Sunday, August 19, 2012
India’s population to be reduced to half after SMS ban implemented
Starting today, over a period of next 15 days India’s population is expected to be reduced to half of its current number of 1.2 billion, reports said. This analysis has come in light after Indian government’s decision to limit the number of chain text messages that can be sent to a maximum of 5 persons a day, announced yesterday.According to estimates, about 51 percent of India’s population comprises of youth in the 13-28 year age group out of which 99 percent are expected to die over the next 15 days if they still remain in the country without being able to send chain messages.A huge portion of this population, mostly girls, started spontaneously combusting and dying of heart attacks when they realized last midnight that they can know longer send group text messages to more than 5 people.
This decision has caused an outrage among people from this age group who have taken up the issue on social networking sites likeTwitter and Facebook.Priyanka Verma, a Delhi University student had this to say on India TV News: “Oh gosh! I got like the biggest shock of my life last night when I was like sending a goodnight message to the 198 people in my Samsung Galaxy S3 contact list.I just hope the government had like prepared us for this like huge piece of shock through messaging only because I have like better things to do in my life than like doing loser and boring things like reading the newspaper.My daily routine used to be like a goodmorning message to everyone I know along with a discussion about like what for and where I was going to go shopping today.Followed by 8 messages per day per peson that I used to send like ranging from topics like love, relationships, Twilight, heart-break, Ranbir Kapoor, my new emo-haircuts followed by a mass “gud9yt every1.Swt drmzzz” The sad thing is that I still have like 258 free messages remaining on my free message pack.And since the failed sms sending last night I’m experiencing like migraines and increased heart-beat, but I’m just glad I didn’t like spontaneously combust like the rest of my girly friends did.”
Meanwhile, some tragic reports of suicides and youngsters fleeing the country are also coming up.Simran Oberoi(name changed for privacy reasons) from Chandigarh last night tweeted: “oMg! hOw cUd dEy dO dIs tO mE. I m kIlLiNg mAhsElf.GuDbYeeee eVeRy1. TeNk YeW fOh aLL da lUv n dUn evAh 4gEt me pLzzzzzzzzzzz.”She was later found dead in her room with Justin Bieber’s hit single, “Baby” playing in the background.Also some teenagers and yuppies that are still miraculously alive were today spotted crossing over to the Bangladesh border and they had this to say about the whole issue, “Man, crossing over to Bangladesh is the smartest decision we’ve made since deciding to wait for the iPhone 5 instead of buying the Samsung Tab.But anyway, we know Bangladesh is an unsafe, flithy, extremist-infested country but atleast we will die knowing in her hearts that it has the cheapest call and sms rate in the whole world without any restriction.Grameen Phone rocksss!”
Meanwhile, the remaining one percent youth population that is not addicted to chain messaging has welcomed the government’s decision. Varun Sharma, a smartass from Bangalore wrote on a blog, “I’m so fucking glad man! I mean I was sick of all those assholes, cousins and bimbos sending me texts which said I would get my balls eaten by an alligator if I didn’t forward their message to 10 more people.I’m glad it’s all over.India could do with less discussion about pink coloured shoes.Finally I can now go back to my Facebook message boards and argue in peace with everyone else on why Charlie Sheen and Two A Half Men are the greatest things to happen to guys ever.”
Interestingly, conspiracy theorists have also accused this decision to be a planned government propoganda for controlling India’s population.Manish Singh, another marijuana-addicted smartass from Mumbai wrote on Facebook, “Well obviously, the government is trying to pull a fast one on us defending this decision saying this had to be done for the safety of North Easterners so that no more rumors are spread against them.First arranging emergency trains to make them flee Bangalore and now this, everyone knows that no government is THAT stupid to think that these two measures are what it takes to actually guarantee the safety of people.It is all a big joke. Open your eyes people.”
Friday, August 10, 2012
Indian Olympic Association announces 100 Crores for the 3040 Olympics preparation
The Indian Olympic Association today announced that it has approved a sum of rupees 100 crores to be spent on preparing the Indian athletes for the 3040 Olympics(to be held in the capital of whichever country that manages not to piss off the Arabs and Chinese in the next 128 years to come, and definitely not in Greece because Germany is probably going to buy it for 27 Euros by then).Speaking to the acclaimed local daily-The Times Of India, the IOC president Randhir Singh explained this unique strategy saying, “See, it’s the result of a simple observation that we’ve made over the past couple of Olympic games. Some virtually unknown athletes are coming out of nowhere and winning medals for the country which is resulting in various state governments and sporting bodies often awarding them about 1 crore rupees and popular brands like Koutons and Lotto inviting them to ribbon cutting ceremonies. Also looking at India’s past Olympic records and how India’s total medals tally increased an astonishing 3 times in the 2008 Beijing Olympics to 3 medals as compared to 1 in 2004, while also keeping in mind that we could end up with 5 or 6 medals in the ongoing 2012 edition, we’re noticing a new pattern in the increment of our Olympic medals tally, which according to our sophisticated analysis will be up to 100 by the 3040 Olympics. So we have decided to announce the 100 crores in advance so our coming generations will work hard and be motivated knowing that they have a huge prize money and brand endorsements like Sunfeast and Hero Cycles waiting if they bring laurels to the country in the 3040 Olympics.”
When asked if that money should rather be spent on creating sporting infrastructure, an angry and visually irritated Randhir Singh retorted, “ What?! You mean creating gymnasiums and sporting facilities where everyone could practise?! Are you out of your mind? See, we know that no country in history has ever had an Olympics where every participant won a medal so why should we spend this kind of money on those who did not win anything? In fact we should ask the non-performing athletes to pay us back because we handle all their expenses when they’re out there getting their asses handed to them on a plate in games like Hockey. You have no idea how said I got when I found out that Mrs. Pratibha Patil had to tragically cut-short her last presidential vacation to Mauritius by 17 minutes and two trips to the spa just because a couple of Haryana villagers had qualified for London 2012.Also, it would be cruel to take away anymore of the farmers’ land for construction of sporting complexes, don’t you think? Not to mention that someone in the meeting suggested following Amir Khan's ideology on this so I downloaded his movie called Jo Jeeta Wahi Sikandar which again re-assured my idea of winner-takes-all."
He also added, “See, this sum is probably the same amount of money that the Chinese or American Olympic Associations will be spending on their athletes. I know they do end up getting about 25 times more medals than us in every games and I also know that India has the least per capita Olympic medals of all the nations in Olympic history but what’s the point of all that when none of the money they will spend is going to make their athletes any richer? At the end of the day medals don’t pay your bills, money does, and the last time I checked the London Olympic gold medals had a market value of not more than 15 Euros(which is a shame because I stole a couple of them from some faggy 20 km walk Heptathlon winner and smuggled them inside my rectum on the flight back to Delhi) .I mean look at Micheal Phelps, he might have individually won more medals than India has won in its entire Olympic history but has anyone ever realized if he was born in India he would probably be a millionaire by now, even at the expense of bankrupting his home state after ever Olympics? ”
Also known for his sense of humor in his close circle consisting of legendary Indian Olympic officials like Suresh Kalmadi and KPS Gill, he finished the announcement with a light-hearted statement saying, “Remember everyone, we do win Bronze and Silver, and as long as the Gold keeps eluding us just keep in mind that we have something that neither the US, nor the Russian Federation can match up to with all their gold medals- we have Bappi Lahiri.”
P.S.~Reading this report Amir Khan posted this on his Twitter account," Sir, no offence but the man who told you to follow my philosophy probably meant Satyamev Jayate."
When asked if that money should rather be spent on creating sporting infrastructure, an angry and visually irritated Randhir Singh retorted, “ What?! You mean creating gymnasiums and sporting facilities where everyone could practise?! Are you out of your mind? See, we know that no country in history has ever had an Olympics where every participant won a medal so why should we spend this kind of money on those who did not win anything? In fact we should ask the non-performing athletes to pay us back because we handle all their expenses when they’re out there getting their asses handed to them on a plate in games like Hockey. You have no idea how said I got when I found out that Mrs. Pratibha Patil had to tragically cut-short her last presidential vacation to Mauritius by 17 minutes and two trips to the spa just because a couple of Haryana villagers had qualified for London 2012.Also, it would be cruel to take away anymore of the farmers’ land for construction of sporting complexes, don’t you think? Not to mention that someone in the meeting suggested following Amir Khan's ideology on this so I downloaded his movie called Jo Jeeta Wahi Sikandar which again re-assured my idea of winner-takes-all."
He also added, “See, this sum is probably the same amount of money that the Chinese or American Olympic Associations will be spending on their athletes. I know they do end up getting about 25 times more medals than us in every games and I also know that India has the least per capita Olympic medals of all the nations in Olympic history but what’s the point of all that when none of the money they will spend is going to make their athletes any richer? At the end of the day medals don’t pay your bills, money does, and the last time I checked the London Olympic gold medals had a market value of not more than 15 Euros(which is a shame because I stole a couple of them from some faggy 20 km walk Heptathlon winner and smuggled them inside my rectum on the flight back to Delhi) .I mean look at Micheal Phelps, he might have individually won more medals than India has won in its entire Olympic history but has anyone ever realized if he was born in India he would probably be a millionaire by now, even at the expense of bankrupting his home state after ever Olympics? ”
Also known for his sense of humor in his close circle consisting of legendary Indian Olympic officials like Suresh Kalmadi and KPS Gill, he finished the announcement with a light-hearted statement saying, “Remember everyone, we do win Bronze and Silver, and as long as the Gold keeps eluding us just keep in mind that we have something that neither the US, nor the Russian Federation can match up to with all their gold medals- we have Bappi Lahiri.”
P.S.~Reading this report Amir Khan posted this on his Twitter account," Sir, no offence but the man who told you to follow my philosophy probably meant Satyamev Jayate."
Saturday, October 29, 2011
The Metallica Delhi disaster-The true story from the front row
Hi,
I’m a Metallica fan. And I have had enough.
4 days after leaving from home for what would have been the best day of my life I’m back and typing this frantically because I have had enough. I have had enough of asking the good lord why I was one of the 30,000 unfortunate and mistreated people present at the Leisure Valley on that fateful day. I have had enough of pondering over what the Metallica experience would have been like. And most importantly, I am writing this because I have had enough of the “Oh! Delhi crowd! You deserve it!” and being one of the 30,000 people getting abused by the rest of this great self-righteous country on Facebook and Twitter for the past 3 days that reacted naturally to the ill-treatment and constant lying.
So before I describe exactly what happened I would like to make it very clear that I’m not from Delhi. I’m not from Gurgaon or any other NCR either. I’m not even a Jat(my apologies for disappointing all you smart Bangalore folks, you can still continue the stereotyped blaming though).I am just a Metallica worshipper who travelled all the way from Himachal with a carry bag, an mp3 full of Metallica discography and a dream in my heart. Not that any of this would have mattered. The people that had come from Delhi and Gurgaon weren’t there to grope women and set fire to the venue either. Also I’m not from the DNA Networks.
Having made it clear that I don’t hold any bias while writing this whatsoever here I begin-
The venue was a dusty shithole on the outskirts of Gurgaon.Some people had reached the previous night and had been camping since then. I was lucky enough to be on a chartered bus specifically for the Metallica fans from North India(and that was the only fun I had that day, thanks for all the Buds Ricky!).We reached the venue about an hour before the gates opened and on way to the front row entrance you could smell alcohol, hash and marijuana in the air. People were going to have fun.
Actually, they weren’t.
Half an hour past the schedule the front row gates don’t open and the crowd gets restless. Some security moron sits on top of the gate and starts making the crowd even angrier. People hurl bottles at him along with chants of, “Gate khol behen***d! ” Everyone is abusing at full blast and all of a sudden the gates are opened, in a way that hardly 2 people can pass at the same time. Everyone is pushing. Yours truly finally fights his way through it and finds that there’s no proper checking going on. Meanwhile I can only hope that the 2 girls that were standing beside me and crying because of the stampede are okay. But once inside I don’t look back, I’m too ecstatic right now. I hardly stop for the metal detector test which is a formality anyway. I dash straight towards the stage. There’re hardly 30-40 people in right now and I find that the place has been divided into left and right sides.
I run all the way back to the divider so I could make it to the almost empty right side and guess what, I’m right at the fucking front! Right underneath where Kirk was going to rape his wah pedal later in the evening.I rest my hands on the front barrack and imagine myself headbanging to Master Of Puppets already.The area gets filed quickly and next to me at the front are a bunch of Russian and Iranian guys that are visiting this country just for the concert. It finally starts sinking in that I’m at the front. I can’t wait to rock out!
Meanwhile on the left side, the front barracks have been broken. They make all of us on the right side sit down while the left barracks are being repaired via the macho security guards that are speaking a lingo that nobody can comprehend. The Iranian guy is asking me worriedly if people in India attend metal concerts sitting down. I’m reminded of all the jagrans and satsangs my mom always dragged me to. We ask the security guards for water and they oblige the American females standing next to the divider.
Some announcements are being made. While we at the front on the right side aren’t being allowed to stand up the left side is told to “turn around and take two giant steps back”. This is ridiculous since there’s no way that could have happened with all the people trying to get as close to the stage as possible. It is beginning to get dark and the Metallica road crew which looks more like a bunch of psychotic WWE wrestlers arrive on stage.2 hours over the schedule and people are getting restless. Meanwhile, we’re sick of sitting for so long that all of us on the right side get up and refuse to sit again. The crowd’s anticipation can be judged from the fact that a couple of old-looking women of the American crew sitting on the stage show everyone the metal horns and everyone replies back.
But soon it was going to be strike one.
Announcements are being made in Hindi and English and someone from the American crew comes up to the mic and says something like, “Alright listen up you fuckin buttheads, move back! Metallica is at the hotel giving a press conference, there will be no music if this goes on!” This is the first catalyst. Boos and bottles are being hurled already. But why is the band giving a press conference right now, I wonder.
It is getting very dark now and something odd starts happening. A couple of giant bright lights are turned on which I’m now sure was done so that the crowd at the back could not see what was going on up on the stage. Meanwhile at the front we notice that the drum kits and amplifiers along with the cameras are quickly and quietly being packed and sneaked out the backstage. We smell a rat. Something isn’t right. Soon no American crew member is to be seen. We ask the F1 Rocks crew in front of us standing under the stage what is going on and they start lying about the obvious. Almost everyone at the front knows by now, especially since the beefed up bouncers are sneaking out too. And then an Indian organizer grabs the mic and everyone almost hopes he wouldn’t announce what is obvious to everyone by now. Only he minced his words.
“Due to a technical glitch Metallica will now play tomorrow at 4.”
People know that Metallica are supposed to be at The Taj Mahal and then Bangalore by then and some are reminded of the cancelled Bryan Adams concert too. The announcement is made and what happens next is something that will forever be etched on in my memory.
Infinite number of bottles and sticks are thrown at the stage. By now every organizer and security personnel has sneaked out of the backstage. Everyone is chanting, “Fuck you!” and “You suck!” and there’re middle fingers everywhere in the air.Right now I just want James or Lars to turn up and talk to us. Cmon guys, you’re Metallica! This is what you guys lived for all your early years. When did you start chickening out so easily?
Just then the lights are turned off and people rush on to the stage. The barracks are almost down(bamboo sticks wasn’t a good idea DNA guys).I can feel all the pushing coming from behind, to save myself from the stampede I run towards the stage where I find a safe haven at a slightly elevated level. I’m in tears, after I don’t know how many years. I look over to the crowd and people are venting, crying, abusing. I’m too shattered by now to even try attempting to make someone stop from breaking stuff. A mic stand and monitor is thrown down nearly missing me and another guy trying to find his way out the front towards the exit. Not that the exit gates are open. So there’s a stampede both near the stage and the exit.
Someone is trying to burn the huge F1 Rocks poster with a cigarette lighter. A girl is sitting on one side holding her leg and crying. The police finally arrives on stage and doesn’t do shit.The exit gates are opened and things go totally out of control, the metal detectors have been broken, stalls destroyed. I follow the crowd out towards the dusty roads without my bag, my ATM card. My phone battery is dead and I don’t know where I’m going to be spending the night. I’m thinking of the Indian, Iranian and Russian guys at the front that I took pictures with and how we had promised to share them with each other. People are trying to console each other talking about refunds but knowing in their hearts that 2,750 bucks is not a price good enough for what they did to be at Gurgaon that day.
The feeling of pumping one's fists and chanting, “Die! By my hand!” with James Hetfield and thousands of people from all over the country and the world would have been priceless.
Yours sincerely,
-A dejected fan emptying his mp3 player
P.S.~ By now I don't even care if you blame the crowd for the cancel.All of us fans present there that day will forever remember the real reason in our hearts.I hope so do the organizers.
I’m a Metallica fan. And I have had enough.
4 days after leaving from home for what would have been the best day of my life I’m back and typing this frantically because I have had enough. I have had enough of asking the good lord why I was one of the 30,000 unfortunate and mistreated people present at the Leisure Valley on that fateful day. I have had enough of pondering over what the Metallica experience would have been like. And most importantly, I am writing this because I have had enough of the “Oh! Delhi crowd! You deserve it!” and being one of the 30,000 people getting abused by the rest of this great self-righteous country on Facebook and Twitter for the past 3 days that reacted naturally to the ill-treatment and constant lying.
So before I describe exactly what happened I would like to make it very clear that I’m not from Delhi. I’m not from Gurgaon or any other NCR either. I’m not even a Jat(my apologies for disappointing all you smart Bangalore folks, you can still continue the stereotyped blaming though).I am just a Metallica worshipper who travelled all the way from Himachal with a carry bag, an mp3 full of Metallica discography and a dream in my heart. Not that any of this would have mattered. The people that had come from Delhi and Gurgaon weren’t there to grope women and set fire to the venue either. Also I’m not from the DNA Networks.
Having made it clear that I don’t hold any bias while writing this whatsoever here I begin-
The venue was a dusty shithole on the outskirts of Gurgaon.Some people had reached the previous night and had been camping since then. I was lucky enough to be on a chartered bus specifically for the Metallica fans from North India(and that was the only fun I had that day, thanks for all the Buds Ricky!).We reached the venue about an hour before the gates opened and on way to the front row entrance you could smell alcohol, hash and marijuana in the air. People were going to have fun.
Actually, they weren’t.
Half an hour past the schedule the front row gates don’t open and the crowd gets restless. Some security moron sits on top of the gate and starts making the crowd even angrier. People hurl bottles at him along with chants of, “Gate khol behen***d! ” Everyone is abusing at full blast and all of a sudden the gates are opened, in a way that hardly 2 people can pass at the same time. Everyone is pushing. Yours truly finally fights his way through it and finds that there’s no proper checking going on. Meanwhile I can only hope that the 2 girls that were standing beside me and crying because of the stampede are okay. But once inside I don’t look back, I’m too ecstatic right now. I hardly stop for the metal detector test which is a formality anyway. I dash straight towards the stage. There’re hardly 30-40 people in right now and I find that the place has been divided into left and right sides.
I run all the way back to the divider so I could make it to the almost empty right side and guess what, I’m right at the fucking front! Right underneath where Kirk was going to rape his wah pedal later in the evening.I rest my hands on the front barrack and imagine myself headbanging to Master Of Puppets already.The area gets filed quickly and next to me at the front are a bunch of Russian and Iranian guys that are visiting this country just for the concert. It finally starts sinking in that I’m at the front. I can’t wait to rock out!
Meanwhile on the left side, the front barracks have been broken. They make all of us on the right side sit down while the left barracks are being repaired via the macho security guards that are speaking a lingo that nobody can comprehend. The Iranian guy is asking me worriedly if people in India attend metal concerts sitting down. I’m reminded of all the jagrans and satsangs my mom always dragged me to. We ask the security guards for water and they oblige the American females standing next to the divider.
Some announcements are being made. While we at the front on the right side aren’t being allowed to stand up the left side is told to “turn around and take two giant steps back”. This is ridiculous since there’s no way that could have happened with all the people trying to get as close to the stage as possible. It is beginning to get dark and the Metallica road crew which looks more like a bunch of psychotic WWE wrestlers arrive on stage.2 hours over the schedule and people are getting restless. Meanwhile, we’re sick of sitting for so long that all of us on the right side get up and refuse to sit again. The crowd’s anticipation can be judged from the fact that a couple of old-looking women of the American crew sitting on the stage show everyone the metal horns and everyone replies back.
But soon it was going to be strike one.
Announcements are being made in Hindi and English and someone from the American crew comes up to the mic and says something like, “Alright listen up you fuckin buttheads, move back! Metallica is at the hotel giving a press conference, there will be no music if this goes on!” This is the first catalyst. Boos and bottles are being hurled already. But why is the band giving a press conference right now, I wonder.
It is getting very dark now and something odd starts happening. A couple of giant bright lights are turned on which I’m now sure was done so that the crowd at the back could not see what was going on up on the stage. Meanwhile at the front we notice that the drum kits and amplifiers along with the cameras are quickly and quietly being packed and sneaked out the backstage. We smell a rat. Something isn’t right. Soon no American crew member is to be seen. We ask the F1 Rocks crew in front of us standing under the stage what is going on and they start lying about the obvious. Almost everyone at the front knows by now, especially since the beefed up bouncers are sneaking out too. And then an Indian organizer grabs the mic and everyone almost hopes he wouldn’t announce what is obvious to everyone by now. Only he minced his words.
“Due to a technical glitch Metallica will now play tomorrow at 4.”
People know that Metallica are supposed to be at The Taj Mahal and then Bangalore by then and some are reminded of the cancelled Bryan Adams concert too. The announcement is made and what happens next is something that will forever be etched on in my memory.
Infinite number of bottles and sticks are thrown at the stage. By now every organizer and security personnel has sneaked out of the backstage. Everyone is chanting, “Fuck you!” and “You suck!” and there’re middle fingers everywhere in the air.Right now I just want James or Lars to turn up and talk to us. Cmon guys, you’re Metallica! This is what you guys lived for all your early years. When did you start chickening out so easily?
Just then the lights are turned off and people rush on to the stage. The barracks are almost down(bamboo sticks wasn’t a good idea DNA guys).I can feel all the pushing coming from behind, to save myself from the stampede I run towards the stage where I find a safe haven at a slightly elevated level. I’m in tears, after I don’t know how many years. I look over to the crowd and people are venting, crying, abusing. I’m too shattered by now to even try attempting to make someone stop from breaking stuff. A mic stand and monitor is thrown down nearly missing me and another guy trying to find his way out the front towards the exit. Not that the exit gates are open. So there’s a stampede both near the stage and the exit.
Someone is trying to burn the huge F1 Rocks poster with a cigarette lighter. A girl is sitting on one side holding her leg and crying. The police finally arrives on stage and doesn’t do shit.The exit gates are opened and things go totally out of control, the metal detectors have been broken, stalls destroyed. I follow the crowd out towards the dusty roads without my bag, my ATM card. My phone battery is dead and I don’t know where I’m going to be spending the night. I’m thinking of the Indian, Iranian and Russian guys at the front that I took pictures with and how we had promised to share them with each other. People are trying to console each other talking about refunds but knowing in their hearts that 2,750 bucks is not a price good enough for what they did to be at Gurgaon that day.
The feeling of pumping one's fists and chanting, “Die! By my hand!” with James Hetfield and thousands of people from all over the country and the world would have been priceless.
Yours sincerely,
-A dejected fan emptying his mp3 player
P.S.~ By now I don't even care if you blame the crowd for the cancel.All of us fans present there that day will forever remember the real reason in our hearts.I hope so do the organizers.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The husband, the wife, the parking lot and the hooker
They lived in a small hill town, a happy young couple that had just been married. Everything had been working out brilliantly, both enjoyed great jobs where they worked hard five days a week and partied and made love during weekends, life couldn’t get any better. But it did.
He soon got promoted after which they moved to a metro, she took up a job at an American MNC, both so full of energy. The hustle and bustle of the crowd made them realize that this is what they had always wanted, to live in a big urban city where they could make lots of fun loving, high-society friends and party late into the night .They bought a place in a plush neighbourhood, where they soon started to realize that they didn’t belong .That they would have to change their clothes, their cell phones and even the shoes to gain acceptance in the new locality. Nothing seemed to work out, but he was so determined that he even traded his Hyundai Accent , which they were earlier satisfied with for a new BMW X1 that he would proudly drive to work and park in the big multi-story community parking lot everyday where his wasn’t the odd-car-out anymore.
One day she got fired from work after her American employers realized that their country suddenly owed so much money to the world that its companies could no longer afford to pay taxes, much less pay overseas employees. She cursed George Bush, his successor and oil and decided to find a new job. They could not afford their acquired lifestyle anymore.
What they could also not afford any longer was his new low-mileage SUV, which he would look at with a heavy heart in the parking lot every day after walking back from work. The car seemed to cry at him like a lonely girl standing amidst a crowd wanting to be set free. But he would only cry back knowing he could no longer keep up with the oil price hikes. Meanwhile, she couldn’t find a new job. Both became bitter individuals, the joy of marriage had disappeared, they hardly wanted to party anymore, the sex-life was almost gone. She tried hiding her frustration of sitting at home doing nothing all day long but couldn’t.
What she also tried hiding was that she was three weeks pregnant with their first baby, waiting to break the news at a better time. She finally told him thinking it would make things a little better and he falsely-sympathised with her saying that it was a good thing she wasn’t working since now she could take care of their baby full-time. Soon she began to realize that he had gradually started coming home from work late and even started driving the BMW again, not being able to stop herself from laughing at the thought that her husband was working overtime just to drive a damn SUV that they didn’t even require. One day a woman she befriended at a community get-together told her that she had spotted her husband with another woman in the parking lot. Puzzled, she started spying on his cell phone and realized that indeed he had been calling an unknown woman for some time. She bribed the service-provider to find out that the number belonged to an escort company from which her husband had been hiring a prostitute.
For the past two months.
Heartbroken and shattered that her husband would cheat on his pregnant wife with a hooker she decided that she did not want this man to become the father of the baby she would become the mother of someday. Filled with hatred the next day she bribed a government official so she could acquire a small pistol, the kind her Army man father had taught her to use when she was a little girl. She waited for him to sneak out one night, picked up the gun from the kitchen drawer where she had been hiding it and quietly followed him into the basement of the parking lot where he always parked his BMW. On the way she bribed the watchman to know how long her husband had been sneaking into the parking.
Who told her it had been two months.
Asking him to get out of there she followed her husband into the dark basement where she saw him with the hooker as they quietly moved behind a big yellow Hummer. Bringing the pistol out she started walking closer. It was dark but enough for her to see that the girl got down on her knees while her husband stood there with his back to the car standing in front of her .Tears streaming down her cheeks she gripped the gun tighter and moved further, within shooting distance now. As the hooker stayed on her knees she started hearing deep breaths and choking noises. Not being able to take it anymore she hysterically fired two gunshots, successively getting both of them with two gunshots. Crying uncontrollably, she moved further to say one last goodbye to the monster she had loved. He had been imprinted to the car and so did the girl, in the same position, sitting on her knees, head hard-pressed against the car from the gunshot. She pulled the girl’s hair back to take a look at her face and suddenly felt her own eyes popping out and jaw dropping from what she saw. In the girl’s hand lay a siphon whose one end was inside her own mouth and the other one traversed all the way to the petrol tank of the big yellow Hummer. She froze, fell to her knees and turned the gun on herself upon realizing exactly how long her husband had been driving the BMW again.
It had been two months.
He soon got promoted after which they moved to a metro, she took up a job at an American MNC, both so full of energy. The hustle and bustle of the crowd made them realize that this is what they had always wanted, to live in a big urban city where they could make lots of fun loving, high-society friends and party late into the night .They bought a place in a plush neighbourhood, where they soon started to realize that they didn’t belong .That they would have to change their clothes, their cell phones and even the shoes to gain acceptance in the new locality. Nothing seemed to work out, but he was so determined that he even traded his Hyundai Accent , which they were earlier satisfied with for a new BMW X1 that he would proudly drive to work and park in the big multi-story community parking lot everyday where his wasn’t the odd-car-out anymore.
One day she got fired from work after her American employers realized that their country suddenly owed so much money to the world that its companies could no longer afford to pay taxes, much less pay overseas employees. She cursed George Bush, his successor and oil and decided to find a new job. They could not afford their acquired lifestyle anymore.
What they could also not afford any longer was his new low-mileage SUV, which he would look at with a heavy heart in the parking lot every day after walking back from work. The car seemed to cry at him like a lonely girl standing amidst a crowd wanting to be set free. But he would only cry back knowing he could no longer keep up with the oil price hikes. Meanwhile, she couldn’t find a new job. Both became bitter individuals, the joy of marriage had disappeared, they hardly wanted to party anymore, the sex-life was almost gone. She tried hiding her frustration of sitting at home doing nothing all day long but couldn’t.
What she also tried hiding was that she was three weeks pregnant with their first baby, waiting to break the news at a better time. She finally told him thinking it would make things a little better and he falsely-sympathised with her saying that it was a good thing she wasn’t working since now she could take care of their baby full-time. Soon she began to realize that he had gradually started coming home from work late and even started driving the BMW again, not being able to stop herself from laughing at the thought that her husband was working overtime just to drive a damn SUV that they didn’t even require. One day a woman she befriended at a community get-together told her that she had spotted her husband with another woman in the parking lot. Puzzled, she started spying on his cell phone and realized that indeed he had been calling an unknown woman for some time. She bribed the service-provider to find out that the number belonged to an escort company from which her husband had been hiring a prostitute.
For the past two months.
Heartbroken and shattered that her husband would cheat on his pregnant wife with a hooker she decided that she did not want this man to become the father of the baby she would become the mother of someday. Filled with hatred the next day she bribed a government official so she could acquire a small pistol, the kind her Army man father had taught her to use when she was a little girl. She waited for him to sneak out one night, picked up the gun from the kitchen drawer where she had been hiding it and quietly followed him into the basement of the parking lot where he always parked his BMW. On the way she bribed the watchman to know how long her husband had been sneaking into the parking.
Who told her it had been two months.
Asking him to get out of there she followed her husband into the dark basement where she saw him with the hooker as they quietly moved behind a big yellow Hummer. Bringing the pistol out she started walking closer. It was dark but enough for her to see that the girl got down on her knees while her husband stood there with his back to the car standing in front of her .Tears streaming down her cheeks she gripped the gun tighter and moved further, within shooting distance now. As the hooker stayed on her knees she started hearing deep breaths and choking noises. Not being able to take it anymore she hysterically fired two gunshots, successively getting both of them with two gunshots. Crying uncontrollably, she moved further to say one last goodbye to the monster she had loved. He had been imprinted to the car and so did the girl, in the same position, sitting on her knees, head hard-pressed against the car from the gunshot. She pulled the girl’s hair back to take a look at her face and suddenly felt her own eyes popping out and jaw dropping from what she saw. In the girl’s hand lay a siphon whose one end was inside her own mouth and the other one traversed all the way to the petrol tank of the big yellow Hummer. She froze, fell to her knees and turned the gun on herself upon realizing exactly how long her husband had been driving the BMW again.
It had been two months.
Monday, April 11, 2011
My analysis of the greatest song ever made!
The other day I came across a song named Friday by a 13-year old American girl called Rebecca Black that I found out had overtaken Justin Bieber as the most disliked and hated video on Youtube. I instantly felt the need to check out the song since I’ve always maintained that being shittier at singing than that half-girl-half-Daisy-Duck-sent-from-the-planet-Faggotron-to-erase-every-last-piece-of-decent-music-left-on-Earth is a task beyond accomplishment. Kind of like attempting to beat Twilight at being melodramatic and gay.
So I stream the video and three minute forty eight seconds later I’m left totally perplexed and in awe of the epic masterpiece I had just witnessed. This song by Rebecca Black is so unbelievably informative yet so simple. Her idea of representing themes of fast-paced modern day life, breaking the chains of conformity and oppression, educating school kids about calendars, paedophiles, nationalism along with carefully placed subliminal messages to her friends and racists with such simple usage of metaphors totally blew me away.
Hence I am going to analyze this song line-by-line for you lesser folks not bright enough to figure out the encrypted and complex sub-meanings.
So sit back and prepare to get enlightened.
Yeah, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ark)
Oo-ooh-ooh, hoo yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
This is a simple announcement of herself in the world of Justin Bieber-esque Pop music with simple yet meaningful crooning in an auto-tuned voice with background techno music that could signify that aliens do exist, the first piece of symbolism used in the song.
7am, waking up in the morning
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal
Seein' everything, the time is goin'
Tickin' on and on, everybody's rushin'
The first line, like the rest of this para is an indicator to the strict, monotonous, heartless and boring daily routine that people have to adhere to these days(also, this line guarantees itself an automatic nomination for the Avril Lavigne-he-was-a-boy-she-was-a-girl award for best lyrical intro to a song).The genius metaphor that cannot be overlooked here is the repetitive usage of the word “gotta” which again signifies how she has been forced to perform daily activities she doesn’t like by her parents. Could this also be a subliminal message to Childcare?
Also worth noting is the usage of “morning” even after 7 “am” has clearly been mentioned which could either be for educational purposes and also a sarcastic dig supporting the statement that the average IQ of American schoolchildren is 168.9 points lesser than that of a 3 year old self-ball-licking Labrador. Forced to eat food she hates, she’s like the handicapable Hellen Keller who is enlightened and all seeing while also supporting Albert Einstein’s Theory Of Relativity.
Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)
Over here she intelligently makes the point that going down to the bus stop is not always synonymous with actually catching the bus, this could either be a reminder of punctuality to the lazy people or another deeper-meaning sarcastic poke at schoolgirls who leave home for the bus stop every morning but don’t quit make it on many occasions. She makes it very clear that she is an ethical girl with every intentions of taking the bus before she notices her friends in a car. Noteworthy, is the repetition of “my friends”, possibly another figure of speech that I frankly, am not gifted enough to figure out the meaning of, although it could indicate subliminally that of all the people in the car, she only considers a select few her real friends.
Kickin' in the front seat
Sittin' in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?
Now these four lines might actually be the reason that I consider this song the pinnacle of deep meaning and symbolism. First of all, she and her 13-year old friends are trying to break away from the conformity portrayed in the first para and descending into anarchy by driving around illegally (a clear “fuck you” to the government).She also claims that two of her friends are “kickin’” in the front seat while the remaining two are sitting in the backseat, which if noticed clearly is the exact opposite of their actual positions in the video. Surely this is supposed to be another encrypted figure of speech.
This is followed by the epitome of lyrical genius; she has to decide carefully what seat she should take as this is a decision that would probably decide and affect the outcome of the rest of her life. It’s like the legendary poem: The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost in which he explained in the form of two paths how certain decisions impact the way our lives shape up, but Rebecca has gone a step further by symbolising it with a car seat. All my respect to you, mam.I’m forever a fan.
It's Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin' down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin' forward to the weekend
The chorus kicks in where she makes the gut-wrenching revelation that “it’s Friday Friday”, could this be another indicator to the Black Friday and the Mayan interpretation of catastrophe and tragedy with regards to the world of music since Justin Bieber isn’t the only one anymore? Also worth noticing is the repetition of words once again which could only be for stronger and more in-your-face ambience formation.
Also continuing the anarchist twist she screams partyin’ partyin’ while her friends chant yeah in unison.Historions are already scratching their heads trying to figure out if this actually beats the intensity of all those Nazi chants back in the Holocaust days.Also, the usage of fun 4 times in succession might be a hint that she is ready to start having some real high school fun? In which case, the following line; looking forward to the weekend takes a totally different meaning.
7:45, we're drivin' on the highway
Cruisin' so fast, I want time to fly
Fun, fun, think about fun
You know what it is
I got this, you got this
My friend is by my right
I got this, you got this
Now you know it
Exactly twelve hours and 45 minutes have passed since she woke up this fateful day and the act of rebellion advances further with the 13-year olds taking to the highway, they are cruising so fast that time has apparently become a 3-dimensional quantity that can fly like a bird along all the three axis. Good lyrics indeed. She brings up the argument of kids being made to live a forced lifestyle again by hinting that while her parents might think she’s happy and having fun, she actually craves for it as merely driving on the freeway with a couple of braces-wearing chicks will not quench her thirst for the wholelotta fun she mentions continually in the song.
She wants the listener to closely pay attention to her desperate plea and expects them to get her point. The last three lines actually lift the lid off the heart-stopping suspense she generated in the earlier lines by finally enlightening the audience that of all the four girls in the car only the one on her right is the real friend that she was earlier talking about. While not picking the one on her left is understandable since that chick looks ugly as fuck, dumb and has no fucking idea what she’s doing throughout the video, not picking the two girls sitting in front might actually be a little controversial since one appears to be of African-American descent and the other one surely an Asian. Could this be a secret hint that Rebecca Black hates minorities and wants us to “know it”? You decide.
Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin')
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today
Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after... wards(words?)
I don't want this weekend to end
She continues her exciting wordplay and double meaning symbolism while educating school kids at the same time. Not only is she validating the fact that days of the week indeed follow the Thursday, Friday, Saturday sequence after which Sunday follows, she’s also using Thursday to represent that yesterday was like living under a loaded gun while today(i.e. Friday) she has broken all chains of conformity and is a free spirit.The “we-we-we” so excited part clearly represents the unification of people in true Gandhian spirit as “we” is clearly a word that should be preferred over I.
Tomorrow being a Saturday could represent a revolution to bring down the government in its totality which again makes it interesting, the plans she might have for Sunday, the meaning of which has been kept open to all interpretations(also justifying the interesting way wordplay while she sings afterwards/after words).Also, interesting to note is the intentional usage of incorrect English(we so excited, we gonna have a ball) which again signifies her struggle against the codes and traditions, this time not caring for the rules of prepositions and nouns written 200 years ago at some far-away University in England by grey-haired oldies that probably never got laid their entire lives.
R-B, Rebecca Black
So chillin' in the front seat (In the front seat)
In the back seat (In the back seat)
I'm drivin', cruisin' (Yeah, yeah)
Fast lanes, switchin' lanes
Wit' a cop on my side (Woo! )
(C'mon) Passin' by is a school bus in front of me
Makes tick tock, tick tock, wanna scream
Check my time, it's Friday, it's a weekend
We gonna have fun, c'mon, c'mon, y'all
The Rap part is probably the most astonishing and deep-meaning part of the song, while simpletons might believe actually argue that this is the part, like in many modern pop songs where a black guy raps for about half a minute before the song hits into the powerful last chorus, the intentional portrayal of an old black man, bad rapping and what appears to be stupid lyrics only represents that the presence of this black guy symbolizes something deeper, which actually is to warn the school kids about creepy paedophiles and child-molesters rampant on the streets these days and their incessant urge to fuck a kid without a care in the world for traffic rules(switching lanes without flashing appropriate indicators) or even cops driving next to them. These scary men have libidos in form of a time bomb that gradually ticks until they come across a school bus and that is when they cannot control it anymore and scream representing some misplaced sexual fetish and ecstacy.The man checks his watch, this indeed is rape time. He wouldn’t mind having group sex with all the kids present on the bus, hence leading to the double meaning last line: “(I’m gonna)c’mon y’all” which needs no explanation whatsoever.
The song ends with Rebecca presiding over the party(revolution) and pumping up the newly united(and paedophile-cautious) kids not to let the fire inside them fizz out, followed by appreciation and applause for Rebecca at the end while she casually blushes in a yeah-I-know-I’m-the-next-Bob-Dylan kind of way.
So while this might come across as a simple teen pop song about partyin’ and fun(multiplied 23748 times)it actually is the most complex and interwoven piece of art we’ve seen in the modern times where Christopher Nolan thought he was cool just because he came up with Inception and Memento.
Honestly, being one of the lucky 98 million people on this planet that have savoured every second of this song on Youtube, I can only laugh while mocking the 1,927,983 dumb people on Youtube and hundreds of critics that disliked this video since they’re not intellectually capable of figuring out something so special, that too by someone who can sing like a robot.
Up yours!
So I stream the video and three minute forty eight seconds later I’m left totally perplexed and in awe of the epic masterpiece I had just witnessed. This song by Rebecca Black is so unbelievably informative yet so simple. Her idea of representing themes of fast-paced modern day life, breaking the chains of conformity and oppression, educating school kids about calendars, paedophiles, nationalism along with carefully placed subliminal messages to her friends and racists with such simple usage of metaphors totally blew me away.
Hence I am going to analyze this song line-by-line for you lesser folks not bright enough to figure out the encrypted and complex sub-meanings.
So sit back and prepare to get enlightened.
Yeah, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ark)
Oo-ooh-ooh, hoo yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
This is a simple announcement of herself in the world of Justin Bieber-esque Pop music with simple yet meaningful crooning in an auto-tuned voice with background techno music that could signify that aliens do exist, the first piece of symbolism used in the song.
7am, waking up in the morning
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal
Seein' everything, the time is goin'
Tickin' on and on, everybody's rushin'
The first line, like the rest of this para is an indicator to the strict, monotonous, heartless and boring daily routine that people have to adhere to these days(also, this line guarantees itself an automatic nomination for the Avril Lavigne-he-was-a-boy-she-was-a-girl award for best lyrical intro to a song).The genius metaphor that cannot be overlooked here is the repetitive usage of the word “gotta” which again signifies how she has been forced to perform daily activities she doesn’t like by her parents. Could this also be a subliminal message to Childcare?
Also worth noting is the usage of “morning” even after 7 “am” has clearly been mentioned which could either be for educational purposes and also a sarcastic dig supporting the statement that the average IQ of American schoolchildren is 168.9 points lesser than that of a 3 year old self-ball-licking Labrador. Forced to eat food she hates, she’s like the handicapable Hellen Keller who is enlightened and all seeing while also supporting Albert Einstein’s Theory Of Relativity.
Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)
Over here she intelligently makes the point that going down to the bus stop is not always synonymous with actually catching the bus, this could either be a reminder of punctuality to the lazy people or another deeper-meaning sarcastic poke at schoolgirls who leave home for the bus stop every morning but don’t quit make it on many occasions. She makes it very clear that she is an ethical girl with every intentions of taking the bus before she notices her friends in a car. Noteworthy, is the repetition of “my friends”, possibly another figure of speech that I frankly, am not gifted enough to figure out the meaning of, although it could indicate subliminally that of all the people in the car, she only considers a select few her real friends.
Kickin' in the front seat
Sittin' in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?
Now these four lines might actually be the reason that I consider this song the pinnacle of deep meaning and symbolism. First of all, she and her 13-year old friends are trying to break away from the conformity portrayed in the first para and descending into anarchy by driving around illegally (a clear “fuck you” to the government).She also claims that two of her friends are “kickin’” in the front seat while the remaining two are sitting in the backseat, which if noticed clearly is the exact opposite of their actual positions in the video. Surely this is supposed to be another encrypted figure of speech.
This is followed by the epitome of lyrical genius; she has to decide carefully what seat she should take as this is a decision that would probably decide and affect the outcome of the rest of her life. It’s like the legendary poem: The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost in which he explained in the form of two paths how certain decisions impact the way our lives shape up, but Rebecca has gone a step further by symbolising it with a car seat. All my respect to you, mam.I’m forever a fan.
It's Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin' down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin' forward to the weekend
The chorus kicks in where she makes the gut-wrenching revelation that “it’s Friday Friday”, could this be another indicator to the Black Friday and the Mayan interpretation of catastrophe and tragedy with regards to the world of music since Justin Bieber isn’t the only one anymore? Also worth noticing is the repetition of words once again which could only be for stronger and more in-your-face ambience formation.
Also continuing the anarchist twist she screams partyin’ partyin’ while her friends chant yeah in unison.Historions are already scratching their heads trying to figure out if this actually beats the intensity of all those Nazi chants back in the Holocaust days.Also, the usage of fun 4 times in succession might be a hint that she is ready to start having some real high school fun? In which case, the following line; looking forward to the weekend takes a totally different meaning.
7:45, we're drivin' on the highway
Cruisin' so fast, I want time to fly
Fun, fun, think about fun
You know what it is
I got this, you got this
My friend is by my right
I got this, you got this
Now you know it
Exactly twelve hours and 45 minutes have passed since she woke up this fateful day and the act of rebellion advances further with the 13-year olds taking to the highway, they are cruising so fast that time has apparently become a 3-dimensional quantity that can fly like a bird along all the three axis. Good lyrics indeed. She brings up the argument of kids being made to live a forced lifestyle again by hinting that while her parents might think she’s happy and having fun, she actually craves for it as merely driving on the freeway with a couple of braces-wearing chicks will not quench her thirst for the wholelotta fun she mentions continually in the song.
She wants the listener to closely pay attention to her desperate plea and expects them to get her point. The last three lines actually lift the lid off the heart-stopping suspense she generated in the earlier lines by finally enlightening the audience that of all the four girls in the car only the one on her right is the real friend that she was earlier talking about. While not picking the one on her left is understandable since that chick looks ugly as fuck, dumb and has no fucking idea what she’s doing throughout the video, not picking the two girls sitting in front might actually be a little controversial since one appears to be of African-American descent and the other one surely an Asian. Could this be a secret hint that Rebecca Black hates minorities and wants us to “know it”? You decide.
Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin')
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today
Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after... wards(words?)
I don't want this weekend to end
She continues her exciting wordplay and double meaning symbolism while educating school kids at the same time. Not only is she validating the fact that days of the week indeed follow the Thursday, Friday, Saturday sequence after which Sunday follows, she’s also using Thursday to represent that yesterday was like living under a loaded gun while today(i.e. Friday) she has broken all chains of conformity and is a free spirit.The “we-we-we” so excited part clearly represents the unification of people in true Gandhian spirit as “we” is clearly a word that should be preferred over I.
Tomorrow being a Saturday could represent a revolution to bring down the government in its totality which again makes it interesting, the plans she might have for Sunday, the meaning of which has been kept open to all interpretations(also justifying the interesting way wordplay while she sings afterwards/after words).Also, interesting to note is the intentional usage of incorrect English(we so excited, we gonna have a ball) which again signifies her struggle against the codes and traditions, this time not caring for the rules of prepositions and nouns written 200 years ago at some far-away University in England by grey-haired oldies that probably never got laid their entire lives.
R-B, Rebecca Black
So chillin' in the front seat (In the front seat)
In the back seat (In the back seat)
I'm drivin', cruisin' (Yeah, yeah)
Fast lanes, switchin' lanes
Wit' a cop on my side (Woo! )
(C'mon) Passin' by is a school bus in front of me
Makes tick tock, tick tock, wanna scream
Check my time, it's Friday, it's a weekend
We gonna have fun, c'mon, c'mon, y'all
The Rap part is probably the most astonishing and deep-meaning part of the song, while simpletons might believe actually argue that this is the part, like in many modern pop songs where a black guy raps for about half a minute before the song hits into the powerful last chorus, the intentional portrayal of an old black man, bad rapping and what appears to be stupid lyrics only represents that the presence of this black guy symbolizes something deeper, which actually is to warn the school kids about creepy paedophiles and child-molesters rampant on the streets these days and their incessant urge to fuck a kid without a care in the world for traffic rules(switching lanes without flashing appropriate indicators) or even cops driving next to them. These scary men have libidos in form of a time bomb that gradually ticks until they come across a school bus and that is when they cannot control it anymore and scream representing some misplaced sexual fetish and ecstacy.The man checks his watch, this indeed is rape time. He wouldn’t mind having group sex with all the kids present on the bus, hence leading to the double meaning last line: “(I’m gonna)c’mon y’all” which needs no explanation whatsoever.
The song ends with Rebecca presiding over the party(revolution) and pumping up the newly united(and paedophile-cautious) kids not to let the fire inside them fizz out, followed by appreciation and applause for Rebecca at the end while she casually blushes in a yeah-I-know-I’m-the-next-Bob-Dylan kind of way.
So while this might come across as a simple teen pop song about partyin’ and fun(multiplied 23748 times)it actually is the most complex and interwoven piece of art we’ve seen in the modern times where Christopher Nolan thought he was cool just because he came up with Inception and Memento.
Honestly, being one of the lucky 98 million people on this planet that have savoured every second of this song on Youtube, I can only laugh while mocking the 1,927,983 dumb people on Youtube and hundreds of critics that disliked this video since they’re not intellectually capable of figuring out something so special, that too by someone who can sing like a robot.
Up yours!
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Of leaks, whistle-blowings and blames!
I’m talking of course, about Wikileaks-something that experts are already unanimously agreeing to be the biggest piece of whistle-blowing in human history since a mass group of desperate Indian guys got a notion in the early 90’s that making high frequency noises by rounding up their tongues might fetch them pussy(needless to say, one-third of them still are, and will probably die virgins, others locked up and the remaining one-third demolish Archies gift shops every Valentine’s Day on an annual basis(actually, a piece-of-monkey-shit Happy-Friendship-Day card for 150 bucks, fuck you Archies-wallahs, you deserve it!).
Now here’s how it works- when your life is out of control and you keep getting shit from everyone, especially at a time full of scams and leaks like now, there’s a couple of things you can do to save your ass (no don’t keep a hand on your left boob and start chanting All is well- that is just gay, moreover it won’t get you anywhere or do dick for you).Wikileaks can inspire you on both the fronts.
The first thing is relative misery, simple psychological fact that watching someone with a more fucked up existence on this planet than your own temporarily makes you feel happy, secure and that you are much less of a douchebag than you actually are. So the easier route out is making friends with losers of gigantic proportions, you know, hanging out with semi-apes that can’t judge you cause they’ve screwed up on more occasions than you have, you know, hanging around people that suck more than you do so you can perceive their suck as making your suck suck less, you know, stuff like that.
However if you, like me , are too lazy to get dressed up and go out on weekends or belong to the People-equal-shit school, based on current affairs, you can look for solace towards every government, bureaucrat, MNC and intelligence agency that has been ripped apart by the Wikileaks. When was the last time you saw world’s most powerful governments brought down to their knees(now I would have loved to add a daily life reference to this brought-down-to-the-knees situation here but like I told you-this post would be cleaner in tone) by a bunch of bored Chinese and British hackers?
While the FBI/CIA/NSA/rest of the government-funded American security agencies consisting of those cool-looking-dressed-in-black suit-and-glasses-24/7 undercover agents we keep coming across in Hollywood action movies won’t stop tapping and tracing phone calls made by an average American at any given time(while spying on Beijing and Moscow all the time and then shamelessly exchanging the prosecuted spies), the US government is taking a hair up its ass when its own right to privacy and secrecy is getting vanished quicker than logic in a Ram Gopal Verma movie. Irrespective of the fact the Americans, like every time, have fucked up again with what they think is a viable solution- framing the Wikileaks founder with rape charges, like that is going to make a difference now with over 150,000 documents and news of Sarah Palin’s boob-job already out.
So all you have to tell yourself is that if Hillary Clinton and John McCain can have sleepless nights(and this time, not because of a cheating husband that fucks his secretary and old-age disorders respectively) you, being a fucking nobody can have people point their fingers at you without making a big deal about it, savvy?
OR
If you think the miserly thing is best left to whiny wimps and sissies and you, like me, are too cool and stud-like to let others live in harmony you can get inspired by the leaks to justify your fuck up again.
BLAME THE SHIT OUT OF EVERYONE!
That’s the fucking motto, that is what every country, every president, every government official is doing ever since the leaks came out. So if you can’t blame Pakistan or Iran or North Korea for playing Counter Strike or watching Fashion TV when you were supposed to assist your girlfriend in buying her third pair of slippers or gay leather handbags in as many weeks blame it on the Bob Marley-fan friend of yours that needed you to get him quick medical attention cause of a marijuana overdoze. Or that you were at someone’s funeral at that time. I’m already planning to accuse my teachers of being incapable of teaching when I fuck up my upcoming exams and mom-dad playing good cop-bad cop, interrogate me for reasons (Now don’t ask me if I’ve ever pulled off either of these stunts before. *Wink*).
Throw conspiracy theories, if the American government, after getting attacked by a bunch of pissed off knuckle-head Muslims can run conspiracy theories saying 9/11 was a controlled demolition/inside job, a ploy to scare it’s own people, and get away with it then you should do just fine. If our own government can justify corruption, unemployment and everything it fucks up as a conspiracy set off by someone, if the folks at Wikileaks can put up anything on their site accusing anyone of anything you can surely blame the traffic and those lousy SUVs for being late to early morning classes day after day when you get fucking stoned and pass out night after night. Its when people like Karan Johar, Lady Gaga, Justin Bieber, Emran Khan(of the kya hume kisi se sirf tab tak pyaar karna chahiye jab tak woh humse pyaar karein? fame) and the Twilight vampire confess to being aliens sent from the planet Faggotron in order to damn Earth-dom into eternal homosexuality that you should start taking notice. Till then, blame.
Everyone gets caught. No one gets prosecuted. Even if they do 20 years after raping an under-aged girl they come out of jail, smiling, after a month cause isn't that what Nehru taught us? Smile.
So fuck Eat Pray Love already. Smile, leak, rape, blame.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I hereby censor you, bitches!(Part 1)
Okay, I’m pissed again. Just 2 hours after I had relished the best dinner ever last night-courtesy mindblowing dal makhani with the softest Tandoori rotis ever while gawking at Pamela Anderson’s 43 year old Silicon-ized yet still totally ultra hot side boob I found out that the show was getting censored and I didn’t have enough money to pay for the delicious cuisine.
Now, while the monetary matter is no big deal anymore for me since I’ve found myself experiencing the state of broke-dom on more occasions than you have typed lolzzzzz or some Rajnikant joke on Facebook, anything or anyone that attempts to separate me from my Pammie will face the wrath of my raging inferno similar to that of the bad-ass action movie character of Viviek Oberoi(or is it Viveik? Fuck Numerology dude, you know you suck and changing the way you spell your name will not make your movies not suck or suck any less than they already suck so go suck on the same American hooker’s titties whose accent you try to copy every time you get interviewed by the folks at ETC Punjabi) .
I’ve been a fan of Pam since the time I used to get my ass kicked (figuratively) during parent-teacher meetings back in junior high school. Watching late night Baywatch telecasts only to be knocked down night after night(literally) during teenage, thanks to her 100 plus Playboy pictures(thank you CERN, or whoever the fuck Dan Brown says created Internet) and she still remains the hottest blonde ever to walk this planet and not even Charlize Theron or Carmen Electra or Maria Sharapova or Torrie Wilson from WWE come close(think of Paris Hilton or Britney Spears in this list and I shoot you in the neck) and I will never let the Information and Broadcasting Ministry or any bunch of balding old fucks incapable of getting laid anymore deprive me of that.
Now, I have hated these reality shows ever since MTV let Roadies and Splitsvilla out of its horseshit-box kept preserved for our particular dickhead-for-a-real-head generation and I have bashed every such show more than enough in my previous 8 blogs to start ranting again. So, needless to say, Bigg Boss has always been just another ridiculously-scripted-and-mass-fed-to-entertainment-hungry-douchebags piece of shit for me and when I heard the news of Pamela’s arrival the decision to watch the show was like swallowing my own puke hoping that the sweet taste of Ferrero Rocher I ate hours ago would still remain.
So I anticipated and watched Tuesday’s episode ordering everyone around not to disturb me unless they craved for a Saw-like death. She didn’t arrive and I ended up watch some obnoxious fatass from Punjab ma-behen-her guts out, a couple of Bollywood wannabes play mind numbing politics, the chick from that awful Ekta Kapoor serial order around and that Pakistani bimbo stand in front of the camera time and again and speak in fake North American accent (which reminds me darling, stop screwing around with that loser Bollywood twat unless you want to star in some Multimedia sex scandal and/or/anyway get sliced into little pieces of meat when you land in Pakistan).
Pamela finally appeared on Wednesday looking a tad old but hot as ever in a white sari and I finally found it worth all the effort and under two hours of mindfucking I had tolerated on the show, and I began looking forward to the next episodes and it was all fine until I came across the news that the show was getting censored (along with the respected Rakhi Sawant’s melodrama which surely beats everything fucked up and fucked over you have ever witnessed). Just when I was beginning to get alarmed I realized that there was no cancelling or editing, only the telecast timings got shifted until after 11 pm and that is when my bullshit alarm rang off and I couldn’t stop laughing the fuck out of every tissue, ligament and muscle in my body.
Now, I know that the Indian government keeps on bettering itself every time it comes to taking totally laughable and dim-witted decisions (like not hanging Kasab, not removing reservations, not offering Arundhati Roy’s ass on a Bofors missile to Pashto-speaking-donkey-fucking Talibani militants, not pushing Obama down from the 14th floor of the Trident and not assassinating Dhoni publicly for picking up Ravindra Jadeja and Murali Vijay time and again) yet it has beaten itself this time.This action by the ministry sprouts several questions in my mind.
First and foremost, why do you find ever second thing around inappropriate? Isn’t that best left to Shiv Sena and Bajrang Dal?
Secondly, even if you do, what purpose are you solving by delaying the said obscene show’s telecast by 2 hours? How many kids do you know that actually go to bed before 11 anymore? I’m an Engineering student and on an average day that is the time the night usually commences for me. Even 10 year olds these days hang on to their Playstations for a long time until after their parents are asleep. Unless you’re an ugly first bencher prick that goes to bed every night at 10 to get up early only to cram made up shit I’m guessing you don’t hit the sack before at least midnight. And things will remain so as long as they keep producing dope(high-5 my boys!) and mobile phones(yes, most of you chicks are addicted and if no one calls you up unless you’re an introvert or hate late night chats it only means you’re unwanted and no one likes you, go kill yourself listening to Backstreet Boys’ newest album).
Thirdly, you have only given the show more publicity, even those who do not give a fuck about the two shows will now check them out only because they are now somehow out of bounds. Do what they specifically ask you not to do. Basic human psyche, right?
Why not just take the contents off air in case you don’t want people to watch it. Either you take away the right to free speech completely or you stop grumbling, morons.
Who exactly are you trying to save from these two shows in the name of Indian morals and ethics, the aunties that have watched every family value get blasted off to deep space on Ekta Kapoor sagas for the past 10 years or the youth that has downloaded and Bluetooth-ed every last piece of internet smut you can think of. Do you honestly think people aren’t coming across ma-behen encounters everyday in schools, buses, on the streets and from their husbands?
Importantly, since you are now fixing a time for telecasting such material shouldn’t the amount of graphic nature of the telecast vary proportionally to how late into the night we get from now on? 11 pm for cleavage and cuss-words to be followed by double X Sharon Stone-in-Basic-Instinct kind of stuff by late midnight and finally hideous bondage anal fucking later to sign off the night?
And among all this over-reacting and lameness, how could you miss the basic reason you need to justify for censoring these shows, which is that they are fucking brain-dead and reduce our country’s overall IQ and GDP by making everyone dumber than before, ban them on the basis of stupidity and for the TRPs(Totally Ridiculous People)they generate, so hard to figure out?
Ban Splitsvilla and Roadies not for the objectification of women and obscenity but for making this country’s youth aware that you can be as stupid as a little stone lying on the side of a road covered in dog shit and still end up becoming famous or a VJ. Meanwhile, I have had enough of this bullshit.
You’re all fucking phonies that piss me off.
I hereby censor you from my life. Fuck it, you’re all banned.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
I'd rather Face(a)book!
Trying to nail a couple of 3 page long Electromagnetic Field Theory derivations that no one gives a fuck about in my head this past weekend while browsing Facebook on my cell phone browser (subscribed for one month, the Vodafone chaps are probably too busy searching for a new Pug or something to disconnect, hah!) I actually realized how Facebook is very similar to facing a book. Like some high-weightage irritating-ass topic of your most hated subject there are always people on your friend list that you wish to dismember yet you have no choice but to deal with their annoying ass poke-ing just because they once invited you to a Pizza Hut party. I also made it clear in the last blog that Facebook is as full of dicks as Chatroulette, albeit metaphorically. So I came up with what I consider are the 12 most fucked up things you do on Facebook.
1) Adding random people
Now just because the picture of a pet British Bulldog that you found in somebody's album reminded you of your own cheeks is not quite the reason you should have sent an add request to the guy that owns the uglier-than-Vidya Balan creature on this planet. Have at least one tenth-the number of people out of the total in your list that actually know you and will give a fuck if you were to die from an overdose of Ranbir Kapoor movies anytime in near future.
FYI-Having more people in your list does not make you any more kEwL than VJ Bani from MTV. Even Uday Chopra has 55,000 Twitter followers.Live with it.
2) Emo/Cry baby updates that remind you of Ameesha Patel movies
Yes I know that your life sucks more than the Hoover WindTunnel Pet Cyclonic Upright Vacuum Model UH70085 but for your own sake-you don’t have to remind everyone of the said pathetic and whiny little existence 5 times a day do you?
Why did she leave me? is a rhetorical question you should not put up to 567 people that don't give a diving fuck about you but to the girl who couldn’t tolerate you calling her sweetu every time you recharged your sim with 99 bucks in exchange for free talk time minutes.
3)Shakespearan love reborn!
Well, if you're going to update me every 3 hours on the details of your most romantic date ever, if you want me to know that he bought you a meal at the ridiculously overpriced Pizza Hut after a 3 hour show of Emran Khan's latest release where proclaiming, "I'm sexy" is his cool-ass line to get Deepika Padukone wet, if you want me to know he wrote a special poem for you(probably Ctrl+ V-ed from Google, you're too dumb to figure out), if you want me to be aware of your most intimate and personal moments I’d rather just see you two fuck in front of a webcam and upload the link on your status. Yes, he’s showing you around restaurants and candle light dinners, and if it ever occurs to you, that is because someday he wants to bang you like a frenzied chimpanzee out of a zoo , so hard to figure? It’s not like he’s spending the college books money on a Pankaj Udhas concert. If your god gave you an extra pair of tits and holes that you could just wrap inside an overpriced Archies gift case and present to him once and for all such that he never has to put up with your repulsive horseshit ever again, that money would surely end up in the hands of a weed dealer at some dim-lit parking lot night after night.
4)I want to end my pathetic existence but I don't know how to
Now I realize that on a planet where Twilight is the most popular teen franchise, creating a page titled I miss you but I can't tell you can be totally overlooked and maybe you can excuse teenage girls for being a part of such a catastrophe but you know it’s going down the fucking drain when 20-something guys join communities based on pseudo-self misery and desolation such as:
She likes him.He likes her.Everyone knows except them.
Well they probably don't give a fuck. Try doing the same since its none of your business?
I pretend I don't care about you but I do.
Because you're too big a pussy to let her know, grow a pair. Or borrow one from Rajnikant, he's the hottest thing in India right now.
Q) Are you there?
A) Yeah, I just don't feel like answering to you.
Don’t. The sex ratio is currently 769:1000.She doesn't give a fuck, she will find someone else.
Saying, "I don't care" when you really do.
Seriously, start sucking Karan Johar's cock already.He shares the same sentiments in his movies.
I hate that empty feeling in your chest when you miss someone.
Maybe it’s a cardiology dysfunction and what you need is a bone marrow transplant, motherfucker!
One day you will regret not valuing me.I will be laughing and you will be crying.
Trust me, that is not going to happen. The self-humiliating-dim-witted little twat that you sound like-she would probably be happily blowing a Roadies contestant on an SUV backseat while you search for ways to get laid without breaking the law.
And my personal favourite
I don't know why but I still love him/her.
Maybe because you know you will never find another transvestite that loves you back ever again?
5) Status updates that make you wish dinosaurs came back and consumed us all
Usually of three kinds:
a) Philosophical and pseudo-intellectual bombs
Look I know you copy-paste from http://www.quotegarden.com/ trying to sound intelligent. Anyway, if I gave a fuck about what Paulo Coelho and Robin S. Sharma have to say I wouldn’t be watching dick jokes on South Park right now would I?
b) Emo updates in 3rd person form:
Rajesh is very sad.He misses his pet Cobra that got eaten by Animal Planet's Jeff Corwin.
Okay so who the fuck are you then? His gay alter ego that wants to self-lick Rajesh’s balls on a private yacht somewhere in Venice?
c) Updates in Special characters-
If I wanted to see over-the-top presentation of something simple in a complex form I'd rather watch Priyanka Chopra in Anjaana Anjaani. Stick to English please, unless you want me to go blind?
6) Grow some weed on your farm or shove your mafias where the sun don't shine!
I can play Minesweeper on a Pentium 3 piece of Baboon shit for 3 continuous hours but if you're sending me details of your Farmville and Mafia wars achievements-I’m guessing your life is as pathetic as the farmers of Vidarbha and the Ray Ban wearing gangsters in Ram Gopal Verma’s movies.
7) The dumber-than-chicks-on-MTV advertisements
Also,I’ve known throughout my life of 21 years that I am a sinner (commencing from the time we started spending lunch breaks on school staircases patiently in search of beaver shots 8 years ago) and perhaps that is the reason Facebook is offering me special Free Bible lessons for you but no, thank you. Watching Dara Singh fly around in an orange dhoti on Doordashan 13 years ago was enough religious education for me.
8) Join the Rakhi Sawant appreciation page now!
No I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in becoming a member of the official fan pages of Bobby Deol or Ravindra Jadeja or Anu Malik.Buzz off.
9) So whats your Humanitarian cause?
Yes I’m fully aware that you caught Gonorrhoea when you fucked an illegal Nepali immigrant at a Commonwealth construction site but for your own sake-get off your ass and do something substantial about it instead of creating a page about it on Facebook and then forwarding it.
10)Applications that don't need applying
Just yesterday I came across one that offered to show me my American name and its meaning. Seriously American names have meanings too? The name of ex-Brazilian president(Luiz Lula Da Silva) makes as much sense to my brain than someone whose surname is Bush.(Goes without saying, after guys named Bush and Dick presided over world’s most powerful country and defence respectively for 8 years, is it much of a surprise that the Americans ended up fucking the whole world?).
And I’m hungry, get me a fucking chocolate pie from Wimpy’s or get the fuck out of my life! Your Fortune Cookie is no good with me.
11) *$%$@ just answered a question about you..
...that you need 25 credits to answer.
No, what I need is a credit card to buy myself this!
Do you think Nishant will ever make out with an older woman?
If she happens to be Eva Longoria, totally!
Is Nishant wearing an underwear right now?
Why do you care, are you Sunny Deol from Lux Cozi corporation?
Q) Can Nishant ever have kids?
A)$&%*'s answer is "No".
Alright bitch, if by your answer you implied what I think you did I’m going to kidnap your ass and make an Orangutan finger fuck you till you can't tell the difference between its face and that of Raghu Ram from Roadies(and the face of a 12 inch Ultra Pleasure dildo).
Alright girls, if I don’t know you and you ever happen to find me in your recent visitors list-it only means I was bored out of my texture-less hair and had absolutely nothing to do other than clicking on random profiles. So dare you start beaming or acting pricey on me. Unless of course, you have a smoking hot profiles picture (in which case be rest assured-I was totally checking you out like a Talibani suicide bomber entering a Los Angeles titty -bar for the first time). In the rare case that you're beauty with brains and I know you well I will probably end up asking you out someday (which would obviously happen after I delete Kelly Brooke’s recent Playboy photo shoot off my memory and hard drive).
On an ending note, if you have a nagging mother who just wouldn’t stop trying to use stuff like Facebook and a touch screen cell phone(which chances are would be screen-destroyed cause of the hard nail tapping) just to put her I-can-be-as-techno-savvy-as-this-generation obsession to rest, you MIGHT NEVER want to add her.
P.S. ~ I’m going back to learning the 3 page-long Electromagnetic Field Theory derivations that no one gives a fuck about.
P.P.S.~Just because no one liked your status update does not mean you have to do it yourself.
P.P.P.S.~ I have added smileys to this writing.
┌∩┐(◣_◢)┌∩┐
Log onto: http://www.yousuckmajorasscrack.com/ to get yours.
1) Adding random people
Now just because the picture of a pet British Bulldog that you found in somebody's album reminded you of your own cheeks is not quite the reason you should have sent an add request to the guy that owns the uglier-than-Vidya Balan creature on this planet. Have at least one tenth-the number of people out of the total in your list that actually know you and will give a fuck if you were to die from an overdose of Ranbir Kapoor movies anytime in near future.
FYI-Having more people in your list does not make you any more kEwL than VJ Bani from MTV. Even Uday Chopra has 55,000 Twitter followers.Live with it.
2) Emo/Cry baby updates that remind you of Ameesha Patel movies
Yes I know that your life sucks more than the Hoover WindTunnel Pet Cyclonic Upright Vacuum Model UH70085 but for your own sake-you don’t have to remind everyone of the said pathetic and whiny little existence 5 times a day do you?
Why did she leave me? is a rhetorical question you should not put up to 567 people that don't give a diving fuck about you but to the girl who couldn’t tolerate you calling her sweetu every time you recharged your sim with 99 bucks in exchange for free talk time minutes.
3)Shakespearan love reborn!
Well, if you're going to update me every 3 hours on the details of your most romantic date ever, if you want me to know that he bought you a meal at the ridiculously overpriced Pizza Hut after a 3 hour show of Emran Khan's latest release where proclaiming, "I'm sexy" is his cool-ass line to get Deepika Padukone wet, if you want me to know he wrote a special poem for you(probably Ctrl+ V-ed from Google, you're too dumb to figure out), if you want me to be aware of your most intimate and personal moments I’d rather just see you two fuck in front of a webcam and upload the link on your status. Yes, he’s showing you around restaurants and candle light dinners, and if it ever occurs to you, that is because someday he wants to bang you like a frenzied chimpanzee out of a zoo , so hard to figure? It’s not like he’s spending the college books money on a Pankaj Udhas concert. If your god gave you an extra pair of tits and holes that you could just wrap inside an overpriced Archies gift case and present to him once and for all such that he never has to put up with your repulsive horseshit ever again, that money would surely end up in the hands of a weed dealer at some dim-lit parking lot night after night.
4)I want to end my pathetic existence but I don't know how to
Now I realize that on a planet where Twilight is the most popular teen franchise, creating a page titled I miss you but I can't tell you can be totally overlooked and maybe you can excuse teenage girls for being a part of such a catastrophe but you know it’s going down the fucking drain when 20-something guys join communities based on pseudo-self misery and desolation such as:
She likes him.He likes her.Everyone knows except them.
Well they probably don't give a fuck. Try doing the same since its none of your business?
I pretend I don't care about you but I do.
Because you're too big a pussy to let her know, grow a pair. Or borrow one from Rajnikant, he's the hottest thing in India right now.
Q) Are you there?
A) Yeah, I just don't feel like answering to you.
Don’t. The sex ratio is currently 769:1000.She doesn't give a fuck, she will find someone else.
Saying, "I don't care" when you really do.
Seriously, start sucking Karan Johar's cock already.He shares the same sentiments in his movies.
I hate that empty feeling in your chest when you miss someone.
Maybe it’s a cardiology dysfunction and what you need is a bone marrow transplant, motherfucker!
One day you will regret not valuing me.I will be laughing and you will be crying.
Trust me, that is not going to happen. The self-humiliating-dim-witted little twat that you sound like-she would probably be happily blowing a Roadies contestant on an SUV backseat while you search for ways to get laid without breaking the law.
And my personal favourite
I don't know why but I still love him/her.
Maybe because you know you will never find another transvestite that loves you back ever again?
5) Status updates that make you wish dinosaurs came back and consumed us all
Usually of three kinds:
a) Philosophical and pseudo-intellectual bombs
Look I know you copy-paste from http://www.quotegarden.com/ trying to sound intelligent. Anyway, if I gave a fuck about what Paulo Coelho and Robin S. Sharma have to say I wouldn’t be watching dick jokes on South Park right now would I?
b) Emo updates in 3rd person form:
Rajesh is very sad.He misses his pet Cobra that got eaten by Animal Planet's Jeff Corwin.
Okay so who the fuck are you then? His gay alter ego that wants to self-lick Rajesh’s balls on a private yacht somewhere in Venice?
c) Updates in Special characters-
If I wanted to see over-the-top presentation of something simple in a complex form I'd rather watch Priyanka Chopra in Anjaana Anjaani. Stick to English please, unless you want me to go blind?
6) Grow some weed on your farm or shove your mafias where the sun don't shine!
I can play Minesweeper on a Pentium 3 piece of Baboon shit for 3 continuous hours but if you're sending me details of your Farmville and Mafia wars achievements-I’m guessing your life is as pathetic as the farmers of Vidarbha and the Ray Ban wearing gangsters in Ram Gopal Verma’s movies.
7) The dumber-than-chicks-on-MTV advertisements
Also,I’ve known throughout my life of 21 years that I am a sinner (commencing from the time we started spending lunch breaks on school staircases patiently in search of beaver shots 8 years ago) and perhaps that is the reason Facebook is offering me special Free Bible lessons for you but no, thank you. Watching Dara Singh fly around in an orange dhoti on Doordashan 13 years ago was enough religious education for me.
8) Join the Rakhi Sawant appreciation page now!
No I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in becoming a member of the official fan pages of Bobby Deol or Ravindra Jadeja or Anu Malik.Buzz off.
9) So whats your Humanitarian cause?
Yes I’m fully aware that you caught Gonorrhoea when you fucked an illegal Nepali immigrant at a Commonwealth construction site but for your own sake-get off your ass and do something substantial about it instead of creating a page about it on Facebook and then forwarding it.
10)Applications that don't need applying
Just yesterday I came across one that offered to show me my American name and its meaning. Seriously American names have meanings too? The name of ex-Brazilian president(Luiz Lula Da Silva) makes as much sense to my brain than someone whose surname is Bush.(Goes without saying, after guys named Bush and Dick presided over world’s most powerful country and defence respectively for 8 years, is it much of a surprise that the Americans ended up fucking the whole world?).
And I’m hungry, get me a fucking chocolate pie from Wimpy’s or get the fuck out of my life! Your Fortune Cookie is no good with me.
11) *$%$@ just answered a question about you..
...that you need 25 credits to answer.
No, what I need is a credit card to buy myself this!
Do you think Nishant will ever make out with an older woman?
If she happens to be Eva Longoria, totally!
Is Nishant wearing an underwear right now?
Why do you care, are you Sunny Deol from Lux Cozi corporation?
Q) Can Nishant ever have kids?
A)$&%*'s answer is "No".
Alright bitch, if by your answer you implied what I think you did I’m going to kidnap your ass and make an Orangutan finger fuck you till you can't tell the difference between its face and that of Raghu Ram from Roadies(and the face of a 12 inch Ultra Pleasure dildo).
12) *%$#@ just visited your profile!
Alright girls, if I don’t know you and you ever happen to find me in your recent visitors list-it only means I was bored out of my texture-less hair and had absolutely nothing to do other than clicking on random profiles. So dare you start beaming or acting pricey on me. Unless of course, you have a smoking hot profiles picture (in which case be rest assured-I was totally checking you out like a Talibani suicide bomber entering a Los Angeles titty -bar for the first time). In the rare case that you're beauty with brains and I know you well I will probably end up asking you out someday (which would obviously happen after I delete Kelly Brooke’s recent Playboy photo shoot off my memory and hard drive).
On an ending note, if you have a nagging mother who just wouldn’t stop trying to use stuff like Facebook and a touch screen cell phone(which chances are would be screen-destroyed cause of the hard nail tapping) just to put her I-can-be-as-techno-savvy-as-this-generation obsession to rest, you MIGHT NEVER want to add her.
P.S. ~ I’m going back to learning the 3 page-long Electromagnetic Field Theory derivations that no one gives a fuck about.
P.P.S.~Just because no one liked your status update does not mean you have to do it yourself.
P.P.P.S.~ I have added smileys to this writing.
┌∩┐(◣_◢)┌∩┐
Log onto: http://www.yousuckmajorasscrack.com/ to get yours.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
India's Retard Box
Nopes, TV is just not Idiot Box anymore, specially Indian TV, it just does not deserved to be called that now, it has been dumbed down and dim-witted far too much to still be referred to by a word as un-glorified and plain as idiot.I don’t even know where to begin giving reasons; first of all, we’ve got Aajtak, Star News, IBN 7 and India TV –collectively predicting the world’s end every fortnight, giving us the exact location of the place Lord Shiva resides, enlightening us with important Saas-Bahu aur Saajish news and whether Aliens do drink cow milk indeed.No shitting.
You’ve got Zee TV, a channel that helps lift the confidence of the entire nation creating successful people every 2 months-courtesy the gazillion talent shows which means that soon we will have more winners running around than losers like me who have never had the opportunity to enrich their lives by being on shows like Roadies and Splitsvilla-two shows that “represent Indian Youth” like nothing else.
Then there’s Sony-the channel(that gave us the legendary ACP Pradyuman and Oh god yaahan pe toh laash hai, Daya darwaaza tod do!) where Anu Malik and Archana Puran Singh wouldn’t shut the fuck up, Anu with his tough-Simon Cowell impersonation and stupid A-A, B-B rhyming scheme one-liners and Archana on obnoxious comedy shows with fake laughter tracks.
Not to mention Star Plus-the flag bearer of Indian saas-bahus since the very first Ekta Kapoor show where an Indian woman got married for the first time to a rich businessman she would re-marry 10 years and 75 divorces later.
There’s this Hospital drama on Star One more dramatic than the equally shitty Grey’s Anatomy it tries to copy, just like MTV shows such as Splitsvilla are like dumb-fucked versions of Desperate Housewives(Desperate House-whores?).
Also, we’ve got Star NEWS that boasts of the Sansani guy who looks like a Christian-Bale-in-American-Psycho kind of serial rapist and will never stop pointing at the camera and yelling-Chain se sona hai toh jaag jaiye!
There’re ETC and ETC Punjabi, two channels that kind of make me think that every NRI Punjabi munda on this planet is a Snoop Dogg–inspired thug(to all the Punjabi rappers-Guys, just because Bohemia sold 5 million records with 3 albums rapping about 1)doing weed and chicks and 2)doing weed and chicks and 3)doing weed and chicks does not mean one bit that your balls should start itching at the slightest thought of a video consisting of rented Lamborghinis and fake-tit models, have more substance than boobs in your music please?).
We’ve got Ganguly-our once national hero now been reduced to hosting some lame ass game show on Bengali TV or something. Then there’re men on Discovery and Animal Planet who pick up snakes like Emraan Hashmi picks up chicks in Mahesh Bhatt-produced movies-one on each hand, one on the head and the remaining where-the-fuck-ever.For Wrestling fans there’s TNA Ke Sikandar-where commentators can be seen reading incessantly from the script.
The biggest piece of prime time mind-numbing up on TV right now though, has to be BIGG BOSS.Just because Shilpa Shetty took 5 crores to cry all sensitive and sissy on this show’s BIGG BROTHER does not mean you take 15-odd losers of epic proportions and lock them up in a house does it?
Also, you either show soft porn or spirituality. No middle ground please. Imagine sitting in your living room someday, totally bored, all by yourself, flipping frantically through various channels, overtaken by lust-searching for bikini babes on FTV or something, only to end up unexpectedly on a close up of a butt naked Munishri Tarun Saagar ji and his pubic hair on Aastha Channel while he is sitting wearing nothing but spectacles, ranting away some pseudo-spiritual bullshit about cleansing(he would do a better job if he cleansed his body hair first) their souls to fat Aunties in a voice that would make the shrill supersonic cacophony of Scandinavian bats sound like that Titanic single by Celine Dione, this also reminds me that if my mom wakes me up at 7 to watch the thumping-hairy chest of Baba Ramdev, outstretched on the floor wearing orange coloured boxers and then lifting his legs high in the air only to end up pointing his ass at the camera ever again, an overdose of the most erotic Carmen Electra Playboy stripteases wouldn’t be enough to help me recuperate from the visual and sexual trauma that is likely to haunt me for the rest of my life.
Personally I cannot wait for Rakhi Sawant’s Rakhi Ka Insaaf. Already saw the promos of a cleavage revealing-cat eyed Rakhi yelling- tu to saala na-mard hai at some stunned guy sitting next to the wife he probably cheated on.Enough said,it is going to be epic. Start counting the TRPs(Totally Ridiculous Peeps) this show is going to generate already. The success of this show to be followed by Rakhi Ka IPL(Indian Pappi League).
P.S.~ Up yours Rajat Sharma and Kiran Bedi, this country does not need your justice anymore.
Muah!
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