Read Aniche's post "The Sock Murder Mystery" on Saturday, Aug 25 2007 


A gruesome, brutal murder mystery narrated and solved by the self-proclaimed greatest detective ever.


Read Aniche's post "It's tougher to be a man" on Thursday, Aug 23 2007 

Click here:

Putting to rest the myth that men have better lives than women.

Read Aniche's post "Why can't we be not friends?" on Wednesday, Aug 22 2007

Read the piece and leave your comments.Thank you.

And, yes, this site is still alive.

60 YEARS Wednesday, Aug 15 2007 

               Sixty years. That’s as old as Hema Malini, the super-intelligent lone crusader of pure water for thirsty Indians all across the country. Sixty years. That’s how long Neha Dupia will have to keep acting like an absolute whore, while simultaneously bashing actresses who shed clothes and kiss on screen “without the script demanding it”, before anyone takes notice of her and finally fucks her to death using a spiked shoe. Sixty years. That’s half the number of years for which Lata Mangeshkar has been singing without realizing that she’s just a female version of Himesh Reshammiya. Sixty years. That’s how long it has been since the British colonizers in India ultimately got homesick and went back to their native land of Argentina.

                 Commemorating our sixtieth year of Independence, India’s top news channel Jetix went around asking random Indians what they thought were the ten most significant moments in the last sixty years of Indian History. After talking to about a thousand gazillion Indians (approximately one eighth of India’s total population), Jetix managed to compile an undisputable list of India’s ten greatest moments and achievements in the last sixty years. There were a few moments in the list that had completely escaped the collective memory of us Indians until the colorfully dressed Japanese midgets of Jetix recaptured it for us.


No: 10 – In 1959, the 14th Dalai Lama seeks refuge in India and tries out Indian food for the first time. He spends the next seven days shooting Tibetan turds out of his Rinpoche and is not able to meditate in complete silence. A year later, the 14th Dalai Lama tries out denim jeans for the first time and grows particularly fond of the fabric.

No: 9 – In 1967, a lewd MMS clip of a young Salman Rushdie eating spaghetti using both hands spreads all across India. The next day Ayatollah Noodles issues a “pastwa” against Rushdie for corrupting the sanctity of spaghetti by eating it without the use of a fork. A week later, Rushdie flees India and seeks asylum in Queen Elizabeth’s knickers. After seeking for three days straight, he not only finds asylum in the Queen’s knickers but also a half eaten carrot and a copy of Jane Austen’s Pried and Pussy Juice.

No: 8 – In 1975, Nelson Mandela has a one-night stand with President Indira Gandhi and doesn’t call her back. Indira Gandhi is super pissed and goes on a castration spree which stops only after two years and seven hundred and fifty seven pairs of skewered testicles.

No: 7 – In 1979, Mother Teresa wins the coveted Nobel Prize for Peace in honor of her great humanitarian work in the poorer parts of India. At the award ceremony, Mother Teresa asks only one question to the entire world: “Why the fuck didn’t anybody tell me leprosy was contagious?”

No: 6 – In 1983, the West Indies Cricket team forfeits the World Cup to India after Captain Kapil Dev threatens to take a one hour long class in spoken English for everyone attending the match. He then raises the cup and says the words that inspire millions of Indians: “I has done it. We is the only team who know how to game cricket. All future teams is bad.”

No: 5 – On May 21, 1991 Rajiv Gandhi has a really bad hair day.

No: 4 – In 1994, a young teenage girl shows how to insert a whole banana into her mouth and then swallow it on a global platform. A few days later, she is awarded the Ms. Universe title. The world takes notice of Indian women’s ability to swallow entire bananas and decide to keep giving them similar awards every four or five years.

No: 3 – In 1999, Hindus and Muslims unite to fight against a common enemy, the Y2K virus. But when squat happens on Jan 1, 2000 they go back to killing each other and their own. Later, the Indian Intelligence reveals that the Y2K virus had indeed planned on attacking India but got arrested by the Mumbai Police after a complaint of forced sexual act lodged by an ugly skunk/skank named Rakhi Sawant. After one week, the Y2K virus installs Norton and commits suicide out of shame.

No: 2 – On July 11, 2006 terrorists detonate eight consecutive bombs at all movie theatres playing Amitabh Bachchan’s Black. Miraculously, not a single living soul is hurt.

No: 1 – In 2007, Shilpa Slutty cries in front of the whole world because she’s called a Paki by an ignorant ugly fat man-bitch named Jade Goody. India considers breaking off its ties with England based on the event. The English get shit scared of a curry attack and give a whole lot of money to Shilpa Slutty. She and her annoying mother shifts residence from India to London. Shilpa Slutty appears in a hundred television interviews and shows major cleavage. Few months later, she returns to India in order to gift her sister, Shamita, a pair of panties. Richard Gere tries to bend Shilpa Slutty into half in front of a thousand people. Hours later, both Richard and Shilpa confirm to the media that he was merely trying to protect her from Lord Voldemort. Shilpa breaks up a filthy rich guy’s marriage. She’s awarded an honorary doctorate degree by the University of Over-the-top Pretentious Political Correctness.

                                                     Jai Hind!

DUTT'S THE WAY IT IS Wednesday, Aug 8 2007 

                If anyone out there has been harboring a desire to get cozy with Sanjay Dutt’s daughter, this is the time to act on it. She’s sad; she’s vulnerable; her dad’s in the slammer; and from what her photos suggest she has all the qualities of a compulsive eater. And as scientists have proven, fat chicks are the easiest ones to trick into taking their panties off, provided you don’t count aspiring actresses, feminists, chambermaids, teenage Catholic girls, and, of course, Nayanthara. And while considerate individuals like you and I are plotting how to get some Dutt poon, the rest of India have been doing what they have been doing best for the last few centuries- arguing with each other about what and who is right and wrong. Only this time, Bollywood is in the picture as well.                

                The pro-verdict Indians and the pro-Dutt Indians debated hard on the topic of whether or not the sentence Dutt got was fair. A grammarian, also a member of the pro-Dutt campaign criticized the judge’s sentence, accusing it of being structurally imperfect and lacking any kind of punctuation whatsoever. He was later asked by his fellow campaigners to refer the dictionary and look up the second meaning of the word “sentence”. The humiliated grammarian then returned to his classroom and took it out on his students by chaining them to their desks and beating the shit out of them. The pro-verdict Indians, consisting of self-loathing middle class people (excluding the middle class boy John Abraham), raised the important point that all rich people are crooks and that such rich people, especially if they are famous also, should be punished severely without any clemency. Bollywood stars who heard this decided that they wouldn’t take this lying down; so they bent over and took it in the doggie position. And when they realized that it hurt their assholes too much they decided to voice their protests. A gamut of emotions flooded the television screens. Anger, sadness, speechlessness, dejection, resilience, and eroticism flowed out of the expressive faces of our country’s finest cine artists. Frankly speaking, it was some of the best work they had done. 

                The pro-verdict Indians, although sensitive and intelligent, did not feel a smidgeon of sympathy for the multi-millionaire Bollywood actor Sanjay Dutt and felt that he shouldn’t have done the crime if he wasn’t prepared to do the time. They held their heads high and supported the legal system of our country which was true enough to not spare a rich brat like Dutt who was guilty of possessing a gun without a license; the same legal system who gives instant bail to Shiv Sena activists after they torture and harass random people without giving them a trial of any kind; the same legal system which salvaged the innocence of the two accused in the Nithari killings, who, in all probability, sodomized and chopped up over twenty children purely unintentionally. The system was just enough to realize the innocuous thought that went behind the two dozen murders. Much like how the system foresaw the potential carnage that Sanjay Dutt would’ve caused with the weapon he possessed, allegedly to protect his family.                  

                 The pro-Dutt Indians claimed that sentencing the man who brought the spirit of Gandhi back to our hearts to six years in prison was like slapping the cheek of the Mahatma himself. The pro-Dutt Indians, including actors from Bollywood, demanded that taking into consideration the impact and the theme of Dutt’s hit movie, he ought to receive special consideration from the court. Dawood Ibrahim seconded this demand and also announced that his debut movie titled “Dawood loves Gandhi” would be releasing later this year.                 

                 Meanwhile, Sanjay Dutt sat alone inside his cell drenched in sadness wishing he could go back in time and correct his mistakes. Especially the mistake of spending millions in visiting temples and shrines praying to God when he should actually have got into a plane and hid in some exotic island. He put his head down and shed a drop of sincere tear; as soon as the teardrop hit the dank floor of his prison he felt a strange energy enter his cell. He lifted his head and encountered the most amazing sight he had seen in his entire life- even more amazing than Urmila’s bulging titties in Daud. Sitting next to him inside his cell was Mahatma Gandhi himself. Dutt bowed his head before the Mahatma and asked pleadingly, “Tell me Bapu, why me? I suffered so much already in my life but it never seems to stop. I lost both my parents; I lost my wife; I’ve already been in prison once for over a year; and now, after I’ve been so righteous in my actions, I’m back in prison. And that too for possibly the six most significant years of my life. What is the meaning of all this?” The Mahatma looked straight into Dutt’s teary eyes and said, with a warm, caring smile on his lips, “I got fucking assassinated right after I achieved the single greatest feat in the history of mankind and you’re whining to me about getting some jail time for a crime you actually committed? Grow some balls, man. I understand you deserve a lot better than this but don’t we all? At least, you don’t have to watch your own children starve to death right in front of you; nor do you have to worry about when your child is going to get raped when she walks alone from school because you can’t afford a fucking vehicle. Sure you got it bad, but there are more miserable bastards out there. Unfortunately, life’s a giant ass that won’t stop shitting on you. And the people who run your country, no matter which nation you’re from, will always act as laxatives. So suck it up.” Dutt watched, with bulging eyes and an open mouth, the spectral figure of Gandhi get up and leave his cell. Before Gandhi completely disappeared he turned back and said, “I almost forgot, could you do me a favor?” Dutt jolted from his shocked stupor and replied, “Of course, Bapu, anything.” Gandhi looked at Dutt and said in a slightly irked tone, “If you ever run into Anil Kapoor or Akshaye Khanna tell those hairy-ass fags to fuck off and go to hell. I gave those pricks their independence. The least that they can do is not commercialize my personal life.” And then the Father of our Nation disappeared.  


                Any individual with the slightest bit of passion for researching the intricate structure of the wonderful English Language would drop to his knees in reverence when he hears the two most important names associated with it- Noam Chomsky and Ferdinand De Saussure. These two unbeatable grammarians, unbeknownst to the outside world, were the ultimate curse word experimentalists of their times. Dipping their elbows in cooking butter for five hours straight interested them as well.

                 Sometime back I revealed to you a documentation of one of the dissing sessions that took place between these two great minds. The transcript showed the ingenuity and sharpness of their minds as well as the obvious camaraderie that existed between the two grammarians. It also showed how fucked up the two motherfuckers were. Today, I present to you the second of the many documents that I tediously acquired through a process as meticulous and as precise as the Parliamentary Elections. As always, both Saussure and Chomsky were sloshed to their skulls when they were delivering the priceless cursing seminars to each other. Ladies, Gentlemen, and that one transvestite in New Delhi- the “Chomsky-Saussure Filth Archives” Part II.


NC: I don’t understand why I need to be here when you’re getting your wife maternity clothes, you hamburger filled with spit, erectile tissues, and liquid hemorrhoids!

FDS: Let’s see. Maybe it’s because you got her pregnant you menstrual blood drinking piece of dried up shit stuck to George Bernard Shaw’s hairy right buttock!

NC: She was the one who stood outside my door with her legs as wide as Barack Obama’s smile. What was I supposed to do? Not insert my giant penis into her salivating hole and thrust it so deep that when I ejaculated I could see my sperm floating around her epiglottis?

FDS: I have half a mind to go to your house right now, pull your wife off her bed, throw some steaming hot water onto her ass, wait for two days, and then have intercourse with the boils on her ass till it pops spraying bloody pus all over your bedroom!

NC: You have a better chance of embedding your genitals with Kellogg’s Cornflakes and then getting it sucked by Marie Antoinette’s severed head!

FDS: Stop running your mouth and help me choose some maternity clothes before I bend you into two, flip you upside down, stick a Mont Blanc pen between your ass cheeks widening your asshole, and puke into your anal cavity so heavily that it’ll come out through your nose and eyes!

NC: Not if I cut off the penises of your father and your uncle, stick them up your nostrils, fly you off to the North Pole, trick some polar bears into thinking you’re a walrus, and then get them to gang-sodomize you!

FDS: Give it a rest, or else I’ll abduct your mother, take her to the forest, staple her nipples twenty three times each, and then get Phantom (the Walking Ghost) to fist her so deep that his ring impression will be left on her lungs!

NC: You wouldn’t dare, you smelly fart that accompanied Queen Elizabeth’s first ever shit in a Scottish public toilet!

FDS: That’s what you think, you pungent phlegm mixed with antelope sperm that’s stuck inside the third head from the right of Lord Ravana.

NC: That’s what I know, you nonstop drinker of Coca Cola mixed with the milk squeezed out of Reverend Jesse Jackson’s tits.

FDS: Go to hell, you sterile queen bee that’s living in a hive built underneath Lord Xenu’s gigantic red balls.

NC (surprised): Lord Xenu? Who are you- Tom Cruise?

FDS (dropping the dress that he was holding): What did you call me?

NC (suddenly realizing what he had just done): Look, Ferdie…I…

FDS (angry): WHAT did you call me?

NC (fumbling): You know I would never…

FDS (wounded): But you did. Ugh! I can’t even look at you right now.

NC (guilty): I made a mistake…believe me I feel terrible…

FDS (almost teary-eyed): You know I’m already under a lot of stress what with you impregnating my wife and all. This is the last thing I wanted to hear. I’m hurt, Noam. I’m really hurt.

NC (completely guilty and ashamed): I give you my word it’ll never happen again.

FDS (turning away): There’s nothing you can do that’ll heal the wound.

NC (silent for a while): What if we go to the changing room and I massage your inner thighs?

FDS (instantly): Ok. Yeah, that might heal the wound.

NC: So you forgive me…?

FDS (smiling warmly): I forgive you buddy. Now let’s go get it on.