VISUAL AIDS Thursday, May 31 2007 

                India is developing at such an astonishing rate that if Anna Nicole Smith were alive her tits would have exclaimed, “Jeez! And we thought we were developed!” Technology, entertainment, literature, lovemaking positions, morality, tolerance, you name it we top it. If there was anything that was holding us down it was probably the fact that we hadn’t done anything extraordinary in the field of medicine; some discovery, some cure, or, perhaps, the shattering of some mistaken theory that the world of medicine all over had been embracing as true all this time. But, thanks to the Government Medical College Hospital (MCH) in Kolkata (Calcutta) we have finally broken that jinx. The hospital made the groundbreaking discovery that a certain type of AIDS is, in fact, transmitted by the patient breathing on or by just looking at another person continuously, without blinking, for seven minutes and twenty-two seconds. And it was because of that reason that they threw an AIDS patient, named Kno Mani, out of their hospital and refused to even go near him, finally catalyzing his death.

                  Kno Mani, after he was diagnosed as HIV +, first went to a place called the School Of Tropical Medicine (STM) in Kolkata, where he was asked to go to MCH instead since, apparently, that was the day STM staff members had kept apart to hand-clean each other’s bowels. So the AIDS patient, Kno Mani, and his wife, without any consideration to the people on the streets, walked¾exhaling their contaminated air frequently¾towards MCH. The employees at MCH, thanks to their trained eyes, were able to intuit that the patient had to be dealt with delicately. Kno Mani and his wife went straight to the Emergency Ward and requested to get hospitalized. The authorities screamed at Kno Mani to keep his distance and not come any closer. After wearing their spacesuits, welding masks, and their virus-reflecting pink panties they approached Kno Mani and told him there was no bed available for him.

Kno Mani: But I saw a man in an executive suit arriving with a sprained little finger, accompanied by his seven relatives. They all seem to have got their own beds.

MCH (bravely maintaining their stance): I’m sorry, Kno Mani, No Bed.

                 Kno Mani and his wife, once again, without any sense of social responsibility, walked back to STM with the selfish desire to receive some sort of medical treatment or at least a free glass of water (Oh, the human greed!). However, by the time they reached STM it was already the next day and that was, incidentally, STM’s eat-your-neighbor’s-puke day. So, Kno Mani and his wife, the opportunists that they were, returned to MCH¾breathing out into the normal people’s atmosphere while they trundled along. By this time MCH had called for backup and their expert doctors were already waiting for Kno Mani’s return. Kno Mani and his wife, shamelessly, repeated their plea. But the strong will and the indestructible conviction of the doctors shone through.

Kno Mani: Why can’t you help me, please? I can barely breathe. Please, help me.

MCH: I’m sorry, Kno Mani, No Treatment.

                Unfortunately, after being pressurized by a group of no good ogres (NGO) the hospital had to finally give in and find a discarded corner to accommodate Kno Mani and his wife. However, the combined plan of MCH and STM to make Kno Mani walk back and forth, and thus deprive him of his already weak breathing, slowly began showing its effect. Thankfully, they retrieved the corner quite soon as Kno Mani died a couple of days later. However, the extensive research that MCH had done, with the assistance of the bowel-groping, puke-eating STM showed that it was from the corpse of an AIDS patient that one was most likely to contract the disease. So, as a quarantine measure, every single one of them refused to even go near the body let alone remove it from its spot. Instead, the authorities felt it was more advisable if they hired a bunch of homeless kids to move the body.

                 Later, at a press conference, MCH authorities talked about the strange case of AIDS that Kno Mani had.

MCH: This isn’t the first time that we have had someone with this particular condition. There have been reports of similar cases in the past. And at all times, we have strictly followed the official hospital code of not giving a shit. What common people fail to understand is that there are two types of AIDS¾Type R and Type P. Type R stands for Rich AIDS and Type P stands for Poor AIDS. Unfortunately, Kno Mani was suffering from a severe case of Type P AIDS. There was nothing that we could do for him except keep him as far away from us as possible.

                  The doctors also talked about their latest project where they would do extensive study to try and prove that cancer can be contracted through forwarding email attachments. Suddenly, I feel a lot safer living in our nation.

JA'MON LET'S AUCTION Wednesday, May 30 2007 

                You’d have to be seriously messed up in the head if you ever volunteer yourself to become a suicide bomber; you’d have to be even dumber if you believe celebrities mean it when they say they love their fans above all; but you need to be suffering from mental retardation of a cataclysmic intensity if you aren’t even considering buying anything from the ultimate Michael Jackson memorabilia auction. After all he’s someone who has been entertaining you for years, and, if given the chance, I’m sure he would love to entertain your children, and their children¾and their friends¾as well.                       

                At the auction are some of the most priceless belongings of the “King of Plastic surgery”, which he’s willing to give you if you have about twenty dollars and the documents to all the property that you own¾and yeah, also exclusive babysitting rights to any young boy under thirteen that you might be around for the rest of your lives.                         

               I decide to attend the function in order to get a firsthand experience of what the auction will be like.  The first item up for auction is a wrinkly dark cloth-like material, for which the bidding starts at $5000.  

Me (picking up the dark wrinkly material with my right hand): Hey, Michael, how come this crumpled gummy thing costs so much? What is it? 

MJ (smiling creepily): That’s my precious foreskin that was circumcised way back when I was black.                           

               After I amputate my right hand, I proceed to the rest of the stuff that Jackson is auctioning off.  The second item is a wrinkly white cloth-like material, which has a starting bid of $ 10, 000.  

Me: Let me guess, that is your foreskin after you became white? 

MJ: No, you silly squirrel. Foreskin can only be removed once. That’s a sliver of my ass after I became white.                              

                I walk around further trying to find something that hasn’t either been sliced off his ass or chopped off his dong. I stop when I see a collection of men’s innerwear. Since they appear really small, I naturally assume that I’m looking at them from a great distance, and I try to walk closer towards it. After two steps, I go crashing into the wall on which they are hung. Then I realize why they look so small, they are all children’s underwear.  

Me: As sick as it might sound, please tell me those are yours from when you were a kid. 

MJ: No, you silly parrot, those belong to my favorite young friends who constantly visit me at my home  

Me: That’s what I was afraid of. 

MJ (pointing): That blue one’s Macaulay Culkin’s from when he was ten; that tight red one’s Haley Joel Osment’s from when he was eight; the polka dotted pink one belonged to Fred Savage when he was eleven; and that cute little golden thong belongs to Chris Tucker. 

Me: You mean Chris Tucker’s from when he was a kid. 

MJ: No, he left it here yesterday night                                             

                 Two used soap collections, three pube packets, a couple of stained teddy bears, and five life size Peter Pan figures with torn out behinds later I begin to get the feeling that there’s a certain theme to this entire auction. Desperately seeking to find something that doesn’t stay with the theme I scan the area until my eyes fall on a bottle of hand cream.  

Me: I’m guessing the hand cream is also part of the past you shared with your young friends.                                    

MJ: Actually, no. That’s something that connects me with my son in a deep and profound way. 

Me (guilty that I misunderstood him): Really, what do you mean? 

MJ: That’s the hand cream that I had on when I was dangling my son from the window of my hotel room on the 15th floor.                                              

                  Hours later, I end my time at the auction and head back home. As I’m walking down the street, I ruminate on the unusual experience that I had at the auction. The things I saw, the stories I heard, and the African-American foreskin I touched. Suddenly I realize the futility of my journey back home; I no longer have a home. My twenty dollars and the deed, along with the key, to my home is with Michael Jackson; I gave it all to him after the purchase he persuaded me to make at the auction. But I’m not worried because I’m a survivor; I can make it out in the mean streets as long as nobody thinks I’m some lily assed pansy. Even though I miss my right hand, at least I won’t feel alone since I have Peter Pan in a golden thong for company.                                     

[digg+http://digg.com/celebrity/Michael_Jackson_s_Bizzare_Auction]

THE COSB Tuesday, May 29 2007 

 

                One of the least understood concepts in our world is the concept of cults. When we usually talk about cults we refer to the more popular, more routine groups where likeminded people gather and share their various interests. Some of the common cults are the Goat Cult¾where the members make use of goat testicles to adorn their faces, the Thursday Cult¾where the cult members gather every Thursday to drink the heated urine of komodo dragons, and the Engineer Cult¾where people who like having sex with automatic paper shredders meet up. However, all cults do not have their fundamentals rooted in normalcy like the aforementioned ones.             

                 A shocking discovery that I made as part of an investigation exposed me to a cult that is more dangerous, more damaging, and more bizarre than anything I have ever seen in my life; a cult which is centuries old and has successfully managed to shield the knowledge of its existence from the outside world; a cult which mercilessly recruits young children to strengthen their foundation; a cult where the nature of the activities that take place is nothing short of excruciating; a set of people who call themselves the members of the COSB¾or the Cult of the Spelling Bee.           

                 My first knowledge of the COSB’s existence came via an ancient scroll that was slid neatly into the deepest recesses of the anal cavity of a librarian who recently passed away. (One of my uncles is a mortician so he keeps giving his relatives stuff he finds in defunct rectums). Anyway, the scroll was the official three-rule constitution of the Cult of the Spelling Bee. This is how it looked: 

THE CONSTITUTION OF THE CULT OF THE SPELLING BEE  

a)      All members should strictly have zero athletic abilities

b)      New members can only be the children of existing cult members¾it does not matter if the children are legitimate or bastards

c)      All members should have shitty hairstyles              

                 Intrigued by this finding, I conducted further investigation that shed light on the internal mechanism of the COSB. The cult members gather every year and try to spell out words that no human being would ever use in his life¾never…ever…I mean it…not even once. They recruit young children¾mostly their own like the scroll read¾and brainwash their minds to get them to inject their brains with the spelling of painfully useless words. The cult members aren’t concerned with what the words signify which is why the participants are allowed to ask, during the spelling ritual, to the Elders, what the word means and how it is used in a sentence.            

                 The members of the Cult of the Spelling Bee seems to enjoy some kind of perverse pleasure in voicing and taking apart words like ‘absquatulate’, ‘houghmagandy’, ‘mallemaroking’, and ‘syzygy’. After I typed in these words for this exposé, I tried to use the dictionary in my computer to find out their meanings. I punched the words in and waited for their meanings to appear. After a while, a message popped up on screen, “Are ye kidding me? Sod off, ya bugger”. I learned that there was only so much a computer could do; and, also, that my computer was, apparently, Scottish.            

                 The frightening aspect of all this is that the Cult is growing at an alarming rate with sister cults all across the world. It is only a matter of time before these ruthless maniacs let loose pure terror upon the unsuspecting humanity. But if we, the others, can stick together there might be a way for us to stop them. We have to gather our friends and family, educate them about the dangers of the COSB and urge them to do the only thing that can possibly save us¾make more speling mistaikes.                 

              

BIG BROTHER, STIFF FATHER Monday, May 28 2007 

                A retired cricketer addicted to animal porn, a wannabe model, an unusually large homosexual, and a foul mouthed kangaroo, all staying together under the same roof for four weeks: that is the kind of picture that materialized in my mind when I tried to imagine the Australian version of the reality television series Big Brother. But as it turns out the original thing is a lot less commonplace than what my imagination was able to concoct.

                 The Big Brother House, customarily, is an isolated territory where nothing from the outside intrudes and everything from the inside, except sewage, goes out. It’s true, the sewage is forced to stay inside the Big Brother Bathroom, which is why most of the contestants get pissed off and end up harassing the ones around them. The only person who managed to shield herself from the wrath of the smelly sewage was Shilpa Shetty but that was chiefly because she barely ate anything and didn’t have to use the bathroom at all.

                  However, in the more advanced Australian version, Big Brother has gone from withholding drainage facilities, which they felt was not very humanitarian on their part, to withholding information about a contestant’s father’s death. Emma Cornell, an Australian model, hoping to tread in Shilpa Shetty’s shoes, might just be the chosen one who’s next in line to start up with global anonymity and end up with international pity. Even though it’s been over a week since Emma’s father died of cancer, Big Brother still hasn’t broken the news to her. When asked about their decision to not disclose the news about Emma’s father’s death to her, one of the officials commented that in the Australian family system the Brother always takes a more prominent position when compared to the father.

                  Later, Big Brother revealed that it was Emma’s own family who wanted to keep the news hidden from her. Emma Cornell’s blood brother declared that it was a family decision and Emma would understand missing her father’s funeral. He also mentioned that after she returned if she badly wanted to attend her parent’s funeral he would happily cut their mother’s throat and throw her a brand new funeral, just to prove that family was the most important thing in the whole world. But, come what may, he would never let the label of ‘quitter’ be associated with his sister’s name. All the members of Emma’s family acquiesced with Emma’s brother’s statements and echoed that this is what her father had wanted. Her dead father, however, refused to comment on the issue.

                  Meanwhile, when news about Emma Cornell’s possible rise to fame reached Shilpa’s ears she realized that Emma was a creeper that had to be nipped in the bud. Shilpa Shetty currently holds the number one position in the list of people who are hated by half the world and pitied by the other half. Behind her, in a close second, is Saddam Hussein. Shilpa knew that if she let the situation escalate further her number one spot would be taken away from her. So she decided to break into the Australian Big Brother House and reveal the news to Emma. Since stealth was of utmost importance Shilpa made up her mind to dig a hole outside the Big Brother House compound and shovel her way inside. Things progressed smoothly but shit happened when Shilpa accidentally thrust the shovel into one of the drainage pipes coming from the House. But her experience as a Bollywood actress assisted her to thrive in shit. She finally emerged out of the hole and got into the house.

                 Emma Cornell was sitting down when Shilpa broke her the news. For a while she spoke nothing, but after she came back from her room her cheeks were glistening with tears. Though Shilpa instinctively felt a pang of guilt on seeing her cry she suddenly noticed something familiar¾something trademark of her own self. Looking into Emma’s face Shilpa realized that the tears moistening Emma’s cheeks were fake just like hers during the contrived racial row. However, when Shilpa accused Emma of being a phony, Emma replied by saying that it was not so and that she truly loved her father, Geoffrey. But when Shilpa told Emma that her dead father’s name was Raymond, Emma finally gave up the act.

EC: I’m here to win and nobody can stop me. I’ll soon be the most pitied, most hated person in the whole world.  

SS: Look, you don’t understand. You can’t take that away from me. That is all I have. Isn’t there anything I can do for you that might change your mind? 

EC: Well, there is one thing but there is no way you can make it happen. 

SS: What is it?  

EC: One of my biggest dreams has always been to get a hot kiss from the Hollywood star, Richard Gere in front of thousands of truck drivers. You wouldn’t know how to make that happen, would you? 

SS: Hmm…I think I might be able to help you with that.

THE BONE IDENTITY Sunday, May 27 2007 

                I’ve made up my mind to buy myself a pack of cigarettes every day starting from June. Not because I smoke but I’m just addicted to pictures of skull and crossbones. However, that is not quite what the Indian Government hopes to achieve with their decision to have all tobacco products bear that deadly, all destructive symbol.

                The anti-smoking campaign¾consisting of wives whose husbands put out cigarettes on their butts, guys who hate ashtrays, and English cricketers who loathe the Ashes¾approached the Indian Government with state of the art software that analyzed and calculated the huge impact the pictorial warning would have on people taking up smoking. It was a Word Document with the words “PICTORIAL WARNING ON CIGARETTES IS NEAT” blown up to a font size of 78. Of course, when faced with such solid scientific evidence, the Government had no other option but to give in to their demand.

                One key reason for making pictorial warnings mandatory for tobacco products is to get the message across to a large section of bidi-smokers who’re mostly illiterate rural people like bankrupt suicidal farmers and unemployed hobos who will, of course, suddenly ascribe new meaning to their lives owing to graphic depictions of mouth ulcer, cerebral strokes, and damaged hearts. And, surely, the symbolic significance of the limp cigarette is not likely to elude their hugely poetic, interpretive intellects.

                Seeing that the Government was favorably negotiating with the anti-smoking campaign, two other committees decided to voice their demands¾the Anti-Fat-Ass committee and the Anti-Ayn Rand Committee. The Anti-Fat-Ass campaigners insisted that all snacks, chocolates, and ice cream should have a picture of a huge fat kid getting stoned by bullies in school and a picture of a big bloated girl getting cheated on by her partner; meanwhile, the Anti-Ayn Rand campaigners demanded that every book of Ayn Rand especially Atlas Shrugged should compulsorily carry a picture of a man putting a gun up to his head. The Government, however, found these demands highly retarded and told them to just stop their despicable habits of eating and reading.

                 The milestone reached by the anti-smoking campaigners, unsurprisingly, did not sit well with the owners of the tobacco companies and the people involved in selling tobacco products. They argued that having such graphic images on the covers of tobacco products would instill a sense of violence in the people who come across them. And, also, there was this small glitch of them losing a lot of money, but obviously that wasn’t as important as protecting the people from the potentially traumatic pictures. Finally, they suggested that if the anti-smokers so badly wanted a pictorial warning they could perhaps content themselves with the picture of a normal man looking kind of sad¾buyers would, of course, be able to interpret that the reason for his sadness was lung cancer, impotence, mouth ulcer, chapped lips, and children who were victims of passive smoking. Unfortunately for the pro-tobacco crusaders, the Government proved to be inflexible on their decision. In anger, the pro-tobacco crusaders remarked that the Government should have a huge logo where a donkey with a broken leg would be shown, which would translate to “lame Ass.” The Government said that they would think about it.

                I’m often dumbfounded when two parties with contrasting opinions just cannot find a common ground. And since the Indian Government, the anti-smoking campaigners and the pro-tobacco activists do not seem to have the foresight and astuteness to understand the psyche of the people in our nation I consider it my responsibility to put forth an amicable solution to the smoking predicament. If one is able to develop an image that wouldn’t severely traumatize the customers but would still put the fear of God in them and would make them think thrice before smoking, that is the key to solving the issue. Thankfully, that is exactly what I have done.

 Click here to see my solution : smokerswarning1.jpg  

SPOILSPORT Saturday, May 26 2007 

                 The Indian Soccer Team plays with the faith of a terminally ill pessimist; the achievements of the Indian Hockey Team are as impressive as George Bush’s grammar; and our beloved Indian Cricket Team has more injuries under its belt than wins. These statistics might bring a sense of hopelessness to ordinary youngsters but the young population in India is anything but ordinary. That is exactly why, when faced with this situation where the popularity of the traditional sports is declining, they have regenerated the seeds of a sport that just might see India placed amongst the top athletic nations in the world.

                 This sport has been around since time immemorial and adult Indians have always been very competitive in this particular sport, especially when playing against our own domestic teams. However, the indefatigable enthusiasm that Indian children, both teens and preteens, have been showing recently towards this sport has got to be the most encouraging factor of them all. I’m, of course, referring to the emerging sport of manslaughter.

                 The amazing thing about this sport is that it can be played as singles or doubles; it is also often played in teams with each team consisting of varying number of players; it can be an indoor as well as an outdoor sport; and most of the people playing the sport, especially the youngsters, are often driven by passion, although there are some who play just for the money, the fame or the window seat in a school bus. The fascinating aspect about manslaughter is that there is no specific training that one can get to learn how to play it; the children, in particular, develop interest in the sport by emulating the legendary names in the sport, which one can look up in the members-list of the Indian Parliament; some also get inspired by watching television programs that bear striking resemblances to the sport of manslaughter like the debates on NDTV and CNN-IBN.

                   Recent accomplishments in the sport have shown that our country has great young potential that could help us build a strong, very formidable Under-19 and Under-13 team which could even challenge the established teams of USA and Germany. They are, of course, in possession of much sophisticated sporting equipments when compared to the culinary knives and clenched up fists that our players play with; however, the rate at which the sport is being played all around our country injects us with the hope that it’s only a matter of time before our young players, too, get their hands, more frequently, on similar sophisticated equipments.

                 However, what some players getting into the sport fail to realize is that with fame comes its burdens. If you’re labeled as a star player your fame is most likely to isolate you from your friends and family and you could end up spending most of your life with other star players in your locker rooms. Although, for children, growing up in our country absorbing the scenes that they see around them where their elders turn into fanatics when it comes to this unique sport, it’s hard not to indulge in it. However, I just have one request to all the players of this game, children and adults—don’t ever invite me to one of your games; nothing personal, I guess I’m just a spoilsport.

SEACREST'S ANGELS Friday, May 25 2007 

               The anticipation was so intense that the Palestinians and Israelis refrained from killing each other for one night; Iraqis rested their debate on whether or not Saddam Hussein was gay; Bill Clinton once again put off having sex with Hillary; Osama Bin Laden was finally watching something other than his own videos; George Bush, at last, stopped doing the African boogie. It was a night when they all chimed in one singular voice, “This is it; this is the moment; this…is American Idol.”                 

                 Of course, the Palestinians, Israelis, and Iraqis were hugely disappointed with the result. They were all rooting for Blake Lewis since the sounds he produced were very similar to what they heard around them most of the time. Crestfallen at the outcome, they went back to killing each other. The rest of the world swallowed their personal prejudices and joined the 17 year-old buxom, Jordin Sparks, in the moment of her crowning glory. In fact, Ryan Seacrest was so excited that he pulled down his pants and mooned the judges. They responded like this: 

Randy Jackson: Yo, dawg, this is what we liked about you when we first saw you. You seemed a bit itchy in middle but you scratched it out man. That was hot baby!

Paula Abdul: Ryan…you’re just…you know…you come out here…you… you…you do your thing…you make me…ohhh…I’m just so freakin’ proud of you!  

Simon Cowell: Pale, saggy, forgettable.                                           

                  The pleasantly plump Jordin declared her undying gratitude towards the American public and promised them that she would remain loyal to her integrity and virginal image until she turned nineteen, when, of course, she would transform herself into a total whore like the pop music tradition goes. She then proceeded to thank the three judges after which she knelt down, looked Ryan Seacrest in his face, and told him that he was a very special gay guy.                   

                The runner up, or the loser, Blake Lewis, when asked about his reaction regarding the voters’ choice very eloquently replied, “Boom-chik-chik-boom bam bam-chik-chik-bam”. His father was seen crying yet again but this time it was because the little girl in the seat next to him teased him about his loser son. A touching scene arose when Ryan Seacrest tried to comfort the heartbroken Blake. But the touching stopped when Blake threatened to call the security on Ryan.                  

                 Despite earning an immense viewership for this year’s final episode, some were of the opinion that last year’s Idol finale, which showcased the amazing ass voice of Katherine Mcphee going up against the spastic antics of some vanilla head Taylor Hicks was the best ever in the history of the show. However, no one could predict the manner in which 2007’s finale came to an end.                  

                  As Jordin Sparks filled the stage, taking in the sweet scent of success, she was suddenly jolted out of her magical reality by a loud shriek. As the millions of eyes searched around for the origin of the cacophonic shriek, the source made itself appear. In an almost gay army SWAT like entrance, from the roof, dropped Sanjaya who was suspended from the ceiling with the help of nothing but his silky locks. Right by his side was his sister who was known to the world only as “cleavage girl”.

                 Sanjaya slid across the stage over to Jordin, grabbed the microphone from her hand, and issued a threat. If the title was not forfeited by Jordin and consequently conferred upon him he would unleash a three-hour performance on stage with tracks by Stevie Wonder, Maxi Priest, and Slipknot. The entire audience shuddered in fear knowing very well the unfathomable intensity of havoc Sanjaya could wreak.                  

                 No one knew what to do¾except one fairy man, Ryan Seacrest. All of a sudden he spoke into his collar microphone, “Angels, are you ready?” He was met with knowing nods from the three judges seated in front of the stage. Suddenly, all three jumped from behind their desk and landed on the stage taking up a very, very gay pose¾legs astride, hands in the air, and crotches strained. Simon landed a flying breast slam on Sanjaya knocking the microphone right out of his hand as Paula and Randy started making out on stage. Grossed out by this sight, Sanjaya retreated with his sister, screaming, “You haven’t seen the last of me, Simon.” Then, suddenly, as the world watched Sanjaya jumped into his sister’s cleavage and disappeared out of everyone’s sight. 

                 Seacrest maintained his composure, looked right into the audience’s eyes and said, “This is messed up. This is bizarre. This…is American Idol.”

ERROR ATTACK Thursday, May 24 2007 

             One of my lifelong dreams has been to one day visit the city of Paris, take in the beauty of Eiffel Tower, interact with the French people, and put to good use the only sentence that I know in the French language: Je veux faire l’amour à votre femme. I think it means “I love life” or something poetic like that. So, the first thing I decide to do is gather information on Paris so I can have a comprehensive idea about what to expect there. I take my trusty Oxford Dictionary of World Place Names and look it up:

 Paris:¾ A land inhabited by Parsis. The city was named after its first queen, Paris Hilton the First who was also the first Parsi Hilton.

                  I didn’t want to go all the way to Paris just to meet a bunch of Parsis. So, I make up my mind and can the idea of going to Paris. I open up the Oxford Dictionary and scan the glossary and focus on the dream destination entries. Now, that looks like a list of places where I can go and relax:

Dream Destinations

The Republic of Iraq:¾ One of the hottest tourist spots in the Middle East that’s buzzing with life day and night. Thousands of Americans and British vacation in the sandy beaches of Iraq under the warm, crackling sun every year; some even find it difficult to leave the place. Even if it’s only to shoot some hoops, do some hunting, or to, simply, have a blast Iraq is the place to be. 

Pakistan:¾ Might very well turn out to be the next Iraq as the Government sponsored entertainments in the country are slowly capturing the attention of international tourists. Shopping in open market places and taking bus rides in Pakistan are two activities that are just to die for. 

China:¾ A country filled with Japanese people, this is the place for shopping if you are interested in getting top quality authentic gadgets and equipments.  

Japan:¾One of the largest English speaking countries in the world, Japan is the home of some very famous global celebrities like Jackie Chan, Charlie Chan, and Amitabh Bach Chan.                 

                  All the places that I see in the Oxford Dictionary Dream Destination list hold great promise especially some African nations like Korea and Hong Kong. However, I still do not feel overwhelmed by an urge to just pack my bags and go to any of these heavenly locations. I want to vacation some place where luxury is commonplace, where pleasure is embraced, and love is all around. All of a sudden, my eyes, which were scanning the open Dictionary, fall on the one place that epitomizes serenity, pleasantness, and comfort more than any other place on this earth.  

 Hell:¾Renowned for its great historic significance, this is one place that will appeal to your mind, body, and soul. Marked by a uniquely tropical climate, Hell is the one place where cultural coexistence has been stable for a very long time. Accommodating residents from virtually every nation in the world, Hell can be appropriately named the official melting pot of the world. So lose your inhibitions, carry your summer clothes, and come down to the real land down under.

                 Hot, happening, and rich with cultural heritage¾all the things that I’m seeking for in my perfect holiday spot. Finally, I make up my mind. To give myself a break from all the tension that’s been happening around in our world, I’m going to the one place that will be much more peaceful than home. I’m going to Hell. 

           

CANNE-DEMONIUM Wednesday, May 23 2007 

                The scene resembled that of a pre-independent era, set in the Indian territory of Puducherry, where the French were trying to infiltrate India and inflict pain upon us with their advanced weapons. Except that it was mid-May 2007 in the French town of Cannes and it was the Indians trying to infiltrate France and inflict pain upon them with our Bollywood movies.                          

                 One of the stars who made her presence felt at the Cannes Fest was Preity Zinta who was there to promote her theory that she did not have an affair with Louis the XVI that caused a rift between him and Marie Antoinette. The French media responded by asking her, “Qui l’enfer vous est?” (Who the hell are you?). She screamed a flurry of obscenities in Hindi at them and asked them to pardon her French.                         

                 Rumors floated that Hrithik Roshan was seen flying around the area with his right hand up in the air screaming, “The double-thumb is here.”John Abraham, covered in designer wear, was seen talking to the French reporters about how he would never part with his middle class upbringing. Holding his hand throughout the fest was girlfriend Bipasha, dressed in a formal bikini, complaining about how her boyfriend would never part with his middle class upbringing.                        

                Another major attraction at Cannes was Shilpa Shetty who was patently having a good time posing and smiling for the paparazzi who mistook her for the French independent director Pierre Packi Currie. And when they started calling out “Packi! Packi! Currie! Currie!” to get her attention she broke down into tears and whined about how they weren’t even trying to see her for who she truly was¾just a really bad actress.                        

                 A curious incident transpired in the middle of the festival where the French Police managed to capture an Indian born stalker who was, apparently, studying each and every move of Angelina Jolie. The police later revealed the stalker to be Sushmita Sen who confessed that she was merely stalking Angelina Jolie to get tips on how to adopt more successfully. Conspicuous by his absence was Shah Rukh Khan who was not invited to Cannes this year after the demented humor sense he exhibited last year where he made puns like “King Cannes” and “Khan/Cannes Banega Crorepati”. He was given a memo that read “Khan canned from Cannes.”                        

                 The focus of attention, although, was, unsurprisingly, the Bachchans who finally gained access to the Cannes portal through the latest addition to their family, Aishwarya Rai. The entire Bachchan family was present including Amitabh, Abishek, Aishwarya, and the motherly figure of Amar Singh. A slight scuffle occurred between Amitabh and the security guards when Amar Singh’s name was found missing from the guest list. However, Amar Singh was allowed to enter after Amitabh explained that they were actually Siamese twins who had very recently been surgically separated by chief surgeon Dr. Mayavati.                          

                The Cannes Film Festival 2007, with its booming success, marked a new high for Indian snobbery and a new low for filmmaking. This year’s fest was described as the most smoothly run event in all of the sixty years of Cannes. There was, however, some panic created when the entire event was put on hold for about twenty minutes; men in uniform cordoned off the entire area and circled the guests. Things calmed down, later, when it was revealed that the security issue arose as the Bachchans had to take a bathroom break. And as everyone knows that is a strictly family affair.

THE PRINCE AND THE FAUX PAS Tuesday, May 22 2007 

                  A fierce familial spat happened within the Buckingham Palace sometime back when Prince Harry let his father and grandmother know that he was planning to pick up a job after graduation. An irate Prince Charles severely admonished Harry for planning to break the royal tradition of not lifting up even a tiny finger to do anything in life. The Queen, angered by the news, wished to scream at her grandson but since she was too lazy to do that she hired comedian Michael Richards to do the job. However, Michael Richards was soon fired from the task when he was found guilty of racially abusing the royal steed.

                 After a lot of persuasion Prince Harry finally revealed that he intended to pick up a job for the purpose of knowing what ordinary people lived like, how life would be if one had to work to sustain it, and what sleeping under an ordinary non-golden roof felt like. Prince Charles grabbed this opportunity and used the latter part of the same argument to justify his affair with Camilla Parker. The Queen, ultimately, suggested that rather than pick up a job Harry should set himself upon a bunch of demanding, sophisticated missions which would help him get a break from the life of luxury, instill in him a sense of achievement and which would protect the royal heritage of never having worked a single day in life.

                    Prince Harry’s first mission was to milk a cow. He embarked on the mission armed with nothing but a heart full of hope and a glass tumbler. Prince Harry held the glass tumbler under the cow’s udder and requested her to donate some milk; when that failed he promised the cow that he would build her a nice luxurious shed if she complied; and when that too didn’t go as planned Prince Harry told the cow in a soft, cold voice, “Those are two very nice calves you have. It would be a shame if something were to happen to them, especially since you are a single mother.” Still no luck, still no milk. After fourteen minutes of trying he finally gave up and returned to the palace.

                    His second mission, that was meant to inculcate some normalcy into his life, was to repaint his home. This, Harry thought, was something he could do¾running a paintbrush up and down walls couldn’t be that hard. However, after three minutes into the task he quit when he realized that repainting one’s home was quite a difficult job especially when you lived in the Buckingham Palace. His next mission¾to clean up his room¾ was also abandoned after he was confused as to which of his three hundred and seventy two rooms he should start out with.

                   After various other failed missions the royal family broke the big news to Prince Harry¾he was going to Iraq to fight with the rest of the British soldiers. On hearing this he responded, keeping in tact the royal dignity, “Are you both bloody crazy?” However, the Queen and her son explained to Harry that he wouldn’t actually be going to Iraq; they would only be telling the world that he was dying to go there. Later, a security analysis would reveal a shocking finding that there was a chance Prince Harry could die if he went there. Thus, it would seem to everybody as if Harry was a patriot like the other soldiers but would still keep himself unharmed unlike the other soldiers. Prince Harry was impressed by the plan and promised his father and grandmother that he would never express an interest to toil again in his life. The Queen looked at her grandson, with tears in her eyes, and said, “We’re so proud of you, Harry.”

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