And then there was Pedophilia! Thursday, Nov 22 2007 

If I were Jesus I’d make sure I have with me a big fat hydrogen bomb when I make my second coming so that I can drop that motherfucker square on top of the Vatican. There’s only one thing worse than getting crucified in front of your own mother and disciples for shit that some other motherfuckers did and that’s getting to know that two thousand years later creepy, robe-wearing, bible-wielding, lazy-headed, rich-assed pedophiles are sticking their flesh-crosses into the holy grails of preteen altar boys and girls and are using your name to perpetrate that shit.
The moment somebody starts violently preaching against sexual morality or premarital sex or homosexuality or sodomy or pedophilia or anything even remotely sexual you can bet your entire life savings that that preacher is one horny-assed pervert with a boner the size of a scepter just dying to rape the shit out of the first piece of ass he can get his hands on. Even if it’s a kid barely out of preschool. And that’s no exception for Hindus, Muslims, Christians, and Jews. But the Catholic Priests seem to be taking sodomy and pedophilia to a whole new level that even Michael Jackson’s going “These guys make me look like Mother Fucking Teresa”. A New York Times survey in 2003 showed that over 4,200 sexual abuse claims were made against 1,200 Catholic Priests since 1940. Now, I’m all for the idea of innocent until proven guilty but when you have 4,200 children saying you fucked them in the ass, you are pretty much guilty. (Google New York Times Survey Catholic Sex Scandal if you think I’m making this shit up). Those numbers must have shot up faster than Keith Richards with a bag of cocaine in the last four years.

As always I opt for the civilized way to deal with such issues. A good old-fashioned debate. There’s nothing more fair and civilized than talking things out. Here’s a Catholic Priest, Father Faggot (FF), and a twelve year old sex abuse victim, Josephucked in the ass (JF), sorting out their differences through the medium of verbal debate with special convener SpongeBob SquarePants (SBSP) overseeing the talk.

SBSP: Now, Father Faggot, allow me to quote something verbatim from a news report. “The Jesuit order of the Roman Catholic Church has agreed to pay 50 million dollars to 110 Alaska Natives to settle claims of sexual abuse by priests and missionaries in some of the world’s most remote villages. Earlier this year the Los Angeles diocese agreed a record 660-million-dollar settlement abuse victims while the San Diego Catholic Church later paid 198 million dollars to victims. Since the beginning of the nationwide scandal five years ago, Catholic authorities in the United States have paid out around 2.8 billion dollars in damages to victims.” What do you have to say about that?
FF: I don’t understand why you’re killing this debate with such dull inconsequential information. Those are nothing but facts. And I fail to understand the importance of facts in a matter of religion.
JF (hurt expression): I trusted you. My whole belief system was based on everything you taught. You betrayed me. You have defiled the teachings of the Bible.
FF: Look, young man, I’ve been studying the Bible a lot longer than you have. And there’s nothing in there about not sodomizing your altar boys. Let’s go over the commandments again, shall we? Do you see a number eleven that says, “Thou shall not butt-fuck children”? That’s right, there’s no number eleven. So grow up, rub some Bengay where it hurts and let’s all just praise the Lord.
SBSP: But, Father, do you think that as a clergyman what you’re doing under the guise of Christianity is right? In a way, you’re not only betraying these poor bastards but also demeaning the true ideology of Christianity all across the world.
FF (hurt expression): Why don’t you attempt to hear my side before hurling such painful accusations at me? Why can’t people just trust the clergy instead of questioning us?
JF: Then why don’t you explain yourself now? I’d like to know the justification behind your actions.
FF (thinking): Well, I…I was merely trying to find the presence of Jesus.
JF (pissed): Up my anus?
FF: I don’t believe in taking second chances. Better to conduct a through search than come back later and do a shoddy job.
JF: You sick animal. You ruined my entire life. I can never experience true happiness. I can’t even sit on a fucking toilet without fearing you’re going to swim through the sewers up the drainage pipes into the toilet bowl and violate me again.
FF (beaming): That is one hell of a plan boy. I’m going to talk to the plumber about it first thing today evening. I like the way you think.
SBSP: Father Faggot…
FF (smiling affably): Call me Fag please.
SBSP: Alright, so Father Faggot, don’t you find it rather hypocritical that you Catholic Priests are always protesting things like sexual freedom and abortion and homosexuality when you’re in fact committing the very things you are against and that too in a much worse way?
FF: That accusation is completely baseless. I’ve never had an abortion in my life.
SBSP (slightly irritated): I was talking about homosexuality and your stand on it.
FF (incensed): Homosexuality is the unholy union of two grown men. The physical love a clergyman shares with a young supple boy is not homosexuality. It’s called having a damn good time. We will always been anti-abortion and anti-gay. There are no two ways about it.
JF (trying to get a word in): Are you pro anything?
FF: Sure. We are pro-sodomy, pro-pedophilia, pro-nipple piercing. In fact, I’m pro-coming over there and sticking my cock in your mouth right now.
JF (agonized by the past memories FF’s words broughto his mind): Please, take him away from here. Please, I can’t take this anymore. My mind is so weighed down with all the pain.
SBSP (concerned): Is there anything your parents have told you to do when you feel tense?
JF: They always told me to go to the confessional and confess.
SBSP: And did that ever help?
JF: There was never any confessionals. He transformed it into a glory hole and fucked my ear off.
FF: Hey, I was only trying to purge his sins.
SBSP: Is it true that you sexually abused Alaskan people?
FF: I’m afraid I can’t answer that.
SBSP: Can you say anything on it?
FF: All I can say is that it felt like having intercourse with a piece of refrigerated steak. It felt heavenly.
SBSP: But isn’t your task healing their spiritual wounds? Isn’t it abominable that you’re causing more grief to these people?
FF: I did try and heal their spiritual wounds. It’s just unfortunate that in the event of my doing that they ended up with a few rectal wounds. But hey that’s the deal with religion. No pain, no gain.
JF: But why does the pain have to be in the ass?
FF: Hey, I don’t make the rules. As you know God works in mysterious ways.
SBSP: Alright, it’s time to wrap up the debate. I just have one final question to ask you, Father Faggot.
FF: Shoot.
SBSP: Do you recall coming to an island near the Pacific Ocean a few years ago as a missionary? A little city called Bikini Bottom.
FF (unsure): I don’t quite remember…
SBSP (interrupting): You did. You spent almost a year there trying to convert the fish there to Catholicism. And do you recall that one drunken night when you stumbled into a yellow brick road and laid your eyes on a pineapple?
FF: Yes, but I just have a vague memory of what happened. What happened to the pineapple?
SBSP: Well, I thought you’d never ask. You fucked the pineapple. That’s what happened. You fucked it. You fucked the fucking pineapple till there was nothing left of it.
FF (surprised): Ok, so I fucked a pineapple. Why are you getting so worked up over it?
SBSP: Because, Father Faggot, I was in it when you were fucking it like an insane psychopath. Do you see these innumerous holes in my yellow exterior, Father? What do you think they are? Those are the cock dents you caused in my body.
FF (realizing that SpongeBob was beginning to lose it): Hold on, young man. That was completely unintentional. I had no idea you were inside that pineapple. I mean, come on, who lives in a pineapple?
SBSP: Your molesting days are over motherfucker. Patrick Star- NOW!
(Suddenly from nowhere a pink fleshy mass flies down and attaches itself onto Father Faggot’s face blocking his air supply)
JF (invigorated by the turn of events): Die motherfucker! Stifle him Patrick Star! Stifle him till he drops fucking dead!
SBSP: I’ve waited a long time for this.
(Father Faggot tries to fight off Patrick Star but the pink starfish is too persistent. Soon the resistance flounders and Father Faggot weakens. Patrick Star applies more pressure and soon Father Faggot breathes his last)
JF: Now I believe in Jesus, motherfucker!
SBSP: Nobody rapes SpongeBob and gets away with it.
(A minute or two of silence ensues. Nobody moves, no one speaks)
JF: What do we do now?
SBSP: I don’t know. Do you want to go back to my pineapple? Maybe come up for a glass of seawater?
JF (shyly): Yeah, I’d like that.
(SpongeBob and the sex abuse victim walk away into the sunset with Patrick Star in tow)


WHEN A MAN LOVES A DOG Thursday, Nov 15 2007 

              I’m as xenophobic and jingoistic about India as the next guy brandishing a sword to kill his fellow Indian just because he kneels down a different way. My fury is as perfervid as any other Indian’s when I hear foreign dickheads make untrue statements about Indians like the rumor that we bury our heads in a pile of holy cow dung to attain nirvana. My blood boils as fast as my fellow countrymen’s when westerners mock our time-tested customs and beliefs. And as I’m swelling with pride over my country’s superiority some guy in Tamil Nadu goes and gets married to a dog wearing a sari. That’s when I feel like burying my head in a big pile of holy cow dung.
               The wedding ceremony was bitchin’ to say the least. Attendees said that the groom, Mr. Selvakumar, a virgin with canines and real women, looked anxious and excited on the big day. Some claim that they saw him foaming at the mouth with anticipation. The bride, Lassie Kumari, adorned with all kinds of flowers, appeared small, beautiful, and highly uncomfortable in a silky orange sari. Her fur was fashionably trimmed and the infection in her ears was neatly bandaged which complimented her trendy sari. In other words, she brought a whole new meaning to the phrase doggie style.

Lassie Kumari


The groom’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Kumar, beamed with pride as their 33 yr old little boy was bringing home a partner who would finally instil some discipline into his adventurous bachelor life, which involved philandering with several stray cats and a couple of immoral beavers. They were extremely relieved to see that their son had finally decided to settle down with a nice, traditional, middle-class dog. Mr. and Mrs. Kumar had only one piece of valuable marital advice to impart to their son, “Son, always remember to clean up after her. That’s the foundation of every successful marriage.”
              The bride’s parents, too, were present at the ceremony. The bride’s mother looked graceful and elegant with all her seven nipples exposed. The bride’s fathers, which included seven dogs, three mongooses, and one BJP worker, attended the ceremony as well and spent their time smelling each other’s assholes. Friends and family members from the groom’s side presented the couple with leashes, collars, dog biscuits, and pooper-scoopers. Those from the bride’s side gifted half-chewed bones, kitten carcasses, fleas, and a fresh batch of rabies. 
                One of the most romantic moments of the wedding came when the priest asked the bride if she took the groom in his sickness, which would most likely be hydrophobia, and in health. The young, shy bride looked up coquettishly at her man and barked, “Woof! Woof!” Following that the priest announced, “You may now pee on the groom.” At which point, the bride lifted her sari, then her leg, and proceeded to urinate all over her new husband. Men present at this momentous occasion of an inter-species marriage shrugged and remarked that they didn’t find anything unusual about a human being marrying a dog. For them, it was just another guy getting married to a bitch.
              The feast that followed was sumptuous and filling. The humans present contented themselves with several servings of hotdogs while the dogs, and the BJP worker, attending the ceremony filled themselves with the leftovers. After the wedding, the newly fed newly weds mounted a rickshaw, adorned with a placard that said “With blessings from Maneka Gandhi.” The couple spent their two-week honeymoon in a warm, sunny, exotic dog pound in Chennai. Interestingly, it was reported that their favorite sex position was the missionary position and not, as expected, the doggie position. Mr. Selvakumar, apparently, confided to his male buddies that there was nothing like getting a blowjob from a real bitch. Those close to Mrs. Lassie Kumari revealed that she was currently focused on completely enjoying her married life and not even thinking of starting a family anytime soon.
                Let’s hope that at least this marriage doesn’t end in a divorce. Because there’s nothing more vicious than a lawyer representing a dog in a divorce case.

BPO: Best Possible Orifice Sunday, Nov 4 2007 

               BPOs have become as integral to modern India as boob-jobs to Bollywood actresses. A lot more Indians are crossing the streets listening to their IPods now; more Indians have become efficient at slavishly reading nonsensical printed material off the papers given to them by their bosses; and the number of Indians, and this might be the most heartening outcome of them all, who can speak in a freakish American or a British accent that’s so accurate that it just makes u want to start speaking Konkani have risen higher than ever thanks to the advent of Business Process Outsourcing. However, for those of us who can’t quite pull off an accent as American as that of Babu a.k.a Bob or as English as that of Jeevan a.k.a Jeeves there’s always a way to get a piece of the BPO action. We can easily get a job as a cabdriver for BPO companies, drive the employees back and forth, and while we’re at it, rape and murder a few women workers during the course of our career.
               The only glitch in the aforementioned scheme is that the level of sexual freedom in India is not as liberal as it once was during the days of the Kamasutra, when you could forcibly suspend your brother’s wife from a running fan and fuck her in the armpit till she died of vertigo. If you do that now you are labeled a deviant but back then you were merely a gentle, sensuous man executing position # 89 (the Rotating Pit). So, no longer will you be applauded if you engage yourself in rape and murder, unless of course you work for Narendra Modi. Your actions will merely be described as “not adhering to the company rules”.
                 Due to excessive protests from human rights groups, women’s groups, and Maneka Gandhi a meeting between the Chairman of BPOs (COB), Chairman of Cabbies/Rapists (COCR), and the Chairwoman of Women (COW) was set up to discuss and resolve the issue of the increasing threat to the security of women workers at BPOs. However, at the last minute Maneka Gandhi backed out in indignation when she learned that it was only a human being and not a stray dog that was raped and murdered.
               The discussion broadcast on NDTV’s sister channel NDTV-GOOD TIMES, SHIT PROGRAMS turned out to be rather fruitful especially with celebrity moderator Navjot Singh Sidhu (NSS) overseeing the debate.
NSS: Let me tell you something, Sonali, a discussion is like an orgy. It’s no fun unless we all take part in it.
COCR: First of all, your little concubine Sonali isn’t here so stop addressing every goddamn thing to her. Secondly, I would like to raise the point that while orgies are necessary for the proper functioning of a society, it is the concentrated act of rape that demands more from an individual’s character and consequently churns a better man out of him.
COW: You assholes sicken-
COCR (interrupting): I know, I know. You will ask me now what the difference between a gang-rape and an orgy is. Well, let me break it down to you. When you gang-rape someone you stuff two or more…
COW: This is not a discussion celebrating the heinous act of rape. This is a discussion condemning it and demanding nothing short of capital punishment for anyone committing rape.
NSS: Rape is like a horror movie-
COW (thinking Sidhu had completed his sentence): Thank you, Mr. Sidhu.
NSS: -the more the screams the better it gets.
COW: Shut up, you hairy spit bag. I blame the greedy, exploitative BPO companies who demand unreasonable working hours from women and do not provide them enough security.
COB: Now, look here, you Cow-
COW (angrily): What did you call me?
COB: I meant Chairwoman of Women. Now, you look here, I understand where you’re coming from. But even an autistic child would understand that we’re not to blame for the crimes committed by the drivers we employ to transport our workers to and from our offices.
COW: Now, you look here dickhead-
COB (offended): What did you call me?
COW: I meant greedy dickhead. You listen to me, if you had a security guard compulsorily accompany every car-ride this would never have happened.
COB: We do give our women employees that option.
COW: It shouldn’t be an option, it should be a rule. If a security guard was there in the car the latest case, and several others before it, could have been avoided. But, of course, that would mean one less person in the car and more guards for you to employ, doesn’t it? And it wouldn’t be such a profitable decision for you greedy billionaire bastards, would it?
COCR: To be fair to the BPO guy, our premier society, the RA or the Rape Academy, has been fairly successful in recruiting several security guards as well. So, I’m not really sure how much protection they would have given even if they were present in the car. It would have probably meant an extra cock violating the helpless cunt.
NSS: A cock in a cunt is like a candidate at an interview. He enters with all the energy and zest in the world but comes out deflated and perspiring.
COW: So, that’s it, then? Cabbies will rape women; security guards will rape women; politicians will rape women; filmmakers will rape women; in short all men will keep raping women and nobody’s going to do anything about it?
COCR: Now, let’s be honest, women don’t really object to getting raped, do they? On some level, it’s guaranteed that they enjoy it.
COW (disgusted): You sick piece of psycho shit, why don’t you go rape the women in your family and see how much of it they enjoy?
COCR: Well, that’s where the women in my family and the rest of the Indian women differ. The women in my family are traditional, wonderful, dignified women who cover themselves up in long opaque saris. But you slutty whores, with your sleeveless tops and your tight jeans, you want us to rape you, you want us to take notice of your goods, you want us to enjoy you, you want us to give you that wonderful feeling of pleasurable pain. Damn, I’m getting a hard on just talking about it.
COW (speechless with anger): You vile repulsive motherfucker, you mentally ill scum of the planet, fuck you and your inherent chauvinistic outlook. You base venomous bastard!
NSS: A bastard is like AIDS. Nobody really knows who fucked it into existence.
COW (shaking with anger and desperation): It’s never going to change, is it? This despicable perception of women as objects for men to relieve their sexual frustrations upon. And a patriarchal society like India where all men are closet rapists will never really respect women, will it?
COCR: That’s like asking if Ellen DeGeneres will start fucking men.
NSS: Lesbians are like male homosexuals who like penises. Except they are female and like pussies.
COCR (surprised): That wasn’t an analogy, that was just a definition.
NSS (sadly): I miss Sonali.
COB (feeling bad for the COW): Look, chairwoman, I think I may have been a little insensitive to your arguments. I’m sorry. I think I will be making additional efforts in providing enhanced security to our women employees.
COW (still emotional but allayed slightly): Do you mean it?
COB: Yes, in fact, I’ve already thought up a few security measures. I’m thinking from now onwards one of the qualifications to be a driver working for BPOs is for the candidate to be a eunuch.
COW: Ok…
NSS: A eunuch is like a car without an engine…and no testicles.
COB: And we shall also make sure that all our women employees are given electrically charged chastity belts to protect their…femininity.
COW: Ok…
COB (thinking): And perhaps a bra that would make their breasts look smaller than they actually are.
COW: I appreciate your good intentions, chairman. Thank you. But maybe you can also supply your women employees with bottles of pepper spray and maybe tasers. You could also install tracking devices in your vehicles, which can be done, and have someone monitor it on a computer. If the vehicle goes off the prescribed route or stops for more than five minutes, you can call the driver. And if he doesn’t answer your call you can inform the police.
COB: Come on now, that’s a bit silly and impractical.
COCR (bored): Now if you airbags have finished chattering I would like to leave. There are more unsuspecting women out there for me to go and rape.
(Both the COW and COB look at him with disgust and shock)
NSS: Actually, there’s one thing left to do.
(Sidhu goes to the side of the room, opens a kit, and takes out three thick cricket bats. He hands one to the COW, one to the COB, and keeps the third one for himself)
COCR: I don’t have to time to play. Some little girl or nubile woman is out there with her fresh cherry ready to be popped by me.
NSS: Now as you know, I haven’t done this in a while.
(Sidhu signals to the COW and the COB. They step out from behind their podiums and approach the COCR. He starts protesting but the thick willows land against his teeth and balls, crippling him to the ground. Sidhu square cuts his dick; the COW cover drives his skull; the COB straight drives his nose. After a few minutes of some industrious batting and a good partnership, the Chairman of Cabbies/Rapists breathes his last. His bloody carcass lies in a hot pool of blood)
COW (looking at the corpse): Go to hell.
NSS: Hell is like Pakistan. Except there are more Hindus and Christians.