Bite that tongue Friday, Jan 25 2008 

               Racism is like UFO sightings. It might happen anywhere else in the whole world but it just doesn’t happen in India. Accusing an Indian of being racist is as ludicrous as accusing George Bush of being eloquent or Britney Spears of covering her pole-vault. Perhaps it’s a genetic trait, but we Indians just aren’t inclined to be racist. We do not discriminate any human being on the basis of his/her skin color. In fact, there’s a large part of the Indian Advertising Industry which has dedicated itself to making sure that all dark-skinned people overcome their obscure condition and become healthy, normal fair-skinned members of the society. And it’s an incontrovertible fact that we embrace people of all skin colors. In fact, some of our most revered Gods, if we are to go by the evidence seen in various illustrations, were blue in color. Now, you show me any other nation who would embrace blue individuals and venerate them like we do.
                Not only are we accepting of all races, including horse races, but we are also a nation who strongly supports the new wave of political correctness that is imperative in today’s troubled and hostile world. In fact, a recent episode that I had in a café enlightened me of my own latent prejudices and completely changed the way I think and speak. It all began with the well-mannered, unassuming waiter who came to get my order.
“Hello, sir, are you ready to order?”
“Yes, I’d like a black coffee please.”
“Sir, we do not tolerate that kind of language in our café.”
“Huh?”
“Kindly refer to it as ‘African-American coffee’, sir. We have a very strict policy against racism in our cafe.”
“Umm…ok. I apologize. I’ll have one ‘African-American coffee’ and a plate of chicken breasts.”
“Sir, I repeat that we do not practice any form of discrimination in our café and I’m going to have to ask you to follow our norms. Your language is quite unacceptable.”
“I can’t say chicken breasts?”
“I’m afraid not. The first half of the compound word you used suggests a baseless allegation of cowardice and the latter half is blatantly sexist. The appropriate term is the ‘thorax of the fowl that has a pox named after it‘.”
“Ok, alright, my mistake again. So, I’ll have one African-American coffee and a plate of the ‘thorax of the fowl that has a pox named after it’. If you can please make it fast, it would be helpful. I have an insane work schedule that I have to get back to.”
“Do you think it’s funny, sir?”
“Huh?”
“Do you think you can pick on anyone merely because they act differently? The word you used to describe your work schedule is highly derogatory and demeaning. If you have to, resort to the socially accepted substitute of that word- ‘differently sane’.”
“Look, it’s just words. You’re making it sound as if I’m some kind of a criminal.”
“Sir, you are absolutely crossing the line with your disrespect for our rules and humanity in general. You cannot, under any circumstances, use the C-word in a civilized society like ours.”
“The C-word? You mean criminal?”
“Sir, please, mind your language. You have no right to outcast the ‘alternately employed members of the society’.”
“Look, stop making a scene here. There are people at other tables who are looking at me and giving me these weird sniggers.”
“What did you just call me?”
“What?”
“Did you just-?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, are you deaf?”
“How dare you, sir? I do not possess a ‘permanently switched off biological audibility device’, if that’s what you meant.”
“Look, I’ve had enough of this ‘metabolic waste produced by a male member of the bovine community‘ from you. Forget the food, I’m out of here. If you have a problem with what I said, you can go to ‘the monosyllabic place with an extremely tropical climate and trying living conditions run by a very demanding dictator’
“Well, at least you had the courtesy to portray your disagreement in such polite words. I respect that.”

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Welcome to India, Nice to Molest You Monday, Jan 14 2008 

Imagine this. A huge statue of a tall dark handsome Indian man. Located in a central spot somewhere in our country, a place where our countrywomen, tourists, foreigners, and visitors to India can have a deep long look at it. The statue stands tall towering well above the monuments around it. Safe in the man’s right hand raised high into the air almost touching the clouds hovering over it is a tablet with the inscription “Woman is God” on it. Below the man’s waist wrapped in his left hand is a huge concrete erection that’s pointing up towards the blue skies and two gigantic balls, which have inscribed on their vast surface the words:
Give me your blonde, your brunette,
Your unsuspecting bitches yearning to get raped,
The wretched sluts whose pussies I’ll forcibly make wet,
Send these, the innocent, the underage, the elderly, regardless of how they are shaped
I lift my horny chauvinistic cock and rape every single cunt I can get
.”

                It’s been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that two out of every three Indian men (the third is a eunuch) find it physiologically impossible to refrain from molesting at least four women every week. So, we might as well have a statue announcing to the whole world that east or west, we’ll do our best to molest.
                Much like everything else in this world our modus molestation has also evolved. A decade or so ago, our best men toiled in harsh working conditions (like crowded buses, jam-packed queues, markets, poorly chaperoned nieces’ houses, movie theatres, and churches) using simple techniques (like the ass-graze, the sleep-grope, the accidental boob jab, the inadvertent thigh caress, the trip and grab for support bit, and the misguided peck on the cheek) that often gave the desired result but in a degree lesser than expected. With the passage of time, things have changed, sexual repression has increased, carnal depravity has grown, and we, the Indian men, have developed far more impressive and efficacious methods of molesting women. We’ve become way more adept at what we do, much more meticulous, and thorough professionals.
               The Mumbai Molestation event that transpired in the wee hours of Jan 1, 2008 (http://www.ibnlive.com/videos/55468/mumbai-shamed-2-girls-molested-on-new-years-eve.html) marks a new milestone in the Indian Men’s molestation track record. Never have so many men joined together for such an extraordinary cause ever before in the history of our country since the release of Mallika Sherawat’s Murder or the Gujarat riots in 2001.
                We hear all the time about corporate tycoons making a mark outside their own country using their business acumen and their grandfathers’ fortunes. Indian men, too, have begun expanding their activities to non-Indian pussies. There was a time, when due to social constraints and a narrow outlook, we were restricted to molesting only the women in our country. Now, thanks to globalization and exaggerated advertising about Indian tourism, we are presented with several opportunities to forcibly extend our cocks to unwilling foreign cunts. Be it the smooth molestation of a Swedish teenager in Cochin by a few dozen of our compatriots (http://www.ibnlive.com/videos/55436/local-revelers-in-kochi-molest-swedish-girl.html) or the molestation of an American woman by a messenger of God (http://www.ibnlive.com/news/american-tourist-alleges-molestation-at-pushkar-temple/55960-3-1.html) the quality of work and the ease with which the cases are swept under the carpet to brighten the tricolor surface of our nation are nothing short of stupendous.
                A lot of people feel that molesting a woman is different from raping her. If you ask a true hardcore Indian man you would realize that the two are as different as a Bollywood actress and a Red-Street prostitute, or horseshit and donkeyshit, or a poor wife with great tits and a rich wife with no ass. When you rape a woman, you complete the job; you finish what you started; there is closure. Molesting someone, on the other hand, is more of an initiation course before you perform in the big league of rape. It’s like the chicken broth before a three-course dinner. Often, several men have a taste of the soup and take a raincheck on the main course. But you know that sooner or later those soup tasters will come back to bite into the main dinner.
                 It is undeniably true that none of the commendable progress of the Indian molesters and rapists would have been possible if it weren’t for the police, the court, and the various state governments. And, undoubtedly, the biggest token of gratitude goes to the word “alleged” that the media and the officials efficiently throw around when it comes to sex offences. Thanks to that word a giant beast with big ears, tusks, a trunk and pillar-like legs will remain an “alleged” elephant unless proven by a court of law.
                For some reason women don’t quite enjoy getting molested and raped as much as the men who commit those acts do. I’m personally quite baffled by this lukewarm response from the ladies. But hey, to each their own. However, one thing you ladies need to know about Indian men is that we never say no (except when the wives ask us if we’re having an affair). Regardless of the mediocre level of enjoyment you derive from our manly acts, we will strive to molest and rape all women, Indian, non-Indian, alien, and feminist until the end of time. If you don’t want to be involved in it, then keep your ass inside your home. Might seem a little regressive but that’s our best offer. Get out and get molested. Stay home and save your ass. Well, unless your male relatives at home wish to rape you. Allegedly, of course.