Fuck the Tiger! Save the Moths! Wednesday, Feb 27 2008 

             I owe a lot to TV. Over the years it has given me new ideas, new philosophies, and new women to fantasize when I’m interrogating my penis in bed. It has given me laughs, thoughts, ecstasy, and visions into worlds I never knew existed; it enables me to have cute newsreaders who give the headlines transformed into cute cheerleaders who’re lining up to give me head in my sound, unperturbed sleep. But most of all, I’m grateful to TV for the number of heinous acts it has prevented me from doing.
            The other day, I was sitting home, polishing my gun (not a masturbation metaphor this time), dusting my hunting clothes, lighting my cigar, ready to go shoot a tiger-much like any other sane, common person in India would do sometime during their daily schedule- when suddenly I saw Rahul Dravid on TV asking me to “save the tiger”. At first, I ignored it like the small lump that men find near their balls which they mistake for a third testicle. Then, after a few minutes, I saw Kareena Kapoor, who was probably wearing tiger-skin bra and panties, request me- and every other person in their hunting clothes watching TV at that moment- to not go and kill tigers; she, too, wanted me to “save the tiger”. I felt my heart sink; it was at that moment the scrotal lump became cancerous. I felt disoriented by a moral conflict. Hunting tigers was, after all, something that I, and every other ordinary Indian watching TV most of their time, did from childhood onwards; it was, practically, part of our lives, our Indian tradition. But here was Rahul Dravid- who couldn’t save his place in the one day cricket team let alone a big striped cat- and Kareena Kapoor -a bitch, who in a sudden attack of consciousness, wanted to protect a feline warning all of us that if we- sitting home with a remote in one hand and a gun in the other- continue shooting tigers and killing them- like we’ve been doing for so long- the tigers were soon going to be extinct. At that moment it hit me like a big bag of feces at a rock concert, we’ve all been striving and caring for the wrong things. Fuck world peace! Fuck religious harmony! Fuck protesting against fake-piety! Fuck fighting against police brutality! Fuck the safety of children! Fuck the safety of common women! Fuck protecting rape victims (to be fair they’ve been fucked already)! Fuck fighting against dirty politics! Fuck freedom of speech! Fuck poor people! Fuck the unemployed! Fuck the illiterate! Fuck the ill! Fuck fighting against terrorism! Fuck resisting fake-patriotism! And fuck life all together! The only thing that matters in the world is saving a fierce carnivorous smelly animal- who would by the way rip you into shreds if you get too close to it- that some guy in a wasted moment named as our national animal.
            I exercised my brain a great deal to figure out the kind of things I could do to help “save the tiger”. I was initially confused when the TV channels went on about saving “the tiger”. Clearly, they were just talking about one specific tiger. Rahul Dravid said, “Save the tiger.” Kareena said, “Save the tiger”. Which one you crazy cunts? Which is the tiger we’re supposed to save? It would have been a lot of help if they said something like, “Save the tiger- the one named Billu.”
            But then I decided, perhaps, I shouldn’t focus on that one tiger everybody was talking about; if I’m intending to save tigers I should, ideally, make an effort to save all of them. On doing research I discovered that one of the first steps that needed to be taken to ensure the protection of tigers was building in them a strong sense of morality and a desire to survive. To be honest, I kind of get the feeling tigers are not really keen on surviving. So we killed a whole lot of tigers and brought their numbers down to about 5000. Big fucking deal! So what? I’m sure they’re aware of a little thing called “banging”. When Hitler murdered six million Jews they didn’t become endangered in the next four years, and then move on to complete extinction, did they? No, they fornicated like crazy and are back stronger than ever. That’s in fact the story of mankind in general. I’m pretty sure that humans kill more humans than tigers every day but that hasn’t brought down the staggering rise in population, has it? You don’t see any celebrities on TV pleading with the world to “Save the mankind”, do you? So, I say teach the tigers that if you want population then you got to have copulation.
             That’s when another thought crossed my mind. What if the tigers are in fact banging but just not having cubs? Whenever you switch on nature channels there are tigers fucking each other. If they are horny enough to have sex on video, then having sex is probably not their big hurdle. It could be hesitancy in conception. And there could be two reasons for that: a) the tigers are into family planning or b) they are faggots. If the tigers are into family planning all you have to do is either make an animal version of the movie “Cheaper by the Dozen” or get them to have a talk with Lalu Prasad. Meanwhile, if the tigers are homosexually inclined, a completely different route of penetrating the issue has to be taken up (no pun intended. Who am I kidding! Of course, pun intended). Get a celebrity gay icon like George Michael or Harsha Bhogle and have them speak to these fudge-packing tigers. Convince these ass-mining tigers that after spooging into their partner’s anus they should insert their fists into the rectum, swipe all the tiger semen using one of their paws, and carefully place it inside a girl tiger’s vagina (stir if necessary). That should knock them up. If the tiger is a lesbian convince her that tiger cum can be used as a lubricant during dyke sex and she’s bound to fall for it. If the cubs turn out to be little fags, educate them about this procedure as well, thereby instilling this paw-cum-pussy ritual as part of the tiger culture.
             As I ponder about saving tigers, another startling revelation comes to me. Sure, the numbers are dwindling when it comes to tigers but what about other creatures. Are we not being a little specie-ist by only wanting to save tigers? I don’t know about you but I haven’t been seeing as many moths as I used to a few years ago? Where are they? What’s happening to all the moths? I’m leaving the lights on outside my home, not using clothes and books for months at a time but I still don’t see any sign of them. Could it be that the unattractive, wannabe butterfly-like creature is disappearing right in front of our eyes without our knowledge? Would we have to satisfy our future generations by showing a color picture of a moth when they cry “show us the moth, show us the moth”? Well, not if I can help it. I’m not going to waste one more moment worrying about the stupid tigers who just don’t want to fuck each other heterosexually. Instead, I’m going to focus my energy on saving the creatures who really need our help. The moths. I mean, I don’t even think they have penises. Have you ever seen a moth with a penis? How on earth are they supposed to procreate without penises? So let’s all forget about the tigers and devise plans to help save the moths. Whatever we can do: not swat them, not smash them with newspapers, donate sperm, whatever it takes. So, I’m pleading with you: Fuck the tiger! Save the moths!

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Spread the VD message Thursday, Feb 14 2008 

                Love can be infectious. And that’s why if you’ve got a loved one I suggest you make sure that he/she is infected with a good dose of VD fun today. And I don’t necessarily mean VD as in rotting dick stinking cunt VD, I’m talking about cheap chocolates, cards with typos, retarded mixed tape, fucking in the back of the car Valentine’s Day (VD). Although I wouldn’t be surprised if the two VDs had some kind of connection initially before time took them in completely opposite directions. There’s a good chance that it was a miscommunication or a misinterpretation that gave an unpleasant incident romantic connotations.
              Hundreds of years ago, on a February 14th, a man was seen unusually perturbed. He wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t take a shit, and he wouldn’t sleep. But there’s a likelihood that the three things were correlated and had nothing to do with his primary cause of misery. It even looked like he had temporarily quit his job of being a veterinarian. Finally, one of his buddies managed to break through and got him talking. It turned out he had syphilis. That’s why he was disturbed. That’s why he didn’t even go to work. Understandable. If I learned I had syphilis, checking dogs for fleas and sticking my finger up their hairy butts would be the last thing on my list (on second thoughts, even if I didn’t have syphilis that would be the last thing on my to-do list, right after respecting Paris Hilton).
                What worried the man most was that he had infected his new girlfriend, Valentine, as well and she didn’t know about it. She was a very conservative, unadventurous kind of girl who would be devastated if she knew her man had not only been sleeping around but infected her too. Taking his friend’s advice, he bought a box of chocolates, nicked some flowers from the neighbor’s garden, and went to see his girlfriend in order to break the terrible news to her. The girlfriend, surprised on seeing the normally hard-assed guy carrying loads of sweet gifts for her, was clearly over excited.

Girl: You’re so sweet. Chocolates and flowers for me?
Guy: Yes, they are for you. But I…I’ve got something to tell you.
Girl: And it’s dark chocolate as well. And roses. Just the way I like it.
Guy: The thing is I…I’ve got…and I gave you…
Girl: Why, honey? Why have you given me all these gifts?
Guy: VD
Girl: You gave me gifts because it’s VD? What’s VD? Wait…V for Valentine…my name…D for day…Valentine’s Day?
Guy: I think you mis…
Girl: Oh, I love you so much. I know I always said no to it, but I want you to take me up the ass. I want it so much. Just for today.
Guy: I wanted to tell you I had infec…up the ass? Did you say you want it up the ass?
Girl: You meant Valentine’s Day, right? VD.
Guy: Sure, that’s what I meant. Now bend down and spread your cheeks.

               And then the guy went and told all the other men that if there was anything their girlfriend didn’t want to do in bed all they had to do was wait till February 14th, get her some flashy, mushy shit and bam! she would turn into a slut faster than a Hyundai would turn into a Decepticon. Some men, even now, just to keep the tradition alive perform the ritual of passing on a venereal disease to their girlfriends and wives on every February 14th. Certain women, too, are keen on doing their part on this special day.
              So if you have a sore on your mouth, ass, cunt or dick, and it burns when you pee don’t get mad, don’t get paranoid. It just means that somebody out there really loves you.

India is MY country, NOT YOURS Sunday, Feb 10 2008 

              When I first started getting memory loss and mixing up things I feared if I had vascular dementia. I couldn’t tell the difference between news channels and sewage tanks; I suffered from the inability to discriminate between film actresses with loud mouths and prostitutes with gaping assholes; I was unable to distinguish between Rakhi Sawant and a used condom; I lost the capacity to tell apart a politician from a bag of feces mixed with toxic venom; I found no contrast between democracy and fascism; I failed to differentiate between a man on the street and a rapist on the prowl; I lost the faculty to identify a stupid dumb bitch and a girl who uploads her photos on social networking sites; I didn’t have the power to list any dissimilarities when I juxtaposed doctors with ruthless cunts who would do anything for money; I had trouble discerning businessmen from ruthless pricks who would do anything for money; I tried my best to separate religion from science fiction but I failed pathetically; I saw film critic Anupama Chopra and a chortling baboon and couldn’t tell them apart; I struggled to get a clue about how teachers were different from diarrheic donkeys with their heads shoved up their rectums; I could no longer discern an activist from an attention whore; I failed to see any difference between the Government and an acute case of fistula; I made an unsuccessful attempt to distinguish between tomorrow and an imminent apocalypse. And then, suddenly, I realized I wasn’t suffering from vascular dementia; I was just experiencing the side effects of being a citizen in modern day India.
                 Sometimes, when you’re under the constant watch of the public it’s easy to be misinterpreted and portrayed in the wrong light regardless of your intention; I know that because I had my share of negative publicity during my time as a South Indian pornstar (I went by the name Mountmaster Mohanlal). Good people can be represented as bad, bad as good, tall as short, fat as moderately overweight, Shekhar Suman as talented, MTV Roadies as cool, and call centre zombies or pampered sons of rich business freaks as the prototypical Indian youth. Raj Thackeray is being portrayed as a manipulative fascist; Amitabh Bachchan is accused of being more close to Amar Singh than one married man should be to another; and Rajnikanth, winner of the HENDTV-Indian of the Year (or was it CNN-IBUM? Whichever it was, he got it during an exclusive and grandiose ceremony where only whoever showed up with a bag of money got a useless award) is being unjustly accused by his detractors as being unrealistic in his acting roles. 
                And the “news” channel Headlines Today (HT), promoters of healthy discussion that they are, decided to hold a debate between the three main men currently courting controversy, the topic of the discussion, of course, whether each individual should stick to the state they are born in. Headlines Today also brought in a special guest, whom they locked inside an opaque box which would be opened only at the end of the debate.

RT: If this very blog on which this idiotic post appears is not translated into Marathi I will have my workers burn wordpress down.
AB: Can we just get this over with? I’ve to go found a brothel in the name of my hot daughter in law.
HT: Where’s Rajnikanth? We can’t really start this debate without all participants present. He has to argue that whatever he does is real and believable…
(Suddenly fourteen choppers appear and line up overhead the Headlines Today studio where the debate is taking place. Rajnikanth pops out of the last one and swings from one chopper to the other like Tarzan and on reaching right above his seat in the studio lets go. He glides through the air and lands on his seat perfectly)
RK: Sorry I’m a little late. I was attacked by a T-Rex on my way to the studio and I had to kill him with my belt buckle.
RT: Do you understand now why I say Maharashtra is for Maharashtrians only? Do you want something like this infecting the good people of Maharashtra?
RK: You’re probably right. The so called good Maharashtrians are fit to watch shameless sluts like Mallika Sherawat shaking her tits for money.
RT: At least, it’s real.
RK: Not really. Trust me, I know.
AB: Perhaps, I need to remind everyone who was voted as the superstar of the millennium. In case, you feel a little thick, let me reiterate that that honor makes me much bigger than you, you, or Maharashtra.
HT: Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Bachchan but we have an exclusive Headlines Today breaking news to report. “Kareena Kapoor who was attending a major Bollywood function today evening was found to have calluses on her right hand. Reports suggest that she received it from giving Saif Ali Khan a rough handjob.” Back to the debate now.
RT: Did you become the superstar of the millennium acting in Konkani films? No, Maharashtra gave you your status, Maharashtra gave you your wealth, and Maharashtra gave you your life.
AB: But UP gave me my Amar Singh.
RK: The Thackeray boy has a point there. Can you imagine me endorsing some place like, say, Madras after everything that Tamil Nadu has given me?
HT: But Madras is in Tamil Nadu.
RK: Get your facts straight, news boy. Madras is in Brazil.
AB: You ignoramus, that’s Mardi Gras. It’s a festival like day. Amar and I go to Brazil dressed in platinum thongs every year to celebrate it.
RK: Where the hell is your wife anyway? How come she’s never seen with you?
AB: She’s always there with me. You just can’t see her because she’s only as tall as my thigh bone.
RT: You immoral greedy South Indians and North Indians come to our serene Maharashtra and contaminate the sanctity of the place. You exploit my state and then you have the gall to steal our jobs and not speak in Marathi.
RK: I speak great Marathi, for your information. The young chicks of today dig Tamil more, that’s all.
HT: Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but we have a cracking Headlines Today exclusive news item to report. “Our Headlines Today camera caught a glimpse of bad boy Salman Khan in one of his usual deer-kebab restaurants. Images showed a red circular mark around Salman’s waist which has sparked off a huge controversy. Is he wearing tighter underwear? Or does he try on Katrina’s panties when she isn’t looking? Keep watching Headlines Today for updates.” Back to the debate.
RT: What was so inappropriate in what I said anyway? I pointed out the ingratitude of India’s supposed superstar to Maharashtra which is fully true in every which way possible. Last time I checked India is a free country. Every citizen has the freedom of speech, especially if he’s a Thackeray. My words will not be curbed.
HT: Do you then own up to the riots that broke out in the wake of your contentious statement?
RT: That’s not my fault. I can’t be held responsible if some loons misread me exercising my freedom of speech. By that logic, would you arrest Mickey Mouse if a thief told you he stole cheese because he was inspired by him?
AB: I’m a much bigger star than Mickey Mouse. And my daughter in law nibbles a lot better than him as well.
RT: Haven’t you nibbled away enough of my Maharashtra? Leave my homeland and go shack up with your fat slimy buddy. Maharashtra is for Maharashtrians.
RK: Anyone want to see me flip 35 cigarettes into the air and light them with my fart?
HT: Once again, I have to butt in as we’re bringing you a super exclusive Headlines Today breaking cracking smashing news item. “Shahid Kapoor is a lonely boy on this Valentine’s Day. Shahid was spotted moping at his best friend Amrita Rao’s flat yesterday night by our intrepid reporter who was hiding in the bushes. Headlines Today asks its viewers to SMS in what you think Shahid should do on Valentine’s. SMS A for MASTURBATE, SMS B for WATCH PORNO, SMS C for MASTURBATE WATCHING PORNO.” Back to the debate.
AB (to RT): Just like you have your freedom of speech, I have mine as well. And if I want to endorse UP, I will. If I want to endorse a unicorn I will do that as well.
RT: Well, perhaps you should. It has a better chance of winning something than your Amar Singh.
AB (profoundly): He’s more like a unicorn than any of you will ever know.
RK: Do you know what the problem with the two of you is? You’re hungry for more power. Be satisfied with what God has given you. Money and power aren’t important in a man’s life, integrity, honesty, and love is.
AB: How much do you charge for a movie?
RK: About 250 million rupees. And I’ll fucking kill anyone who stands in my way of earning that.
AB: So much for integrity and love.
RT: Everywhere you look around in my Mumbai there’s either some North Indian or South Indian dickhead not knowing Marathi driving a taxi and stealing a job. Mumbai is not open to the world; it’s my home and I will not let anyone assfuck my Mumbai.
HT: I have to stop you right there, Mr. Thackeray, for we have a super duper exclusive mega cracking back breaking ground shattering Headlines Today news report from one of our reporters. “Pathetic actor turned mediocre MP Govinda accidentally consumed some stale bhelpuri and as a result shat in his pants. Headlines Today has exclusive sample of the shit that dripped out of Govinda’s pants. We will be bringing you a close up of the crap very soon.” Back to the debate.
RT: There’s nothing more to debate. I’m done. I will not stop until I’ve vanquished each and every non-Maharashtrian from my homeland. And no one can stop me.
RK: Step into my world if you really want to know how powerful Tamil Nadu is. Mumbai will shiver in the sheer energy of Tamil Nadu. Just like North Indians and Maharashtrians shiver in the brilliance of South Indians.
AB: I shiver only for UP and my Amar Singh.
RT: Each land for its own people! Jai Hind! Jai Maharashtra!
HT: Don’t be so sure, dear panel members. I believe we can change your outlooks. There’s one final phase to the debate. Let us now introduce the surprise special guest who has been close to getting asphyxiated in our big black box, the back from the dead Ms. Helen Keller. Hold the applause because she’s deaf as fuck and it doesn’t matter to her.
RK: If only she had been half a dozen years younger, I could have made her my heroine. I’ve never acted with a handicapped chick.
AB (to HT in a sad tone): She’s the special guest? I thought it would have been…Amar…
HT: Look at her; she’s deaf, she’s blind, she’s unattractive. That makes her ultra special, in the Special Olympics kind of way.
AB: She’s not that eloquent either.
HT: Well, actually, that would make this whole lengthy tirade kind of meet a premature end. So, for the interest of finishing this bizarre blog post we will have to give her the gift of perfect eloquent speech.
RT: Well, as long as she speaks in Marathi, I don’t mind.
(Helen Keller warily moves forward and addresses the debaters present. Sadly, she’s facing the wrong way)
HK: Let me tell you about my story. I was born blind, deaf, and mute. Still I grew up, wrote books, and…
AB: Save the story bitch. I trained you in Black, remember?
HK (turns around on hearing the voice, which makes her occasionally deaf, apparently): Ok, fine. What I’m trying to tell you is that it is ridiculous and inhuman to discriminate each other on the basis of geographical locations. Skin color, religious beliefs, and sexual preferences, maybe. But regions? That’s crazy! You’re all from the same nation. Why are you cutting down that big nation into smaller pieces? Don’t you understand that if, God forbid, terrorists attack South India, North Indians and Maharashtrians will be affected as well? And vice versa. Do you want a repeat of Pakistan? And if the states in India are so obstinate about your fellow countrymen from other states subscribing to your local language and ideology how can you blame the Americans, the Singaporeans, the Malaysians, the Kenyans, and the British who shoot up Indians because they feel they are a threat to their culture; Indians go abroad and build temples, build mosques, community centers, Indian clubs, all kinds of things. And not just Indians from one state: Maharashtrians, South Indians, North Indians, everyone. So, understand that fraternity begins at home. Treat your fellowmen right and the world will treat you right. Now, I will demonstrate via a strong example why geographical discriminations are stupid and unreal.
(Helen Keller approaches the debate table. She touches each panel member using her hand for about a minute or two and then goes back to her previous position)
Do you see what I did now? I touched the faces of all three of you. And I cannot tell which one of you came from South India, North India, or Maharashtra. To me, you all felt the same. Well, one of you needs a shave but I could not tell anything about where you are from. So you see, my fellow humans, it’s pointless to have this entire debate on whether Mumbai is for Maharashtrians only, and whether South is for South Indians only. India is one big painting. Don’t cut it up and destroy its singular beauty.
(Raj Thackeray, Amitabh Bachchan, and Rajnikanth look at each other guiltily. They appear as though they have understood the folly of their ways and the insignificance of their argument. Suddenly, their eyes uniformly fall on Helen Keller’s cleavage. Each one looks at the other and nods)
AB: Well, Helen, we appreciate your help and we do want to believe you.
RT: Although, if we receive a bit more convincing we might just become model citizens.
RK: I’ll second that.
AB: We will all hump you one after the other. You try and tell which dick is from UP, which one is from Mumbai, and which one from the South. If you feel absolutely no difference then we’ll believe you, Helen.
(Helen Keller is petrified. She takes a few steps back. Amitabh and Raj surround her. Suddenly, Rajnikanth inserts his hand into his pants and pulls out a big dick. He detaches it from his body and throws it at Helen Keller. The dick flies through the air and chases Helen Keller around the studio in order to hump her. It’s only a matter of time before she is felled by the dick. After screwing her it returns to Rajnikanth’s hand. He blows at the smoke coming out of the dick hole and puts it back in his pants. Amitabh and Raj get to work)
RK: Nothing like molesting a woman to get the men of India to forget regional differences and stick together.
HT: Sorry to interrupt you, sir. Headlines Today Breaking News time! “In what appears to be the newest controversy hitting the country, the Headlines Today investigative journalists have uncovered what experts call the Helen Keller gangbang sex tape which shows the disabled bitch getting it on with two men and one detached penis like there’s no tomorrow. Keep watching Headlines Today for exclusive footage.”