Shark Therapy

Sometimes I can't believe the garbage that comes out of my mouth...

2012-01-31T01:26:00.000+05:30

... but when it does come out, it usually ends up being recapped here or pretty much sits on my conscience and nags the fuck out of me until I feel bad and donate $2 a month to feed some hungry child somewhere.

Ok, that doesn't happen. The truth is, each time I feel like giving away $2, I put it in a piggy bank and on the fifth such occasion, I pull out the $10 and buy a packet of smokes with it. We all deal with guilt in different ways, I guess.

But today was not my fault. It had been an unusually annoying monday at work and I was pretty much clinging on to my last few ounces of professionalism when I stepped out for a smoke.

As I dug deep into my nicotine induced escape to a happy place, this white chap scootered up to me. Literally. In his scooter like contraption.

And he said "Hey buddy, I don't mean to pry but I gotta ask - Why do you smoke when you know that it is a useless habit that is not going to help you in any way?"

To which, much to the disbelief of my brain, my mouth spat out the words "Well, if we are all to do only those things which possess a degree of usefulness in our lives, then I guess I have a question for you too - why do you wear shoes when you know that's not going to help you?"

The rage in his face told me I'd crossed a very very thick line. But he couldn't do anything about it cause I guess he'd brought it upon himself.

He then started his scooter like contraption and wheeled away.

Anyway, turns out the technical term for that scooter-like contraption is "Motorized Wheelchair".

Oh well, at least I learnt something new today.

Of Wienerschnitzels and Tasteless Pretzels

2012-01-21T03:10:00.000+05:30

So, we just moved to a new place. As though moving to Jersey itself wasn't a new enough experience.

This is New Brunswick. It's nice enough, and not even half as crazily busy as the Big Apple. Speaking of the Big Apple, seriously, what is the big deal with it?

Yeah, Tall buildings, insane advertising, blah blah.. but seriously, what exactly is it that makes people go all "Oh wow, NYC!!" about it? Cause I'd like to have that moment and four weeks of faffing around the damn city in search of that oomph moment has provided me everything but that.

The freaking hot dogs are yummy. And the burgers make me want to ejaculate in joy at the nearest participating Wendy's. But that aside, I'm bored as fuck. The friends who are based in America live not just far, they're so far that they have a freakin timezone of their own.

Setting up house was fun cause well, I can't for the love of God figure out in which other country I'd get a spanking new 42" LED TV for a mere 20,000 rupees. It's frightening how much of shit there is to buy here in America. And even my delightful dollar'ed salary is struggling to keep up with my incessant need for more shit. In that sense, I suppose I've come to the right country after all. Capi-fucking-talism is like trafficking in body parts - you know it's wrong on every count, at every level, to spend money on something so sinister but you can't help but do just that cause you just gotta have that sexy liver that some poor sod died without using appropriately.

I initially failed to understand how Americans can be so unbelievably fat. I mean, the smallest store merits a 45 minute walk inside it if you want to see all it's got to offer. And that's fuckloads of walking there when you combine their love for shopping and the amount of walking involved in shopping. But now I realize the truth that my rose tinted glasses failed to see - the fat fuckers stay indoors and order pizza for dinner and shop at amazon for everything else. Those of us who are now terribly bored of pizza dare to venture outdoors and do basement bargain hunting in the nearest store while those lumpheads just amazon their way through puberty, poverty and obesity.

One thing I'm grateful for on behalf of America: It's a good thing the world moved on from carrier pigeons. Cause let's face it, these fuckers would have eaten that poor pigeon before it even got to dropping off the parcel at their dining table.

Maya-hii, maya-haa, maya-hoo, maya ha-ha. Oh wait, it's 2012

2012-01-03T23:04:00.001+05:30

Y'know what I hate about Christmas and New Year? The fact that everyone thinks the next 365 days will be any less miserable than the previous 365.

I mean, come on, how many cycles of this hopeful shit do we have to go through before people stop and realize that the change in the year has no more an impact on your fortunes than the color of a woman's underwear?

(Ok, speaking of underwear, the thong is an exception. After all it is well known that if you're wearing a black thong on midnight of any night and walk on the street in just that, some guy is gonna be gettin lucky indeed.)

I don't mean to be a grouch, but let's face it, the mayans seem to have their shit well figured out. 2011 had so much crap in it that the prospect of 2012 should have made us shit our collective pants.

I did get to go to NYC for new years and it was like the entire fucking planet had descended into chaos. I mean, people were all but crawling out of the gap between other people's butt cheeks, that's how fucking crowded it was.

Anyway, we met this really funny Danish couple on the yacht. Yes, I said yacht. I spent NYE on a fucking yacht party, that's how drunkenly awesome it was. The danish woman had seen hindi movies I'd not even heard of. It was freakish. She was talking about Amitabh Bachan and Shah Rukh and other movie biggies. And just when I was on the verge of being impressed, she fucked it up with the proverbial blondie westerner moment by saying two things:
a) I want to learn to speak Indian a little more fluently someday
b) My ex was a pakistani too, that's how I know so much about Bollywood.

Now, usually there woulda been fireworks aplenty fromb my side when some poor doofus makes such insulting mistakes, but it was new year's eve and I was in a good mood. So, I actually let it it go. Like, fuck, yeah, I let it go!

Anyway, you should know that I had 18 large JD's. 2 Tequila shots. 2 Kahlua shots and threw up in the magnificent toilets of that yacht. And when I finished throwing up in the wash basin, I heard the door open, so I quickly moved to the next wash basin and pretended to be gargling so that whoever was entering, didn't figure out it was me. And when he came in and saw that mess, I helped pass the blame by pointing to this mexican chap who was sitting passed out in the western closet.

I'm nice like that. Happpy fucking new year you all.

Can you believe this is gonna be the fifth year of this blog? Astonishing. How the fuck is the internet gonna survive the day I shut this shit down? What are my 4 readers gonna do with their lives after that? Yeah, I thought so too.

Merry Christmas, you jobless wannabe underground preachers

2011-12-27T23:18:00.001+05:30

I kid you not. Real conversation this morning on the NYC subway while going in for a customer meeting:

He: Hey man

Me: Hey

He: Merry Christmas man

Me: Merry Christmas
He: Do you believe in Jesus?
Me: Does Jesus believe in me?
He: Yes he does. And that's why he sent me to speak to you today.
Me: I don't believe that.
He: What?
Me: You turning up proves to me that Jesus does not want me to believe in him.
He: And how is that the case sir?
Me: Of all the people in the world, he chose you?
He: Why, whats wrong with me?
Me: You're not Charlize Theron.
He: What?
Me: She's the only one who can convince me that Jesus is real.
He: Are you messing with me man?
Me: Do I look like I'm messing with you? Find me Charlize and I'll believe.
He: I don't know who that is.
Me: YOU DON'T KNOW WHO THAT IS?
He: No.
Me: Then you're not a true believer either.
He: I am. The Lord has sent me to spread his word...
Me: Well his timing is a bit off then. This is my stop

He: Walk with the Lord for another coupla stops man, it'll change your life.

Me: I did change this one guy's life though, on a train like this, when he was trying to talk me out of something

He: Really? How?

Me: I punched him so hard, his nose broke. He can never breathe the same.

What really freaks me out is that I'm Christian and yet I found him so fucking offensive. I pity the other subway travelers of opposing faiths.

America is just the way I'd always imagined Africa to be

2011-12-15T03:14:00.000+05:30

Conversation at the immigration offices with a black lady. And I don't mean to be racist,(or do I?) but you know, she was black and that did explain this ridiculous conversation:

Why do you want an SSN?
Ermm, to pay my taxes, to buy stuff, to live here for the next few yrs?
I can't allow that
Uh?
Sir.. I. Can't. Allow. That..
and why not, officer?
Because you're not eligible.
Say what?
There are more deserving people out there who need it.
I appreciate you standing up for your lot, I do but I'm sure there's plenty of benefits to go around?
EXCUSE ME?
All I'm saying is, I just want the SSN. I don't want any benefits. I'm not gonna be unemployed and living on government handouts like some people you might know. Cant you just gimme an SSN?
Sir please leave!
I have a legitimate visa that allows me to work and pay taxes
Yeah. You're the one guy who wants to pay taxes? Why do you want to pay taxes?
Unlike your lot, I'm Indian. We pay our taxes and we don't take government handouts, that's why.
Sir, please leave now or I'm gonna have to call security.

I'm not a piece of cake, sunshine.

2011-11-22T21:32:00.001+05:30

So I was in Central park 2 weeks ago.

As it turns out, it was a stupid thang to do cause there were only couples, families and the occassional spandex ridden, sweat faced jogging enthusiast.

Walking by myself, I was beset by misery and awe, coming at me from different sides at the same time. Misery cause, well, I was walking alone in the only place in NYC where there was some semblance of romance in the air. And awe, well, cause Central Park in the fall is just an amazing sight. The colours are crazy and beautiful.

Anyway, so there I am plodding on. I see the skating rink that's been opened to the public and stop by to lech at hot chicks in skirts flashing their bits on ice.

And that's when she saw me. And I couldn't help but see her. She was ~~a typical American~~ a morbidly obese woman, who looked like she could eat every single child, adult and in between at that rink.

She kept staring at me. It was odd, I thought. But then, later I realized that I must have been the odd one out, standing like a solitary desperado in the middle of canoodling couples. And she probably chose to see that solitary desperado moment as a 'come get me' sign.

Because she did. She waddled over to me, the ice thundering under her hooves, unable to bear the strain, as her lard threatened to crush the ice and create a tidal wave of nauseus fatty tissue that would endeavour to engulf and eat every living creature within a 20 mile radius.

She came up to me, and smiled. Her teeth looked like the wiper blades of a monster truck. I couldnt help but wonder when her mouth opened to speak, if this is the closest I'll ever come to staring into Satan's bumhole.

"Hi, I couldn't help but notice you. And pardon the pun, but I wasn't sure how to break the ice"

I looked her up. And then looked her down.

And my big brown eyes bore into her blue eyes with a deep intensity she'd never experienced before.

And I replied, in dead earnest "Have you tried jumping?"

She walked away in tears. And that's when the horror of my words dawned on me:

If she'd gotten angry and sat on me, I coulda been writing this from beyond my grave.

Letters from the Jersey shore

2011-11-04T02:18:00.000+05:30

You fuckers are pathetic.

No I'm not trying to look a gift horse is the mouth. I'm just calling it as I see it. All you lousy fucks who read this blog, and don't bother acknowledging it - its you I'm talking about.

Ok, I needed to get that off my chest.

I'm in America now; it's been two weeks since I came in, and here's a summary of things:
a. My office sucks
b. New Jersey sucks
c. The amount of time it takes to get a freakin SSN sucks
d. The banks and the money they charge for farting in their general vicinity sucks
e. The fact that I have no credit, and the only way I can build a credit history is by taking the same credit that Im not eligible for by virtue of not having the credit that Im trying to build by taking credit REALLY sucks
Insurance is a fucking joke. Needless to say, it sucks balls.
f. I celebrated my birthday drinking cheap whiskey at a local bar. By myself. That was tragic, and obviously, sucked balls.

On the flipside:
a. Stuff's cheap out here. Cheap as in inexpensive.
b. There's no random checking by the cops to see if you're drunk, licensed or insured. You get to really ride your luck and so long as you dont cock up with speeding and stuff, you can drive however you want - drunk, unlicensed or uninsured or a combination of all three.
c. The sheer size of a large pizza here gave me a culinary hard on when I first saw it
d. I walk a coupla miles everyday to work past some seriously nice houses, and with winter fast approaching, I'm pretty confident that I'm gonna slip on the right person's driveway, break some bones and get rich by suing them
e.I have this chinese chick for a neighbour. And because we all know that the chinese are doing their utmost to buy everything and dominate the world, I feel good about the fact that I'm contributing in my own way to giving them setbacks by 'borrowing' something on a daily basis from her. So far, i've got at least a kilo of sugar, 3 packets of noodles and about 2 litres of milk. It's not exactly the same as buying their currency bonds and fucking them over in open trade, but hey, we all gotta start somewhere.
f. Celebrating a birthday by drinking alone, is not as bad as I thought it would be. I liked it that people at the bar got creeped out like crazy when I ordered a muffin, put a candle on it, lit it, sang to myself, proceeded to blow it off and eat the muffin while sluggin whiskey like there's no tomorrow. It's kinda awesome to be able to psych people to the point where even on your birthday, they sit a good twenty feet away and look like they are afraid to wish you cause it might be the wish that pushes the psycho over the edge.

I think the fact that there is not a singe American in my office makes for really depressing news cause a blonde woulda really gonna a long way to getting my ability to string together at least a weekly post, that much easier.

This has not been a very good start, I must say.

I will wait for the winter, America. You better make sure I fall at the right driveway.

Happy Days were fleetingly here again

2011-10-29T01:05:00.001+05:30

I came home from the pub one night, drunk as fuck, with no clue as to how I got back.

I crawled into my bed, saw my wife lying asleep on it, kissed her on the cheek (we're newlyweds, remember?), pulled the ridiculously heavy blanket over me and drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up, I saw a lookalike of Dumbledore standing beside me. He had a beard that almost touched his feet, he wore a sparkling white robe, he looked a thousand years old and he smiled at me as though he carried the wisdom of time immemorial on his shoulders.

Obviously, I was a bit alarmed. So I jumped up and shouted "Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my fucking bedroom?"

"This is not your bedroom, son. Look around you and tell me who you think I am?"

I looked around. He was right, the bed was beautiful with pristine white sheets, in a beautiful space that had no walls, and looked like it was standing on a cloud.

"No. It cannot be. If this is what it looks like, then it means.. I'm dead, this is heaven and... you're God!!!"

"Spot on, my son. Spot on."

"No, I don't wanna be dead. IT CANNOT BE. I have a lot many years left to live. Cant you please send me back? Reincarnate me? How did I die? What is this!!!"

"Obviously you think you have a lot to look forward to. If it is indeed your wish to be reincarnated, I can do that. But not as yourself. That avataar of yours is over."

"So what are my options then, Mr. God?"

"Well, you have three choices. A - I will reincarnate you as a cactus in the desert. B - I will reincarnate you as a Arabian stallion / racehorse. C - I will reincarnate you as a shower head in a beautiful woman's bathroom. You choose your preference and it will be done."

"Well, I most definitely don't want to be a cactus, there's no real joy in that. I'd like to consider the stallion but the idea of men riding me isn't fun and being a racehorse probably means a lot of work. So obviously, a beautiful woman's showerhead sounds like the best option. What more could I ask for? I'll have a naked chick getting wet everytime I turn myself on. Whoo hoo. Let's go for that Mr. God!!!"

He snapped his fingers. There was a flash of light and I became aware of my new surroundings. The bathroom was luxurious as can be and I couldn't wait for the woman who was to come bathe under my head.

True to form, she came within a few minutes. And as she undressed, I could not wait to spray her with my refreshing liquids.

When she turned me on, I felt a surge inside me, like a burst of electricity and adrenaline, and as the water gushed out of my bulging head, I thought to myself, "Wow, this is seriously amazing. This really is the life!"

As the liquid bliss kept oozing out of me, I felt at complete and utter peace and joy with myself. And as the gush began to subside to a trickle, I felt a searing pain on my face. I heard the raging voice of my wife bellowing "Monty, wake up you stupid bastard, you're pissing in the bed."

Willy's Wonka and the Cigarette Factory

2011-10-02T19:24:00.000+05:30

I'm waiting for my company to decide as to which day would be auspicious enough for me to shift my biriyani laden, kabab snortin, maaza slurpin backside to the calorie ridden, milkshake smitten land that is America.

While waiting, I've been stockpiling things I know will be an absolute belter of a neccessity.

Like cigarettes.

Only to find out that 200 ciggies is the limit as far as free quotas go.

Which is kinda pathetic you know? Us smokers are being crucified by the same lot who concieved this damn thing. Tobacco was America's first ever cash crop. It continues to be one of America's largest cash cows. Albeit, a cash cow ridden with lung disease and mouth ulcers and who cares what else.

I come from a generation of people who identify others by their brand of cigarette: Those of us who smoke Gold Flake Kings are the working class lot, those of us who smoke menthols are dicks who wanna be chicks, those of us who smoke Wills are cheapshit misers who are all but spreading their legs out and asking the God of Cancer for an anal session, those who smoke Milds (of any type) are the intellectuals who lack the intellect, those who smoke Ultra Milds (again, of any sort) are the type who don't really care for their cigarette but puff away just to stay in with the habit, then there are the bunch who smoke the white man's cigarettes - the Marlboros and Rothmans and B&H's and other irrepresibaly named brands - pseudo caucasian wannabe who thinks that their sophistication is measured by the type of residual stench left in their breaths at the end of a smoke.

We are a varied and vagaried bunch, us smokers.. bound together by our common love for something that we know is fundamentally evil, that will continually erode our finances, that will make people turn their noses up at us in scorn and that will always act as the lung's equivalent of repeated simultaneuos anal intrusions from a horse's dong. Almost all of these downsides can be found in our wives, girlfriends and mistresses, I know. But what makes the cigarette so special is that it does not talk, it couldn't care less if the sock on your left foot is green and the sock on your right foot is purple and doesn't really give a fuck whether you leave the toilet seat up or down.

But there is a new type of smoker. "The E-Cigarette smoker." "The smoker who smokes without smoking."The smoker who gets the freedom of smoking without the cancers of smoking." I hate that lot. They are the cunts of the smoking world, the Eunuchs of the smoker's society, the fake wannabe social mutts that stays a fake wannabe social mutt. I abhor their existence and wish for the day one of them electrocutes or burns themselves to a crisp when out of habit, they put a lighter to their electronic cigarette (yes I know it sounds farfetched, but one can hope ok?)

I also hate that every goddamn place is ganging up on keeping us smokers out in the open, forcing us to huddle outside like a bunch of low life rats that don't deserve better. Well, fuck the entire lot of them. To get back to my original point, I'm gonna take 10 cartons of my precious smokes, hide em in different suitcases and ride my luck hoping to meet a fellow smoker in the customs department in the event I get caught, and walk away with 9 full cartons. After all, it is but a God given right of us smokers to mooch off each other. So why should it be any different when it comes to trading one carton for the pleasure of walking away with nine?

Persistence pays in pennies.

2011-09-13T17:42:00.000+05:30

As it turns out, this kinda deterrence is merely a one time wonder.

The moment my company re-applied for my visa and assured Uncle Sammy that this time, I'm married, ready to pay taxes and willing to behave in a wee bit more restrained manner compared to my previous walk down western lanes, he relented and granted me a whole two years to give my bosses their chance to make their wettest dreams come true - two years of me in some other office, causing someone else grief.

Oh well. I have this feeling I'll fit right in. The first thing Im gonna do is waddle down to the nearest McD's, order a triple jumbo gumbo whatever with all the cheese that is permissable within penny pinching realms and keep my healthy eating guidelines in mind by ensuring I only order the diet pepsi to go with it.

And to not alarm the locals, I shall go so far as to put my extensive General knowledge aside and stare blankly when people talk about world affairs unless it involves Kim Kardashian or some such homegrown bimbo banging some random dude from some part of the world that is not America.

It's not that I'm calling Kim or Paris or Britney or any of em lovelies loose, but let's face it, they've probably had more men exploding inside them than Israel and Iraq put together.

Onwards then, my next post shall come from wierder shores.

Keep in mind that i'll take a few weeks to get my shit sorted out, out there. So read the archives instead of being a cheapass who forgets the blog.

And that's why you shouldn't bite the hands that feed.

2011-08-12T17:40:00.001+05:30

A friend of mine was trying to take an auto home from work.

And you know how Bangalore's auto drivers are.. they are human leeches who suck every ounce of faith in humanity out of you (Read this for more inputs if required)

My friend was having no luck, because it was late in the evening, and the destination suggested by my friend was not convenient enough for them to wanna take him on as a fare paying customer. They demanded thrice the meter rates. And mind, there was no guarantee offered when he asked them if the meter was legit to begin with.

I agreed to drop him home because I felt bad for the poor sod.

We figured we should get some revenge the next day:

We went to the taxi rank and walked upto the first auto driver.

I said to him "We'll give you a blowjob each as payment if you can drop us off at Airport Road".

He angrily told me to fuck off.

We went up to the next auto, and made him the same offer, and got the same response.

We did this two more times until we reached the last auto driver in line

We got in and said "Just drive me up to the main road, I'll give you double the meter"

Auto Ride to the main road: Rs.20/-The flabbergasted looks on the faces of the other auto drivers when we went past them: Priceless

_____________________________________

Postscript: I just found out that this is in fact, an old joke and that my friend didn't come up with this idea by himself. I shoulda known but oh well.

To Charity or to common sense?

2011-07-26T18:03:00.000+05:30

Not many people know that I have a philanthrophic side. Come to think of it, neither did I. But somehow, there is a world famous children's charity organization that has quietly put me on it's rolls of sponsors. Even though my bank account has confirmed that no donations of any sort have been made in the last two to three years.

So, there's this little fucker somewhere in Ethiopia who has been quietly sending me pictures of himself. Growin up, eating food, studying, playing football, blah blah. (no nudity please, I'm not THAT much of a pervert)

Little Hamidi now wears Chelsea jerseys, the ungrateful fucking brat that he is.

He has put on weight, at a time when there is a famine going on.

He sends emails detailing his progress and wants to express his thanks to me via video chat.

And obviously, the charity wants me to donate money to further his cause.

When the reminder mail asking me to replenish his coffers came to me, I replied saying that if that little brat is indeed so hungry, poor and penniless:
a) Where the fuck did he get the money to buy a webcam to video chat?
b) Where the fuck did he get the money to buy a digital camera with which he keeps sending pictures?
c) If he wanted more donations, how exactly is a picture of him digging his nose while flies swarm around his face supposed to inspire me? If I have been donating all this time and the fucker still doesn't know basic manners of not digging your nose in public and things like smiling at a camera, what hope do I have that the money I donate will indeed be well spent?
d) Where the fuck does he get sponsors from that give him jerseys instead of food?

And frankly, if I was so fucking hungry, I'd do something about it instead of snarling in front of a camera all day long... I mean come on, when I was in the NCC, I ate flies and worms as part of the 'tough it out' routine. It's no biggie.

This fella is getting greedy methinks.

Important Notice of No Significance Whatsoever

2011-07-12T15:17:00.003+05:30

To thank all of you for ‘liking’ my page I’m having a 100 fan giveaway! When this page hits 100 fans on FB, I am going to have a contest where you stand to win absolutely nothing! All you have to do is tell your friends about the shark by simply updating your FB status saying something using @Shark Therapy. Remember, all of you get to win your fair share of absolutely nothing by getting this page to a 100 likes!!!

Get started now, or choke yourself sensually and die of Erotic asphyxiation.

I shoulda been in the army. Preferably, bomb squad.

2011-07-07T13:59:00.001+05:30

I love taking risks.

Especially at work.

For example, when we have management meetings, we're usually notified by the Deputy CEO about the time and date (some people still think of her as the CEO's PA. But those of you who know politics know I speak the truth).

The notification usually affords us half a day's time to get our reports in place. At that point, the floor I work on is like a fucking fishmarket with all the department heads running around trying to get their juniors to put arcane statistics together to validate their boss's professional existence.

I usually go into snooze mode with one eye, and watch everyone else fritter about with the other. And when the fledglings have reported their observations at the nest of doom, the bosses then start working. And when I say working, I mean that they recolor, realign and reformat everything into some obscure form of charts or graphs.

Now bearing in mind that the guy who heads the management meetings looks like a cross between a whale and a Tyronnasaurus Rex with the appetite of Jughead from Archie comics, I always tend to imagine the eventual meeting going along the lines of:

"Hi everyone, this chart shows the performance of online sales,

this chart shows the billing from the call center department,

this char............Sir, stop it............Sir!!!!............

SIR, FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WILL YOU STOP EATING THE PIE CHART!"

Anyway, so while all these fuckall specimens of managerial excreta were busy applying cosmetic changes to their juniors' work, me being the honest laborer that I am, prepare my report the next morning, 20 minutes before the meeting, the way I always do:

I take the previous 5 years' worth of weekly averages and add or reduce a percentage no more than 5% and present it. There's a science to this - you can't just make up numbers cause let's face it, accounting will fuck you in the ass with a super-sharp, multi-pronged, pre-heated fork if they get even the slightest of inklings that something is amiss. If you on the other hand figure out what that 5 year average is and stay within a 5% plus or minus range, by the end of each year, there is a 99.99% chance that when your actual annual sales is tallied with your forecasts and reports, you will be pleasantly surprised to find that you've become a terrific overachiever.

Anyway. This is how I get my thrills at work. A bit like travelling without a ticket in first class.

You might ask as to what's gonna happen the day they actually look into these numbers I present? Yeah I've thought about that plenty of times too - but fuck it, I just want people to know that it's not just the soldiers, firefighters and pilots of the world who put their lives at risk on a regular basis. Us sales guys do that all the time.

You may start applauding my bravery now. *All rise*

Proof that Intelligent Life Exists... In some other universe.

2011-06-22T14:40:00.003+05:30

I know grown women who like Justine Bieber
I know intelligent girls who want to have a lesbionic relationship with Lady Gaga
I have a long standing friend of exceptional character who loves werewolving to the world about Twilight.
I know a girl who'd do anything to drink Tiger Blood with Charlie Sheen

And most recent of all,
I just met an old friend who finds Anthony's Weiner, well weinered.

All of this points to one irrefutable fact: The world is due to end on December 12, 2012.

It explains everything: The sexting, the once-a-star..now a super-muddled-crack-addict-who-thinks-he-is-a-jedi-warrior-on-the-planet-of-the-apes, the evolution of blood sucking into a serial love story, the thai ladyboy from britain who is neither thai nor a lady boy, and the agony of MJ dying before he could traumatize that Biber girl for life and by doing so, save the rest of the world and become a cult hero once more.

As a matter of fact, I was having this argument earlier on Facebook with this girl about how shit Justine is, and her response was: "Hes not shit hes luvly! Ur jst jealous cos u wish u had millions of 16 yr old gurls hu fancied u!"

I still think Justin Bieber is shit, but she's got a damn good point.

Stoned.

2011-06-17T13:30:00.000+05:30

While walking down the road, I saw this bulldog of a woman with a guy who made my head turn. Im not even gay and yet, that guy was so fucking good looking, it made we want to hit him with a club as a favor to all of us normal men.

Initially I was sure that they were colleagues or an example of mutation gone mental in a family tree or one was the bybroduct of a chinese test tube. But all of that went away when I saw the ~~woodland creature~~ girl get into a taxi and kiss him full on the lips before closing the door and waving goodbye. The pit in my stomach which was filled with blobs of disgust, spilt over when I saw him smile and plant flying kisses after the fast disappearing cab.

It was bad enough to have caught such a shockingly intimate moment in public. I mean, come on, this is India for fucks' sakes - You can lech but you can't touch around these parts. Maybe her bravado was a reflection of having a face that could be used as a club to beat the crap out of anyone who'd dare raise on objection.

At that point I had two lines of thought: One - what the fuck is he doing with her? and Two - He should be given the medal of honor or something for having the guts to get into a bed with something as puke worthy as that.

It was, for a second, a throwback to an era that I obviously missed out on. The Stone Age. Where prehistoric men would need to do no more thank bonk a woman on the head with his club and drag her to his cave, before bonking her again with a different club. (Perhaps this is how the word 'clubbing' came into existence in today's dictionary cause let's face it, every bloke enters one in the hope of getting laid.)

Why, those days were so simple. Today, you have to *talk* to a woman, *court* her, before you get to sk(qu)irt her. Given that those days had no concept of marriages and divorces and dating and what not, I guess is it was simply a matter of the one with the best club getting into the best forests.

Speaking of forests, I've learnt a few things in the last month: Italian women have still not heard of a razor, Greek men can't afford the razor, and Indian tourists in Italy and Greece tend to have their throats slit with a razor.

Also, for reasons unknown, I've seemingly rediscovered my deep seated loathing of the chinese. Perhaps, it's because when I look at them, I feel like I'm staring into the bowels of a jaundice patient. Or perhaps it's the fact that they are slowly but surely, taking over the world. Or perhaps it's because the Chinese made Blackberry I bought no less than 6 months ago, has fallen apart in spectacular fashion.

"Chinese made Blackberry". Benetton should buy the brand I say.

Strait from the Jacket.

2011-06-07T18:42:00.004+05:30

May was an insane month.

As insane as going to a bar, picking up a fat chick because no one else fell for your bullshit, and having to self ingest rohypnol because you are sure you wouldn't bang her if you were sober.

Here's the Why, followed by the Why Not that prompted it in the first place:

a) I got married. (in case you missed out the gazillion entries on the subject)
vs.
A) I got to go to Greece and Italy. Oddly enough, I liked Greece better. (Perhaps because Italians are racist cunts who hold their hankies to their noses while on a public bus when an Indian stands next to them.)

b) I managed to annoy the bride-to-be, a mere three times during the entire wedding week.

vs.

B) On the three occassions I did manage to annoy her, she was able to, (conveniently at that), inadvertantly knee me in the groin on each occassion.

c) The scary part was that I had no cold feet, butterflies in the belly, or any such shit.

vs.

C) The really scary part was that my parish priest thought it would be funny to play a prank on me by saying that a woman had filed a complaint against the marriage as I'd apparently fathered a child with her. I responded to that by saying "Which one is this now? I don't know of anyone who decided to keep it, I swear!" The look of mortification on his face was worth the loss of my innocent image

d) Two of my ex's came. (No, they weren't masturbating furiously while I took my vows.)

vs.

D) They didn't come for the reception. And thusly, were very sweet in saving me the trouble of explaining to the missus as to why I would do something as stupid as inviting an ex, let alone two.

e) I lost my wife. Twice. Once inside the Vatican meuseums, and once on a train in Florence where I'd gotten off to validate the ticket and the stupid doors closed before I could scoot back inside.

vs.

E) The fact that she found me on both occassions showed me that I have seriously underestimated her.

f) For my bachelor party, the boys had hired a stripper to keep me company. I have never met anyone as shameless as her. She barely had anything on. But oh my God, those knockers could have fed and burped an entire harem of babies.

vs.

F) Just because the boys called her a life sized latex doll, it was apparently wrong of me to try and sneak her off into the bathroom for a silent quickie.

g) I have just recently, taken an insurance policy on her that pays me handsomely, in the event of her unfortunate demise

vs.

G) I just might be able to buy that luxury yacht I've always wanted in a few years from now .. just saying..

Open email to Tata Sky

2011-06-01T11:46:00.000+05:30

Dear Mr. Nagpal (CEO of Tata Sky),

You probably won't ever get around to reading this mail. Chances are your PA will, and forward it to someone from your office who will afford me a courtesy response or call as a token gesture which will nevertheless, result in no real solution. But I had to write because, being from the customer service industry myself, I am appalled / mortified / disgusted (take your pick) with your organization's attitude to customer service.

You see, I had relocated my residence yesterday.. your service engineer came to my residence, made a fuss about cable length not being enough, charged me 200 bucks for a '30 metre cable' (which by the way, is apparently the only length that is required. If it was 25 metres, it would have been free. Talk about adding insult to injury), went on to connect everything, realized that the box was not powering up and promptly left the house saying his work was done.

That was bad enough.

To make things worse, when I called him this morning to enquire as to what was the point of his visit if I can't watch anything on TV, he very glibly and insulting said (this is verbatim): "I was to install dish. I did that. My job is done, the set top box is not my Bloody problem!" Oh, and he then hung up on me and refused to answer calls thereafter.

Now, I am an educated man, Mr. Nagpal... And I can understand that your technician might not be. Perhaps your organization should address this lack of education and it's impact on service especially in today's digital age where my email to you can be replicated on a million message boards in a matter of minutes.

The sheer audacity of the man's attitude makes my blood boil. So much so, that if I see his face, I am fearful of what I might do it.

Lastly, when I called your call center to arrive at a resolution, they said they will send a different engineer (completely missing the point, why am I not surprised?), and replace the defective box (which was only replaced 6 months ago, but that's another story for another day), and make sure that everything is resolved. Whee, I was thrilled. Finally a decent customer service experience!

But alas, then came the catch. I have to pay for the visit of the new service engineer who had to be sent to correct the mistake of the previous service engineer. I also have to pay for a new set top box to replace the previous one (which in case I didn't mention earlier, was replaced by your kind selves no less than 6 months ago). It's not that I can't afford to pay. Trust me, it's far from it. It's the principle of the thing - I don't think it's right to pay for something which is not of your own making.

Today's experience with TataSky has given me no reason to continue using the service... I hear Videocon D2H is actually quite good and I am confident that trying them might be less of a pain in the wrong place.

One last thing - I have a balance of 600+ on my account. Apparently that's not refundable either. What joy. So might I make a small suggestion? You should take the balances of customers such as myself who choose to leave the Tatasky service and use the collective funds to teach your service engineer how to speak to customers. Who knows, in time, it might even help with customer retention.

Sure, I suppose there are more chances of snowfall in Chennai that that of the service experience improving, but one can hope after all.

And while I burn your satellite dish to make a symbolic, but ultimately, futile protest at how a supposedly reputed organization such as yourselves can get away with service like this, please remember that I once believed that life would be jingalala... except now I've realized that life is indeed Jingalala for the organization, but not for it's customers.

Best Regards
Irate Ol' Me.

Ok, so I made a mistake

2011-05-24T14:42:00.000+05:30

I hardly ever get to this place where I admit to making mistakes. Because, well, me being me, I tend to not make mistakes. And even in the unlikely event that I do, I'm pretty good at apportioning the blame on the first sucker that comes my way.

But this time, I have to clasp my hands together, put my head down, and walk the proverbial walk of shame. Because there is no way I can blame anyone except myself for this outrageous mistake.

The mistake I speak of was in deciding to stop writing on this goddamn blog.

Why?

You really wanna know why?

Great. Well here's the answer then: It depressed the fuck out of me. Nights turned into days. Days turned into steaming piles of turd.

And before I knew it, I had committed the most cardinal of all crimes - No, not plucking my nose and depositing the gold on the belly of the neighbor's puppy. I went and got married. Shit. Why couldn't I just go on a drinking binge like normal people?

The next time I plan a shutdown, will you jackasses stop me instead of allowing me to listen to myself? Because if you lot don't pitch in, the next time I decide to shut down, I'll probably end up fathering a child or converting to Islam and getting married again.

Like once isn't enough.

Surprise!

2011-03-30T12:40:00.000+05:30

I've decided to shut down the blog.

And before I take the entire thing offline, I wanted to take a few minutes out to write to the crazy lot of you that read this tripe and say goodbye.

So: Goodbye y'all.

The Many Pitfalls of Planning Ahead

2011-03-25T13:50:00.001+05:30

I'd been a wee bit worried the last few days. My visa applications to Italy and Greece were being processed and there was this painful feeling that it was going to go the American way.

And by American way, I don't mean forgetting where you were originally headed cause you stopped at McDonalds to buy a large burger and diet coke.

I meant, This american way.

But as it turns out, Europe seems to welcome me with a lot more openness than the Americans. And this despite the fact that I dislike Europeans more than Americans.

Now, I'm an absolute scrooge. I hate spending money, but I spend all of it nevertheless. And I figured that since this is pretty much my last holiday in the evolution of bachelor-to-death row, I should go all out.

And so I did.. I've booked my stay at the Waldorf, flying business class to Athens, going wine tasting for a ludicrous price in Florence, renting a gondolier in Venice just in case I tap some bird, booked a speedboat in Crete.. my way of saying "Bye bye bachelorhood, twas a good run we had".

Then, I thought to myself, how about a stopover at the Netherlands? Come on.. hash cakes, weed cafes, junkie communities, ~~medically disinfected~~ clean entertainment.. what's not to love about the prospect of going there? Besides, Xbox (who's stopped writing to play papa big pants) lives there and I figured it ll be nice to flirt with his rather good looking wife while he's busy breastfeeding his kid.

So far so good, right?

Here's the catch, I applied for the both of us. I told her it's the honeymoon plan. And I was quite sure the authorities would refuse her a visa because we didn't have our marriage registered yet, schengen countries are notorious for visa refusals, blah blah... and thusly planned for a trip to these awesome joints without really planning for company.

And now as it turned out, those consulate jackasses approved her visa. It's possibly because the Italian PM is a notorious host when it comes to inviting women to visit his land. Especially if the concerned women are hot. And as my luck would have it, the fiancee's visa application photos showed her in quite a nice light.

In fact, she looks so bloody hot in her pics that if I were to see her for the first time via those pics, I'd consider her hot enough to drink her bathwater. And then of course, I'd run her a bath and insist that she bathe while I watch to make sure that she doesn't end up draining that precious bathwater. Anyway, I digress... I'm guessing someone in the consulate gathers all the female applicant's photos and runs off to videophone the premier's office saying:

"Bozz, all zese bellas want to come in"

The Premier looks at the pictures and goes:

"Her? Hell yez.. she eez so hot, Monty would drink her bathwater.Approveeeeeeeeeee!"
"This one, no way...mamma mia, her face look like ze very old pasta"
"This one, most definitely bring inside. Zose legs stretch very far!."
"Ugh.. never her. NEVERRRRR for as long as I'm the PM!"
"Oooh... Zese women in burqas are so mysterious.. let's risk eet!"
"Yowsa. Did you see ze size of her.. YES YES bring her een!!" .."

..and so on and so forth

So, now the creature has her visa. And I'm supposed to take her on a honeymoon for two when the original plan was an orgy for one.

I think I'm gonna go home, crawl into my bed, and hope my entourage finds it in their heart to forgive me. After America, now it's Italy and Greece - three countries worth of pole dancers and what not who I've let down because of the enforced change of plans.

Can you hear the muffled sound of my sobs?

We're all victims of nature's call. One way or the other.

2011-03-15T14:47:00.001+05:30

Is it wrong that the only thing I could think of when I read the headline that a radiation leak had been confirmed at the Fukushima nuclear plant was that the guy who named the plant must have really hated Shima?

In all fairness to the Japs, I feel sorry for them. Apparently, the seas and quakes have done damage to a financial value equivalent to the Pakistani annual economy. Why couldn't it have been the Pakistani economy? Also, the quake moved the country by 4-8 feet. It gives us hope doesn't it? That Pakistan may someday be moved by 500 feet or something, and thusly roll down the Himalayas and die? Or disappear altogether?

Anyway, my experience with Japs has always been a perfectly good one. They don't come across as a people that deserve to have a country that's built perfectly along one of the world's most unstable plates, kept company by tumultuous seas on one side and on the other, to have Mount Fiji keeping em half scared to death because no one knows whether the damn thing is an active or dormant volcano.

If only Justin Bieber had been playing a gig on the shores of the Miyagi prefecture, at least we could all be able to say to ourselves that there is a silver lining to this horrible cloud.

My condolences to my non existent Japanese readership.

Because my profession needs to be defended.

2011-03-07T10:26:00.000+05:30

Selling is not merely about bullshitting, you know?

It's an art. It's a challenge. It's a talent. It's a way to teach your conscience a lesson or two as to who the master is.

Back when I was in college, I used to sell Encyclopedias as a part time thingy.

I was told to target the rich and well to do. But it was useless. They either already had it, or considered it below their gold plated hands to consider making purchases from a grubby door to door salesman.

And that was when I learn the trick to making a good sale. You see, it had been almost three months into my job, and I had all but given up hopes of ever selling any of those damn encyclo's. I was considering giving that shit up to work in KFC (which I had already done - night shifts cleaning the damn place - a story for some other time) and heading to the office in an Auto. That's when it hit me. I realized I'd been targeting the wrong market.

I chatted up the auto driver for a few minutes while on our ride. And then casually asked him
"Do you want your kids to be auto drivers too?"
"No saar.. I want them to escape from my life and become good doctor / engineer/ manager"
"My friend, you can help them by buying this series of books called the Encyclo. It contains information about everything. And anything."
"How will it help them?"
"Your son in school will have the best homework in the entire class and your college going daughter will have projects coming up in her final years for which this will be a blessing. They will top their class, guaranteed"
"How much, Saar?"
"9500. But you can pay it in 6 installments."

That was my first sale.

I went on to sell close to 250 encyclopedias. An unheard of number back then. Of which, every SINGLE customer was either an auto driver, a bus driver or a tea stall owner. The perpetual drive of wanting the best for their children, even as a low earning parent, was the only string I needed to pull.

2 years later, I had joined my first full time job, working as a call center agent selling credit cards to ~~suckers~~ people in the USA.There, it was the same story. No interest, no sale. Until I realized that there weren't any Indians in the US back then who had credit cards. I told my boss to find a way to get me a copy of any local telephone directory in America. We got the client to send them their local New York office's directory. It was Heaven. I called every listed Indian. And to give him a card, I'd insist that the only way I'd approve it would be if he gave me 10 fellow desi references. 2500 odd credit cards were sold within the next 8 months by yours truly. The average sale per day, per person across the floor was 2-4. Yours truly sold anywhere between 20-25. I used to take home a salary of Rs. 2500 initially. With my new found market approach, my incentives alone accounted for Rs. 40000-60000.

Now, another 6 years since, I have pulled off another first (for me). I've convinced one of the biggest software companies on the planet, to work on a completely radical business model with my co. Sub sourcing, I call it. If my company has the balls to take it on board, they stand to make nothing less than an eye popping 50 Crores from the contract. And that amount will grow disproportionately in the years to come if they deliver properly.

It's good to be the only one who can deliver results in this co. Makes me feel like I took Hercules on in a rock-on-your-shoulder carrying contest and beat him into submission.

So, I figured now would be a good time to ask for a meeting with the CEO and get him to revise my salary again. How is it that internal sales is a thousand times more difficult than external sales?

Not all crashes are bad...

2011-02-25T16:33:00.001+05:30

We need to go on a holiday Monty..

No, we don't. I don't have the money.

Yes I do, and yes you do.

No you don't, and No I don't.

Bullshit. You're a fucking miser. I deserve to be treated better.

You should be glad I don't chain you to the fucking kitchen

Is that all I am worth?

No babe, I was joking. You are my princess.

Then treat me like one!

Ok...how about a trip to Paris then?

Why Paris?

It ll be a princess'y experience, and it's where the 'royal' crowd go anyway.

Really?

Yeah, I won't come though, but I'll book an all expenses paid trip for you.

No way... you're taking my ass, aren't you?

I'm dead serious...I'll even sweeten the deal by renting a chauffeur driven Mercedes.

This is too good to be true, and far too easy. What's the catch?

No catch. You'll die in a high speed car crash in a tunnel. Apparently Diana was a proper trendsetter..

In the heat of the Moment ...

2011-02-22T11:52:00.000+05:30

...I found her distinctly unappealing.

Thing is, women can go at it, even if they lose the urge to, without getting caught for it.

But for us guys, it's a different rod of lightning altogether.

Try losing a boner when your boner is only supposed to do nothing else but stay on top of the situation.

Try explaining to the woman, that the loss is because this is the first time she's gotten around to undressing in daylight and the birth mark on her thigh looks like someone gave her a case of genital warts, except on the thigh.

Try maintaining for her sake, that the loss of the boner is because you're tired.

Try continuing to protect her poor ego with the white lie about how you're tired on a public holiday.

Try explaining how you're tired, on a public holiday, at the tender age of 23.

Try explaining how you're tired, on a public holiday, at the tender age of 23, when all you have been doing between the two of you for the last 24 hours, is lounging on the beaches of Goa.

Try explaining how you're tired, on a public holiday, at the tender age of 23, when all you have been doing between the two of you for the last 24 hours, is lounging on the beaches of Goa, and making out.

When this attempt at white lies fail,

Try telling her the actual truth.

Try explaining how someone else might find it attractive, but you find it disgusting

Try justifying the previous night by saying "It was ok then cause it was dark and I couldn't see it! Daylight's a different ballgame altogether!"

Try comforting her with a different version of 'It's not your fault, I'm just a stickler for perfection'

Try making her not hate herself for dumping her previous boyfriend, just so she could go to Goa with yours truly.

Try making her not hate herself for dumping her previous boyfriend, just so she could go to Goa with yours truly, in the year 2004 by telling her parents that she was going for a weekend onsite hiring program held by the office, and then getting caught cause the petty minded asshole of an ex tattled to the parents about where she actually was.

Now, try and understand as to why she'd be so mean as to say "Rot in hell, motherfucker!" when you meet her again after a 6 year gap?

I really hate it when people pretend to get all hyper sensitive when in truth they probably just wet themselves all over again at the sight of you.