I admit it’s been long since I’ve blogged. “Too long”, one email said. “Have you finally run out of venom, you cunt?” another mail politely enquired. “I think in an effort to find more shit you shoved your head so far up your shit hole you asphyxiated to death,” yet another fan surmised. While I appreciate the concern showed by my loyal followers- or pedophilic, murderous blotches on humanity as the police call them – it’s rather complicated for me to shed light on why I stayed dad- I rarely stay mum- on so many several issues all these months. Why the U.S President’s residence is still called the White House even after a black man is in charge; a theory about how the terrorists who attacked the Taj Hotel could have been scorned prior customers who were rendered bankrupt by the hotel’s exorbitant tariffs; how an ‘activist’- or a useless piece of maggot-ridden foreskin who wants his fifteen minutes of fame – upheld our Indian values by getting Akshay Kumar and his hot biatch wife Twinkle arrested for vulgarity. I confess I too always imagined situations involving Twinkle and handcuffs but somehow getting her arrested wasn’t quite what I had in mind. And a hundred other sundry instances when I felt like indulging in some graphic ranting but four words stopped me from doing so. “Oh, well, fuck it.” And then one day I came across something that didn’t just irk me. It vexed me. I swallowed my overpowering instincts- and mind you that’s the only thing I swallow- and decided not to react. And I waited almost two months hoping the bitter feeling of poison would disappear from the roof my mind. It hasn’t and therefore I’m forced to take up this unenviable task of misusing the English Language to vent my fury. If anyone of you reading this voluntarily switched off your electricity at eight thirty in the night on March 28, 2009 calling it the “earth hour” then let me be the first to inform you that you deserve nothing less than being tied to a gurney and subjected to a five hour bukkake by ten grisly bears and Ramesh Pawar.

        I’m as ecologically conscious as a stray canine. I mean, if I ever accidentally take a shit in the middle of the road I have the good sense and etiquette to hose it down with my urine. But when people, which include the ever conscientious media, start telling me to turn off all the switches at my place to save electricity because the whole world is doing so, that’s the kind of thing that galls my balls. No one gives a fuck even if their neighbor is raping his daughter or when thousands of kids are recruited to be terrorists at the age of four or five but when it comes to saving the fucking planet everyone wants to hold hands and act together. Otherwise it’s “your country, your problem”. And once again the most annoying thing of them all was the appearances made by these scrotum smelling celebrities who think that we are a bunch of brainless, mindless, spineless puppets who would fucking obey whatever the fuck they ask us to do just because they make more money than us. If Krista Allen thinks that merely because I have made love to my hand watching her “acting” she has the authority to tell me to switch off all my lights then that biatch is way off. And if Aamir Khan thinks having a cunning image consultant empowers him to start controlling my life then that little fucker would actually be better off suffering from short term memory loss because he can forget about it. When will these assholes realize that we don’t like being told what to do? It doesn’t matter if it’s the right thing or not- don’t fucking tell us what to do.

        Since the promotion of the “earth hour” was so vexing I had made up my mind to ‘switch on’ every single working thing in my home at eight thirty in the night on March 28. I bought half a dozen extension chords, borrowed a dozen irons and about twenty electric heaters and prepared myself for the MotherfuckingEarth Hour. And at eight twenty nine my finger began itching as it edged closer towards the switch to flick it on, and a minute later I found myself sitting in utter blackness. Not because I blew a fuse, not because I changed my mind and decided to acquiesce to what the world wanted but because at eight thirty on March 28 the power was forcibly cut by the government. The entire month they preached to us about doing what was right, acting now to save the planet, being responsible, and when the crunch time came they decided to cut the power no matter what. If you were one of those dumbasses all eager to play your part in saving the world, kindly enlighten me at which point of the power cut did your contribution happen. Now, why couldn’t they just have been a little more honest with you from the beginning and tell you what they were really thinking? Instead of painting this picture where you were this powerful individual who had the ability to make a difference why couldn’t they simply tell you “Listen, you dickless cretin. We will do as we please and there ain’t a fucking thing you can do about it.”

        So next time you want to do something along with the world for the greater good of humanity, or the planet, chuck the “earth hour” and go with my “snuff hour”. On any selected day at a fixed time, chosen after a universal poll, all the human beings stand next to each other, holding hands forming the largest possible human chain ever, and, oh, fully covered in kerosene. When the clock strikes the agreed upon hour the first human being in the chain and last human being in the chain take a lighter and flick it. Then we stand there and feel powerful until the two fires meet in the middle. The “earth hour” requires you to immerse our world in pitch blackness. I really don’t think darkness and obscurity is what we need in today’s world. Don’t we have a lot of that already? What we need is some light, some spark, and some fire. What we need is the “snuff hour”.

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