there under the pretense of "working". And I used to avoid going to office parties by telling them I use my off time helping orphans. Helping how, you ask? Well by having all the vodka I can get my hands on so that there is none left for the kids. I'm nice like that, sometimes.
Moving on, I'm thinking that either they are from my school or college, albeit from the section of those people that I ignored. Which could a lot of people. Or maybe they are printer salesmen? Who the fuck knows? So I thought I'll find out.
While I'm thinking and trying to figure out their identity, those two people extend their hand, which after pondering about it for two minutes, I shake. Then, they proceeded to talk to me as if they were good friends with me. I am really surprised because I don't think I know them from Adam. I take out my phone and send a text to my brother and Dad to keep an ear open in case they hear me shouting for assistance. Not that I would need any, these people look like I could take them both and still have one hand free for eating ice cream, but people have all sorts of weapons these days.
Anyways, they tell me some story of being our neighbors once upon a time and me playing with them when I was a kid and teaching them english and about rolling their r's or something. Sounds like me. Though I wasn't paying much attention to what they were saying because I was appaled by the shirt one of them was wearing. It clearly looked like it was made from three other shirts and some leftover tablecloth. Anyways, I don't judge people like that, so I tried to make conversation. Maybe they wanted money? Anyways, one of them told me about his sister's wedding. Since I assumed both of them were brothers, as they had the whole "I-need-a-job" look going on, I congratulated both of them. I'm nice like that, sometimes. Turns out they were just friends. Doesn't matter, no harm, no foul.
Anyway, they wanted to inquire about one of the people who I supposedly worked with. I told them I really don't know much about 95% of the people I worked with, except maybe rating them on the bad emails they write. I also add that if he still works at my ex-workplace even after 4 years, he must be either very patient or have no talent whatsoever. I also told them that they could've just called me and asked me all this and that there was no need to come so far (I assumed they live somehwere far off, I didn't bother to ask where). Then they asked for my number and I think I gave them one of my out-of-work numbers because I really don't want to be their friend. Nothing personal, but I just don't see ourselves having anything in common to talk about. I mean, clearly they don't have time to read books or watch and understand Boston Legal.
And as I always do, I took the opportunity to educate them on calling beforehand when coming to meet someone. Just dropped a hint or two, nothing major. As I said, I'm nice like that sometimes.
Warning: The following blog post is not suitable for people with low tolerance quotient for the f-word and for those who have a weak heart because of language and content. Skip it if you fall in any of the above demographics. For the rest, come let's all get angry together and box a punching bag. And if you still read it and find it offensive, well, pardon my French.
------------
- People have got to enter rehab for facebook addiction. No, I don't care if you're out shopping for your wedding dress or you just broke your arm. It really would make no difference to my life if you didn't invite me to contests which ask such high-brow questions like which serial killer you think like or what your blond index is. Also, there is a reason I have not contacted you in the past five years, I fucking don't want to. Superpoke this, 
, bitch.
- I beseech people to stop making the same old fat jokes. Aright. We're fat. We eat. Try to think of something more original, you malnutritioned moron. At least don't insult my intelligence and move your lazy ass to google for some new material. I love to laugh at myself but at least go beyond the "haha!! you will break the chair" or the classic "Do you want to supersize that? Lol." joke. I'm really not amused. The only thing that is supersized is the duration of your stay at the lame-o-rama motel. And the next guy who looks at me when the lift beeps because it is overloaded, as there are more people than it can carry, is going to have to get my shoe surgically removed from his ass.
- I really don't understand how people can talk about stuff they don't know with such authority. If you fucking don't beleive in same-sex marriage, then don't marry someone of the same sex. It's as simple as that. Elementary, my dear homophobe. Or do you want me to spell it out for you, you sanctimonious, righteous, self-loathing, miserable, unhappy, son of a bitch? It's not a fucking disease you moron. You're kids are not going to catch it.
- People have to stop getting so hyper over the iPhone. It's a bleeding phone, dammit. Were you drugged as a child? Is it really that important to you that you stand in line, without any food or water, without using any facilities, from 5 am in the morning, for more than 4 or 5 hours, and then being told that the store is out of stock? Don't you realize that the iPhone is nothing but an iWash and a real iPain in the ass? No offense meant, though.
- People from my old workplace have got to stop calling me and complaining. I mean, if you really feel that you're being screwed and not being recognized for your hard work and shit, then do what I did, RESIGN, motherfuckers. Don't keep crying like a little girl. Even if you are a "little" girl.
- People need to stop doling out free advice. Do I really care what big-loser-with-no-life-and-three-kids thinks about the virtues of marriage? Do you really beleive that I'm going to take someone who has a hairdo which was in vogue in 1925 seriously and heed his career advice? The only people whose advice I care about are the ones who can tell me to go "Do what you want and go fuck off and die" after I consistently don't listen to them and all the people who read this blog (give yourself a big hug, dear reader). Besides them, unless you're asked, please have a nice, warm, hazelnut flavored cup of shut the fuck up. For example, I don't go around telling certain people that they if they have kids it would be a crime against humanity because the kids will be born ugly and dumb and no one deserves that. At least not to their face. I write them letters on a nice piece of stationary. Common courtesy biatch.
So who do YOU want to rant against?
Now, we realize that we are in no position to pontificate and impart any sort of wisdom. In fact, we are legally obligated not to. However, we do feel the need to enumerate certain facts of life for people who are as clueless as we are:
- you raise eyebrows when you show up for an exam in a drunken state and then shrug your shoulders and say "C'mon .. it was fuckin New Year's Day ..." to the examiner; however things iron out themselves when you score the highest in that particular exam while you fail miserably in the ones which you attempted when you were sober
- it is not okay to tell your Dad's business associate, even if you mean to be subtle, that you don't think he possesses the maturity level required to understand The Godfather and are thus not going to lend it to him under any circumstance
- it is somewhat excessive to have an email debate spanning 54 messages sent back and forth with your company's Human Resources department about whether a certain type of trouser qualifies as formal wear or not
- it can somehow harm your career a little bit when you tell your boss's boss to go ahead and "get a life and for fuck sake and stop bloody bugging me just because you feel the need to justify your pay"
- in some circles it is considered inappropriate to make a lot of jokes that imply that a newly wedded couple might have committed incest by getting married; specially right before their wedding night in front of their extended family & friends
- some mothers do not consider tuna salad and black coffee as a replacement for green vegetables and milk no matter how many fake statistics you quote; it just goes to prove that you can fool anyone in the whole world but you just can't fool Mom
- it is not well received when you look at a new born baby and insist that he looks more like the couple's driver and less like the father; you surprisingly are not made to feel welcome in the couple's house afterwards
- your advice is not welcomed when you tell someone who just graduated from school that "life is going to suck anyway so it doesn't matter whateverthefuck you choose as a career"
So as everybody would be wondering, (or not, nobody reads this blog anyway), why the recent spate of dramatic, over-the-top, melancholy-infested posts?
Well, old age is upon us. No, we aren't filling for senior citizen benefits just yet, but we are proceeding towards a particular two digit numbers which, for gay men and struggling starlets, bring forth a feeling of sadness, despair, itchiness, claustrophobia and a general disappointment which makes you question the very point of your existence.
However, certain people (we call them fellow bloggers/friends/fag hags) in the world were (unfortunately for them) assigned to bring us back onto earth by the big, bad queer in the sky. (Yes, God is Gay ..... why else would he take weekends off? .. And he's also American ... no, don't panic ..... shit happens ..... deal with IT). So they succeed in their task and did help us postpone the path to imminent monk-ism. (No, not the one who sold his Ferrari. The one who actually abstains from heterosexual sex. Yes, Gay sex is allowed in monk-ism. You people know nothing. Hmph.)
So we kind of made peace with the fact that we are growing old. We liked that we would be somewhat respected (don't count on it), allowed to stand for office in our fair land (or was that last year?? Dunno. I can't tell you everything .. Some things you need to find out yourself .. Geez), and be able to refer to insolent 20 to 22 year olds as "young man" (though this makes us sound really creepy .. and I mean catholic priest creepy, so we have decided not to use it again unless some insolent young man pesters us), get to use words like aberrant and obstreperous and can look forward to accessing our trust funds in a few years time (though my Dad has assured me multiple times that the only way I could get any more money from him would be if I get off my butt and start working but I do not see that happening soon ... and my Dad appears to be really set in his decision and no amount of emotional blackmail has moved him to change his decision ... but I still won't give up ... I have a right to mooch of my parents .... No, you can't judge me on that. We all have a purpose in life, and that is mine.)
So we somehow came to the conclusion that being young again is not as hot as it is cracked up to be. I mean, most of my teenage memories consist of me being awkward and horny. And nothing much has changed since then. In fact the intensity of both the may have increased manifold.
So I'd rather be at this age, flushed with lots of wisdom to impart, armed with the knowledge that credit card bills cannot be mailed to Santa Claus & and being referred to as Sir, lord, your highness, when I enter a respectable establishment.
So to everyone out there who is wallowing in the pain and somewhat relief of being closer to the date of expiration, don't fret. All you need to feel better is some sort of Tequilla and a few DVD's of Dante's Cove. Trust me. It works wonders.
And all these factors helped me concur that everything just might work itself out in the end.
And if it doesn't, one is never late for monk-ism.
How much do we actually know someone? Can we even get to know someone?
We all have people in our lives who we love, who we cherish and somewhere in our subconscious we peg them down for some stereotypical role. We might do it without it ringing a bell in but I think most humans tend to do that. Or maybe it's me. Who knows?
Then suddenly they turn around and say something or an event takes place and they surprise you with their reaction and suddenly you see them with new light. You suddenly realize that you hardly know who they are.
So that begs the question, how much do we actually know the people we know?
Do we really know everything there is to know about them or do we just get to know only what they want us to know? Or is it our fault that we presume them to be a certain why based on their previous behavior?
Don't we in some way or the other, stereotype people? Yes, most of us do that. In a very subconscious way. And others do that to us to.
Fat people are fat because they overeat.
Or women who meet men to who they are not married to without explicit written consent from their husband are promiscuous.
Gay men are just waiting to pounce upon straight people who have no idea of what's going to hit them.
Two people of the opposite sex are talking. OhmyfuckingGod, they must be doing each other.
Oh, he's Indian, he must love cricket, melodramatic movies and eating with his own hands.
Oh she's Indian, she must love wearing Sarees, making babies and eating with her own hands.
Oh, that dude looks Oriental, must be Chinese.
Oh he's Mexican, must be an illegal immigrant working on someone's garden.
Oh look, she's white, must be easy.
Oh, she said no to me. Must be a lesbian.
Oh, he said no to me. Must be gay .. (well, maybe she was right in my case) ...
You get the idea ....
Yes, most of us do that. Without blinking an eyelid. (When I say most of us, I'm generalizing. I do not mean you OR me. Specially me. Now don't judge. This post is supposed to be anti-judging. I know, I know, hypocrite. But that's the way the cookie crumbles.)
If we meet someone who seems to have a common attribute with someone else, we do fill in the rest of the boxes based on the characteristics of other people we met.
A lot to do with this factor is how certain types of people are represented in the media.
For example, if we look at how the Indian media portrays Gay people, it is far, far away from reality. In fact, they make it appear to be okay to make fun of someone because of their sexual orientation. Not that the American media is absolved of this. I mean the Gay jokes made by Jay Leno and Lettermen are cringe worthy, as apparent from the recent "My Gayest look" controversy.
Maybe what I'm trying to say is that looking at things objectively, there is a need to shun conventional wisdom and look at each person individually.
Not every Gay guy is like the cast of Will & Grace nor is any woman easy because of her color and not all Mexicans come to the US illegally.
The opinion we form of a person, says volumes about who we are.
And no, I'm not trying to be preachy here. Just bouncing of some thoughts.
After all, we need to tell ourselves, "I am unique. Just like everyone else."
I think I'm going soft in the head or I am being overtaken by a virus which takes over your mind and converts you into an emotional wreck ....
Don't beleive me?
I present the following:
Exhibit A:
I was in a coffee shop with a friend last week and our order was taken by a new trainee who didn't know her lemon ice tea from her frozen granitas. And after taking her own sweet time and finally understood the order, I did NOT give her a hard time. Yes. I refrained from telling her off and did not make sure that she left her job and did not force her to look for an alternate career at Pizza Hut.
I actually let her SERVE us the beverages. OMFG. Exhibit B:
Two days later, at another coffee shop, with another set of friends, a barista took our order. And I clearly told him that I want my cappuccino with (please note that I said WITH) an extra shot of espresso and that server (I shan't call him a barista cause clearly he needed a lesson in his lattes and mochas) had the gall to come back and ask if I actually wanted the espresso in my drink. And instead of giving him a lecture on the use of the word "with" and frivolity of ordering an espresso shot outside of another drink, all I did was just nod my head in answer to his question.Just. a. head. nod.
That's like treason in WhipperSnapperland. T-R-E-A-S-O-N.
Therefore, I conclude that a virus has taken over me. Yes. As hollywood has proven time and again, a virus like this takes over one person and then spreads to the whole human race. (C'mon, was I the only one forced to sit through the agonizing second season of heroes?)
And then strange things start to happen.
Like having a caffe macchiato with foamed *gasp* *gasp* milk??
Or allowing a bartender to serve a martini with vodka?
Or not judging someone who wears a bluetooth headset like a hearing aid?
Or not telling parents of rude kids that their children are less trained than my pets??
Oh! the Humanity .....
I can't let this happen. Nay ... I won't let this happen. I'm going to cure myself of such deviant behavior and protect the human race.
Move over global warming. The world's got a new foe.