Sweetest Assassinations of All Time Sunday, Dec 30 2007 

                From the guy who designs chains out of used dental floss to the girl who’s allergic to cancer, from the optimistic crippled guy who’s hell bent on becoming a tap dancer to the girl who can accommodate an entire village inside her vagina, from the guy who claims he caught AIDS from a grandfather clock (although he may have meant grandfather cock) to the girl who takes naps with sexually stimulated sheep, from the guy who wants to masturbate alongside Osama Bin Laden to the girl who wants to get fingered by Hrithik Roshan’s double thumb, I know a lot of interesting people. Plus I know this completely bizarre guy- and I mean an absolutely mental motherfucker- who thinks Abishek Bachchan has talent. Although, the most complex cunt of them all, I’d have to say, is this guy who calls himself an assassination critic (Or an ass-crit). He critiques assassinations for a living. Now I don’t know who the fuck pays him to do that stuff but that’s what he does. About a thousand minutes back I sat down and had a talk with him, opened up a decent discussion. On the five sweetest assassinations since time immemorial. As always I like to document the stuff that I do. Even if it’s just taking a crap, I document that shit (10:00 pm- I clench my ass. 10:02 pm- a sizeable piece of turd dives into the bowl. Smells like beef, sounds like a Republic Day parade).
                Therefore, in the interest of the public, I’m releasing the documentation of the spiel that my ass-crit friend launched into about the five sweetest assassinations that has ever taken place.

# 5: John Lennon (2 stars)

If there’s an assassination that you can broach holding your girlfriend’s hand it’s that of John Lennon’s. Romance, suspense, intrigue, and a subtle vein of humor that consistently amuses the audience from the start to the finish all come together in this formulaic yet well-shot assassination. Starring the rock legend John Lennon cast opposite a practically unknown yet undeniably talented negative hero, Mark David Chapman, the assassination flows with the heartwarming ease of a Beatles song. Enough action to keep the male audiences happy fused with a romantic angle, provided by Yoko Ono, to satisfy the female audiences the John Lennon assassination satiates everyone unanimously.

# 4: Rajiv Gandhi (2 stars + 1 grenade)

Few assassinations dare to break the mould and offer something different. Even fewer assassinations are capable of starting a trend that would branch out into something truly groundbreaking. This is where the Rajiv Gandhi assassination proves to be a cut above the rest. Armed with a tightly woven plot and backed up by a stalwart production banner, the Tamil Tigers, the assassination keeps you on the edge of your seat right from the beginning. The director of the assassination boldly breaks the tradition of casting a macho assassin and goes with an ugly female assassin, a move that pays off immensely. The high profile target, the unobtrusive assassin, the bomb hidden in the basket of flowers, and the deadly deafening explosion are just few of the highlights of the Rajiv Gandhi assassination. All in all, it’s a thorough entertainer.

# 3: John F. Kennedy (3 stars + 3 bullets)

Considered by many as the sweetest assassination to have ever taken place the JFK assassination is truly ahead of its time. With a stellar cast and a riveting storyline, the JFK assassination is laden with twists, turns, dark humor and mystery. The assassination proceeds flawlessly with the most talked about President of the USA gunned down in the middle of the road with hundreds of people watching. The alleged assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, in true Hollywood style, and arguably in the best role of his career, maintains complete innocence, which is when the story accelerates into fourth gear. Right from the FBI, CIA, NYPD, UNICEF, and the Teletubbies, everyone’s a suspect. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the JFK assassination is one of the greatest stylistic and cerebral achievements of the USA.

# 2 Mahatma Gandhi (4 stars + 3 bullets + 1 walking stick)

Ever so rarely comes the kind of assassination that everyone deems as an instant classic. And the Mahatma Gandhi assassination is one of those instant classics, and for good reason too. With one of 20th century’s greatest underdog stories as background, the Gandhi assassination unfolds like a magical tale of ambition, struggle, victory, deceit, and tragedy. Strong on possibly every aspect the Gandhi assassination succeeds in entertaining everyone from kids to adults to red-assed baboons. Nathuram Godse delivers his strongest performance as the ruthless assassin while Gandhi, as always, captivates the entire audience with his pure charisma and crowd appeal. Despite not offering anything out of the ordinary the assassination works perfectly owing to the cast, the story, and undeniable universality of the theme. It is one of those assassinations that gets fresher each time you mention it.

# 1 Jesus Christ (5 stars + 1 Mean Cross + 3 Dreidels)

The assassination of Christ is undoubtedly the most widely received and critically acclaimed assassination of all time. The assassination, which took place almost two thousand years back, still remains one of the most stylish, most efficiently achieved assassinations to date. The sheer budget of the assassination, what with the huge cross, all the nails, the thousands watching, the hundreds taunting, and an ocean of other extras, is purely staggering. It is a visually stunning creative masterpiece that transcends the boundaries of time and remains as one of the sweetest assassinations ever known to humanity. It is one thing assassinating a President or a Prime Minister but the assassination of the Savior of all mankind is clearly on another level all together. The very fact that the assassination has sprouted off several cults and sects and shows the lasting impact that this truly phenomenal magnum opus has on audiences all across the world. And frankly speaking, there were no other targets during that time or even now who could have fit the bill as perfectly as Jesus in a truly mesmerizing assassination.

               While my ass-crit friend had complied an impressive, hard-to-contest list of the sweetest assassinations of all time I was surprised to see certain assassinations left out, certain glaring omissions. He clarified that Abraham Lincoln failed to make the list because he was just too damn ugly. I asked him about the assassinations of great black leaders like Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. and inquired why they hadn’t made it into the list. To which the ass-crit replied: “Black guys are always getting shot and killed. That’s no news.” And when I asked him about the assassination of the first Indian Woman Prime Minister Indira Gandhi and the barely-a-week-old assassination of Pakistani leader Benazir Bhutto he had this to say: “Fuck! How hard is it to kill a couple of birds? Even O.J Simpson can do that shit

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A Message from Jesus Monday, Dec 24 2007 

Dear Me-ians (think about it 🙂 Pretty clever, eh?) And Rest,             

               I’ve got quite a few things on my list that I have to go over with you. Firstly, tragedy struck us today morning at ten o clock when Santa Claus died of an extreme syphilis-gonorrhea combination affliction. He caught it from Rudolph the red assed reindeer. PSYCH!! I was just messing around. Santa is still alive.  I love that red fat bastard. He does have the syphilis-gonorrhea combination affliction though. That has been known to happen when you slide down too many chimneys in the same night if you get my drift. And as a result, I’ll be couriering everybody’s gifts to their homes this time. So, if you don’t get the useless shit you asked for this year, don’t whine to Santa or me, whine to FedEx.
              I don’t particularly like celebrating my birthday. One of the reasons is because the parties in heaven suck. I mean, shit, what’s a birthday party with just eleven people?! And Gandhi won’t even let anybody eat meat. Talking about thrusting your beliefs upon somebody else. I’m glad none of my followers are like that. So, anyway, that’s why if I ever feel like partying hard I just hop down to hell and hang out a little while. Say what you want about Hitler but that Nazi motherfucker knows how to throw one hell of a fucking party. “Ich liebe Hackfleisch”. Yeah!
               Another reason I don’t want to be reminded of my birthday is because of my age. I mean, shit, you humans freak out when you hit thirty; imagine what it is to be over two thousand years old. Although, the popular opinion up here is that I don’t look a day over one thousand and seventy. To be honest, I owe it to all to healthy food and dedicated working out. Plus an occasional facelift doesn’t hurt anyone. PSYCH!! Just kidding. I’m in heaven, not Holly-fucking-wood.
               Birthdays are often occasions to reflect on and reminisce about things past. I was never someone who looked out for the future. I tried to make each day as useful as possible and better as many people as possible. In retrospect, I feel like such a douchebag for being so reckless in my behavior. When I gave up my life for the rest of you, I did it so that you’ll learn the significance of selflessness, love, and sacrifice; I even foolishly hoped you would all become better people. Instead, some of you assholes got together and devised a big fat hoax (in my name!) to control the lives of others and exploit it to your advantage; and the rest of you suckers let them get away with it. The aforementioned lines are not just true for me but some of my other comrades up here in heaven. In fact, both Krishna and Muhammad helped me write those lines because they feel the same way about those who run around chanting their names. You morons down there have no idea how pissed off we three are because of your stupid ignorant behavior since forever. Fuck! I promised myself I wouldn’t get too emotional on my birthday. Damn it! But it’s ok. It’s all right. I’m not angry; I’m just a little dented, cardiac wise.
             Speaking of things you people down there are doing wrong, I’d like a few things about the way you celebrate my birthday changed. I mean, don’t take this personally or anything but frankly speaking I’m kind of bored with the whole Christmas tree idea. Hell, it’s just a fucking tree for Christ’s My sake! With some glittery shit on it. It doesn’t really say anything about me. I would much rather prefer if you guys put up something bold, something adventurous, maybe some midget skeletons. Yeah, that’s right, midget skeletons. I think I’m onto something truly groundbreaking here. Just stay with me here! Get some midget skeletons, hang it in your front yard, inside your home, wherever you want to bring that holiday mood, and decorate it with some buffalo balls. Yeah, that’s right, buffalo balls. Or even bull balls. I don’t really care about that. Just make sure those midget skeletons look really Christmassy. But it has to be either buffalos or bulls. No bison balls. I hate bison balls. So remember, yes to buffalo balls and bull balls. But a big fat no to bison balls.
               And one more thing, when you are doing skits and stuff about my birth make sure you choose a cute baby to play me. I have seen some ugly-ass babies play me over the years. I don’t want that. If you can’t get a cute baby that’s human get one of those animatronic babies, I don’t care. But don’t rope in some shit-ass baby who looks like something that came out of Paula Abdul’s ass.
               Well, that’s it then, I guess. Hopefully you’ll have a great new year as well. Unless you get blown up by some psycho with an underwear bomb, or slain by some preschooler, or screwed over by your friends, family, and lovers. Or get plain depressed and end your lives. Anyways, Merry Me-Mas (think about it 🙂 Pretty clever, eh?) to all of you. I’ve got a Fuhrer Partay to attend. Now, where did I leave my swastika?! PSYCH!!

From,
Christ.

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Lynne Spears's Parenting Book: Chapter One Friday, Dec 21 2007 

               In an age where the moral fabric of America directly influences that of the other top countries of the world, it’s tough for American men and women, especially the ones known globally, to live a free, uninhibited, unbiased, morally upright life. The pressure to not drink and drive, not racially abuse blacks, nerdy whites, and foreigners, not have more than two of your sex tapes leaked on to the Internet, not release “fuck Islam” videos on youtube every three hours, not overdose on heroin, not have shootouts in the middle of the streets, and not encourage Adam Sandler to keep making movies amongst several other austere demands take severe toll on the impressionable, vulnerable minds of goodhearted Americans. Especially on the young kids who might grow up to be tomorrow’s Bill O Reilly or Michael Savage or even Dick Cheney.

            And that’s why, I, Lynne Spears, a mother of two girls, have decided to pen this book on parenting which includes all that I know about raising good, morally sound, responsible, socially committed children who would in time transform into rich, famous adults who would then in turn make their parents rich, famous, and really full of themselves as well. In this first chapter, I would like to enlist a few of the dos and don’ts of parenting kids at different phases of their lives. Once that scarlet little blob squeezes its way out of your hairy plug point, the first thoughts that cross your mind shouldn’t be about whether that little ham is alive or not, boy or girl, retarded or mentally challenged. It should be to get your worst half- the same guy who spooged inside you while picturing your younger more attractive sister bent over- to go out to the nearest bookstore and grab (not take, not pick, not choose but grab) a copy of my book on parenting which is entitled “Parent second, Pimp First”.

First 12 months

Don’ts

  • Absolutely no alcohol for the baby in the first one-year of its birth. Beer, although, can be, in fact it should be administered to the little hungry toddler in buckets whenever it reaches for your reddish nipples fresh from the weekly boob job
  • No staying out after midnight. I’m talking about the kid, of course
  • Never leave the baby alone with coins or credit cards or currency notes that might cause respiratory blockage if swallowed. There’s a good chance they might steal it.
  • Never leave the baby alone in a room with sharp pointed objects. The baby might get hold of it and stick you up to get to your money.
  • No drugs

Dos

  • Have strange men come over to shovel your butt dirt as soon as your husband leaves home. Or falls asleep. That way the presence of a father is never absent from the little munchkin’s life.

Age 1-5

Don’ts

  • Do not give the kid beer anymore. Upgrade the kid’s beverages to vodka, gin, rum, whisky, piss, loose shit, menstrual blood, melted ass, a cup of cum and just about anything that you drink yourself
  • Do not hesitate to have the “talk” with your child. Remind your children that having a kid when you’re a kid means extra poop around the house. If it’s a boy always advise him to insert his cock and shake it around in the ass of a girl so that he won’t knock her up. Plus she won’t shit for a while too. If it’s a girl encourage her to offer her tiny pair of buttocks to her college going broke-ass boyfriend. As a parent, you should let your child, who’s between one to five years old, know that the cunt is out of the question
  • Do not let your kid make friends. Cut your child completely off from their social lives and send them off to movie auditions, reality television auditions, be Internet models. It is important to make them understand that they cannot just mooch around, they need to become earning members of the family. And if things go well, the only earning members of the family
  • Never ever let your kid know who their real father is. Each week throw a different name at them. Keep them guessing. It helps activate their brain cells like hell during Christmas. Plus they develop a crappy self-image, which translates to a tighter leash on them by you
  • No drugs

Dos

  • If your kid starts making mistakes or doing crazy stuff blame it all on them. Keep in mind to always act like the struggling helpless mother cursed with the demon seed.

Age 5-10

Don’ts

  • Do not nestle your child’s pussy from the public view, absolutely no pussy-nestling. Never let your daughters get out of the house wearing underwear. Whenever they go out to get drunk or boned shove your hands down their pants or up their skirt and check for any presence of fabric. If they are wearing panties rip them off instantly and ground your daughters for three days. If it’s a boy his dick is probably all over the Internet already
  • Don’t counsel your kids about publicly revealing information about their virginity. Let the public work that out when the sex tapes hit the market
  • No reading
  • No writing except rehashing corny pop shit from the Neanderthal era
  • No taking personal breaks for playing or relaxing. It’s between the age of 5-10 that responsible children work their hardest to pay back the loving parents who gave them life. Work their asses off.

Dos

  • You may now advise them to begin doing drugs
  • Sell your children totally, completely, absolutely and hand their lives and personal decisions over to multi billion dollar studio executives

Age 10 and above

Don’ts

  • Don’t give a fuck

Dos

  • Write a book on parenting

By Lynne Spears (Professional Mother)

P.S- THIS JUST IN (ha! Justin): Jamie Lynn Spears, who is 12 weeks pregnant, announced to OK! NOT REALLY! Magazine that her fetus is 4 weeks pregnant and planning to keep the baby. Reportedly, the fetus was impregnated by its long time boyfriend, the liver.

Crying, Waiting, Hoping Thursday, Dec 20 2007 

(Source: Trivandrum City Express, The New Indian Express- 19/12/2007)

                 Zombies walk around in torn clothes with half-ripped pages sticking out of their mouths and pockets; crumpled rectangular laminated cards with letters and numbers are wedged clumsily into the back of their skulls; the zombies have their hands frozen in a strange position, almost as if they are holding a couple of invisible bricks close to their chest; on listening close to their monotonous mumblings it becomes clear that half of them are chanting “issue” and the other half “return”. That’s the kind of existence that the current members of the British Library, Trivandrum are worried of leading post February 2008.
                True lovers of the Library deal with their imminent loss in different ways. Some have completely given up their social lives and decided to spend the last couple of months wistfully smelling the insides of the books they have presently borrowed not even caring if there are fossils of bugs stamped onto the pages; others consume a year’s supply of coffee in an attempt to read as many books as they can before their world ends; certain more driven members have taken it upon themselves to reverse the decision of the British Council to shut down the library fully believing in Napoleon’s quote about nothing being impossible..
                Literature aficionados in Trivandrum fear if names like Shakespeare, Dickens, Woolf, Hardy, and Joyce amongst many others would not have the same impact in their children’s world of knowledge as it did in theirs and be reduced to mere screen names used in role playing computer games, not because it means anything to them but for the fact that they sound strange and catchy. Academicians feel more cheated than they would if they found out their spouses are unfaithful. The kids who had somehow managed to tear themselves away from their computers and found a unique pleasure in spending time at the Library now feel disillusioned and disenchanted.
               The situation is quite amusing and on some levels even strangely ironic. For about a century or more, a strong majority of our entire country headed by the most persuasive individuals we had to offer tried to get the British to leave our land. And now, sixty years later, in the most literate state in India, large groups of people are trying even harder to get the British, or at least a part of them, to stay on. It would undoubtedly be a strong blow to the booklovers of Trivandrum if the fate of the British Library cannot be reversed. However, that doesn’t have to necessarily spell the end of our love for reading. There are other fish in the sea. Perhaps not as big and culturally rich, but fish nevertheless. Besides, if push comes to shove we can always resort to putting forth a threat to the generous country of Britain. If the British Library doesn’t stay on, we take back Shilpa Shetty. Well, maybe not.

Extreme Kamasutra Part 2 Saturday, Dec 15 2007 

The Scientology Hop Position

              The lovers engage in public display of affection by sucking on each other’s kneecaps for an extended period of time. After the foreplay session the couple then returns home on their private spaceship. The male partner attaches long electrical antennae to the skull of his sexual partner and buries her under the living room floor. He then mounts the sofa and hops on it fervently screaming “Hubba! Hubba! Hubbard!” four times in Italian, Spanish, and Indian accents. At which point he blows his load all over the couch. In this position, the male often attains climax prior to the female who is buried alive under the floor.

scientologyhop.jpg

The General Musharraf Maneuver

                The female partner, dressed in only a see through hijab, is confined to the kitchen making armpit-flavored pretzels. The male partner, dressed in complete army outfit, including the silk cap, sits in front of the television watching M.S. Dhoni while simultaneously engaging in fervent self-pleasuring. Even after the female lover finishes preparing the armpit-pretzels the male refuses to shed his uniform. The detractors of this mode of sexual union tend to refer to the act also as the Perverse Musharraf Maneuver.

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The Poultry Farm Embrace

                The Poultry Farm Embrace is a highly potent erotic move that can often lead to the swelling up of several parts of the human anatomy that are generally not supposed to do that. Half past midnight the lovers stealthily enter a poultry farm and gain access to a chicken coop. After stepping inside, the man and the woman disrobe each other. After sensually licking each other’s nose hair the man and the woman proceed to sing “Glamorous” by Fergie. As soon as the song gets into the first chorus, the sleeping chickens will wake up and angrily begin to peck the fuck out of the lovers who are caught in the tightest of hugs. The painful pecking serves to enrich the pleasurable experience of physical intimacy inside the smelly coop. After about half an hour of pecking the chickens are likely to go back to their original state of being stupid. Bodily fluids, mostly blood, will be flowing in buckets from both the male and the female lover.

poultryfarmembrace.jpg

The Reverse Beowulf Position

               In the Reverse Beowulf Position the man and the woman engage in a ménage a trios with a fire-breathing dragon. The male performs cunnilingus on the woman while simultaneously receiving a fiery fellatio from the dragon. The positions are then switched as the woman eats out the dragon pussy while the man plays Halo on his Playstation 3. When he attains maximum body count, the man orgasms screaming, “I am Beowulf” a hundred thousand times. The woman stops licking out the dragon muff and mounts the man. Then the woman, assisted by the dragon, proceeds to rip off the man’s heart and also his balls and throws them inside the nearby laundry basket. The woman then goes onto fist the dragon’s anus eventually giving the dragon severe constipation.

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The Seventy One Style

It’s 69 plus number 2.

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Extreme Kamasutra Friday, Dec 14 2007 

                Love is like Jesus. You look into your beloved’s eyes and see all your personal dreams reveal their insignificance when compared to what you would do to keep her happy. You are willing to stomp, for her, on every principle and ideology that you once swore you would never relinquish. Her cherubic smile stirs inside of you something real, something magical, something about 8 inches long. Then you take her to the nearest room and fuck the living daylights out of her. And that’s why love is like Jesus. And a good fuck is like the Jewish/Roman partnership. It beats the crap out of love.
              Afterwards, your beloved opens up her heart about the depth of love she feels for you while you scratch your shriveled up balls in the middle of a sleep much deeper than her love. She looks at your face lovingly, picks up her bra from the ground, and proceeds to strangle you to a very humiliating size 32B death. Such a degrading strangulation by a 100 % cotton elastic innerwear would never happen to a man who is well versed in the sensual chapters of Extreme Kamasutra. She would have been too exhausted to even close her legs, let alone arm herself with a bra and murder you, if you had proficiency in the vast erotic knowledge contained in Extreme Kamasutra.
                The sexually illiterate might always resort to the mundane, dull, unadventurous, everyday list of moves like “the G-spot jiggy” or “the Boston Brute” or “the Dirty Sanchez” or “the Fire Hydrant”. Those wishing to learn might instinctively go to the nearest children’s library and pick up a copy of the original Kamasutra. However, in the 21st century, the Kamasutra is as outdated as fidelity. In today’s age, there’s only one manual that can guarantee complete satiation and bliss and that is Extreme Kamasutra.
                Given below are the some of the most successful and pleasurable moves and positions detailed in Extreme Kamasutra that would guarantee complete exhaustion of, and total satisfaction for, your partner by the time you’re done. In fact, at the end of your love session she would be groggier than a room full of people watching the Indian Cricket League matches. Now, let us start the education. The enlightenment. The Extreme Kamasutra.

The Empire State Lovers’ Union

               In this lovemaking position the man and the woman stand in front of the Empire State building and start snogging until mutual arousal is achieved. With the help of the security guard present there both the man and the woman manage to strip down to their bare minimum. The lovers proceed to rub against each other further. Now with assistance of the hotdog vendor both the male and the female get completely naked. It is important that the hotdog vendor gets absolutely no mustard on either of the lovers. The woman then stands on her two hands and splits her legs exposing her open minge. At this point, the man has to sprint towards the elevator and get to the roof of the Empire State Building before he loses his wood. After reaching the roof the male lover approaches the edge of the roof and begins masturbating like a rabid monkey. When the man successfully deposits his semen without spilling a single drop from a height of above 102 stories into the vagina of the woman standing on her hand, the sexual congress is pronounced complete.

empirestateloving.jpg

The Criss Angel Banana Split

              In this particular mode of sexual congress the man and the woman place themselves horizontally on a bed made of banana skins. They then proceed to consume two bananas each. Ensure that neither the man nor the woman have banana between their teeth making it seem as if they just brushed their teeth with baby shit. The man now mounts the woman and begins to kiss her gently all over her face. After slobbering her face with more spit than a hoard of hungry retards, the man turns the woman on her back. The male lover then mounts the female from behind. At this point, the man reaches out for the battery operated chainsaw resting near the banana bed and saws his lover into half. Immediately, the man starts humping the dissected lower body while simultaneously trying to put back the severed torso. The sexual union is only complete when the man is successfully able to put the woman back together. If he fails to achieve sexual climax with his first female partner he can proceed to engage in the same act of love with other female members of the severed woman’s family.

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The Al Gore Sexual Congress

               The male and female partner must travel to the North Pole by foot. On reaching the North Pole they strip naked and cry out “Goooore!” four times which will attract horny polar bears. Once the polar bears make themselves appear both the male and female lovers are supposed to take turns jerking and fingering the bears according to the respective genitalia. Neither the male nor the female or the polar bear for that matter are supposed to eat any kinds of food except their own feces that will again be reused the next day as meals. After jerking and fingering the polar bears the man and the woman approach each other and stand a few inches apart. The male then rubs the Nobel Peace Prize medal on his penis until he ejaculates whereas the female shoves the Nobel Peace Prize diploma up her pussy and fakes an orgasm. Both the male and the female partners are to stay away from showers, baths, or water for the rest of their lives. If the male desires to use a condom while jacking off use only recycled condoms.

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The Catholic Priest Position

               The male partner holds the female partner gently and embraces. He then clubs the woman into a state of unconsciousness using a Bible. Following that, he approaches the younger male relatives of the woman and engages in sodomy.

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The Hillary Clinton Sex Position

The female partner lies on the left side of the bed and goes to sleep.

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to be continued…

SUICIDE BOMBER FAN MAIL Sunday, Dec 2 2007 

Watch Video Footage:

http://www.ibnlive.com/videos/53388/caught-on-camera-lanka-bra-bombers-blast.html

Dear Suicide Bomber,              

                  Mama always said you weren’t real. She said you were like Santa Claus, or Harry Potter, or Kim Kardashian’s ass. But after seeing your work caught on video she’s like so without speech and stuff. And I’m like so squeaking thankful to all our TV channels for showing such graphic and kick-ass violence without any kind of restraint whatsoever. My little nephew was lucky enough to catch it and now he wants to be just like you- the belt bombs, splattered brains and everything. I would specially like to thank Times Now who just the other day was thrashing the rest of the channels for not being sensitive enough to pixellate a naked assaulted adivasi woman’s face. I think they are so not pretentious and hypocritical.
                I’ve always been like super-curious about how you make up your mind to take up such a smart career choice. I mean like I understand it may not be as adventurous or stimulating as being an English teacher in Sudan or a BPO worker in India but I would so like to know what inspired you to be who you are today. Was it the availability of a platform to get across to a lot of people at the same time? Or the chance to play Holi with your intestines? Perhaps, it was just the obvious glamour that came with the job. Anyways, you’ve always managed to totally blow my mind off.
                 The other day a close friend of mine, she’s like my soul mate and all, made a joke about you. She asked me: “What happened to the failed suicide bomber?” And when I said I didn’t know she said like: “He didn’t bomb”. Then another day she asked me: “Why would it really stink for Abishek Bachchan to be a suicide bomber?” And again I didn’t like know what the answer was and stuff so I told her that I didn’t like know the answer and stuff. So she replied: “Cuz he’s so full of shit”. That really was all I could take so I inserted a Nokia phone up her ass and recharged it until she blew up. I know you’re a faint-hearted person and I’m sorry I had to like say that to you but I just can’t take it when anybody defiles your name. Although, I was made an honorary Muslim fundamentalist after my actions. My extremist name is Sheikh Yost Uf.
                One Sunday I was just doing what I always do on a Sunday, which is watch Homicide Homies on DD-1 (Daily Death 1). And I heard someone say all your relationships are extremely short-lived. Is that true? I think it’s cool that you’re into playing the field. It’s better than getting into some relationship that just makes you want to kill yourself. I also heard on Homicide Homies that you are like super good in bed. Is it because you know how to explode at the most appropriate time? Anyways, you’re a rock star in my book. Like Kurt Cobain.
                I won’t lie to you, I’m a little sad. Because one of my buddies said like the other day that you’re not like a good person and all. And that you do what you do to hurt other innocent people. I mean like I didn’t believe him or nothing because I know that’s like untrue. If you wanted to hurt innocent unsuspecting people you would have like just become a politician or a model turned actor.
               I’m super sorry if I intruded into your personal time and stuff. But I just couldn’t like resist writing to you. I know your apartment must be like totally messy with all my previous letters and stuff. You know I like totally admire you and everything but there’s something that just keeps nagging at the back of my head and stuff. Something that even made me think if I should like send you a letter bomb or something. I mean like I won’t. But I just feel so mad and everything, you know. Alright, I’m just gonna go ahead and say it. Here goes.
                I’ve sent so many letters to you but I’ve never ever gotten a single reply . I mean, like, seriously, would it kill you to write me back?

Your hugest fan
Me.