Hairy Potter And The Over-Ambitious Gall Stone

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and all names, incidents or places are fictitious. Any resemblance to any persons or characters living, dead or fictional is purely coincidental and no harm is intended to anyone through this story.

toonclub.blogspot.com
Image Courtesy: toonclub.blogspot.com

“I stirred from my sleep at around 8 in the morning. The sun streamed through the window and made my hairy chest glow a brilliant red. I looked around my room and saw bits and pieces of pottery lying as they had been the night before – haphazard and lacking order. My flowing beard got caught in under my feet as I stepped off the bed and I couldn’t prevent my head-long fall. The ground rushed up and I hit my head on the hard red-oxide floor and I passed out.

“When I woke up a little later, I was surprised to find that the fall had driven my brain against the walls of my skull and opened up a new dimension. I was blessed with excellent bladder control. I haven’t pee’d for two week now…”

“Whoa, wait. Hold on a minute!” said the police inspector as he switched off the tape recorder. He looked skeptically at the strange man sitting in front of him – he was covered in hair from top to bottom; hair was flowing from every part of his body, and the inspector wondered if he was wearing any clothes.

“Are you telling me that your beard got caught under your feet?” asked the inspector.

“Yes, it’s true,” said the hairy man. “Please believe me!”

“It’s hard to, but I’ll let you go on, Mr – “

“Potter. Hairy Potter. So, as I was saying, I have excellent bladder control.”

“Ok,” said the inspector. “Where does the Gall Stone come into the picture?” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Ah, the Gall Stone,” said Hairy Potter, and smiled…

In the dark recesses of Hairy’s kidneys, there lived an Over-Ambitious Gall Stone. It wanted to break free from it’s confines and see the world. Unfortunately, Hairy’s bladder movements were punctual and he had an excellent bladder control. For a whole week now, the Gall Stone hadn’t been able to move. Then, it made a drastic decision – it decided to break out of prison.

Bladder control or not, the Over-Ambitious Gall Stone started digging a tunnel in the kidney in order to break free. Hairy realized that he had to go check himself in a hospital to relieve himself of the pain. The doctors decided to operate and remove the Gall Stone.

As soon as the surgeon clutched the Gall Stone in his forceps and brought it out into the open, it screamed out, “I’m Freeeee!” and jumped out and started rolling towards the door. No one could find it anywhere…

“So, I want you to arrest the surgeon for losing my Gall Stone,” said Hairy Potter.

The inspector switched off the tape recorder a second time and placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. He looked at the hairy creature in front of him.

“Sir,” he said. “Do you think I’m fucking insane?”

Hairy was flustered. “Why?”

“Get out before I arrest you for attempted manslaughter!” he said. Hairy jumped up and moved towards the door, feeling scared.

“The toilet’s on your left. Go enjoy yourself,” the inspector called out after Hairy.

After making sure that Hairy had left, the inspector dialed a number.

“Lord Wall ‘de Fart?” he asked.

“Yesss,” the voice hissed.

“I think we may have found it. The Gall Stone Who Lived…”

[to be continued…]

Letter To An Asshole

Dear Asshole,

It’s been nice knowing you for so long. Really, when you stumbled upon my blog a month ago, I never realized we would be forging such a strong bond of indifference. With all that’s been happening in my life right now – work tensions, women, money issues, women, health issues, women, etc – I really think that I can do without your incessant stupidity.

You remind me of an ancient monkey-like creature that has been dead for a million years; it died because it mistook professional courtesy for unconditional love. Of course, since I haven’t even met you, I don’t know whether you actually look like the stupid monkey-like creature, but I’d put my money on it.

You are sexually insecure and your parents hate you. You were a mistake to begin with. You were the result of one night’s heavy drinking nine months before you were born. Your parents are ashamed of you, aren’t they? That’s why they named you like that. You are ashamed of your lineage, and you can’t do anything about it, except roam around the blogosphere harassing people when you could do something useful like kill yourself.

All said and done, my dear dear Asshole, I still like you. I like you a lot, because the world needs people like you. Where else will the scientific community get human specimens for experimental trials? Where else will car manufacturers get dummies for their crash tests? The world would have a boring place without you, my friend.

My dear Asshole, I salute you with a lot of feeling, but I am sorry that you can’t see which finger I’m holding up. Go rot in hell.

Sincerely,
God’s Yo-Yo

Disclaimer: Asshole is real. He is an Asshole. He is an ancient monkey-like creature. Maybe someday, when he kills himself, I’ll throw a grand party where I’ll reveal his name, Till then, let’s play the guessing game. 😀

A Marriage Made In Heaven?

The International Symbol Of Marriage

I was having a fairly one-sided discussion about marriage and bonds with a friend of mine last night, and I was flustered to find out that my views border on pagan at best.

Charles Templeton, in his book Act of God, has this to say about marriage:

Marriage, is beyond question, the worst of all the arrangements imposed by man on his society; a wholly unnatural arrangement super-imposed on the normal male-female attraction. It’s man’s second worst inhumanity to man (War being the worst, although many a man has gone to war to escape a marriage) and has obviously been devised as a means of punishing man for his failure to love God by destroying normal affection through an arrangement which demeans the participants and transforms what should be joy, into duty.

Let’s begin at the beginning, with two people in love: immature and usually uninstructed on the subject of love and marriage and knowing nothing more about it than what they’ve observed – heaven help them! – in their own homes or learned from their grubby peers or heard shouted about by some bearded crazy twanging an amplified guitar. They know little about each other except that they can kiss without bumping noses and that each creates pleasant sensations in the other’s groin.

Society now conspires to put these two children under pressure to get married and sooner or later, they enter upon a tribal ritual as kooky as any practiced by the most benighted of aboriginals. She and he and all their friends play dress-up and the entire ridiculously costumed group ends up in a church or a temple.
There, the priest invariably mumbles some ancient words to which nobody pays the slightest attention. Impossible vows are taken, various lies are sworn to, metal rings are traded and in grave, end-of-the-world tones, our two unfortunates are informed that they are husband and wife.

Afterwards, there is a party where everybody drinks too much and the bride’s mother ritually cries. All this mandatory nonsense out of the way, the hapless children get into a car with lewd witticisms painted on it and drive off to a motel bedroom smelling of stale tobacco smoke and boasting of venereal-disease-free toilet seats. There, despite the fact that they are utterly exhausted, and a bit drunk, and would be better off if they just went to sleep, they feel duty bound to copulate.

I don’t agree with most of what he says, as this is a very cynical article. But certainly is a good read. 😀

Farting Etiquettes

Whatever size, form or shape, toilet humor has always brought a smile to people’s faces. So, even if someone does not like the idea of a whole post on Farting Etiquette, what the fart? I’ll still write it.

Mankind I have always harbored an admiration for the powerful forces of nature. Wind energy is the next best thing to fossil fuels, and as long as there’s food on the planet, there will be farts.

Breaking wind is an essential fart of human nature. The fart of the matter is, no one can hold it any longer than 2 hours. This is scientifically proven at the MirrorCracked labs. There are certain etiquettes when it comes to unleashing our wind upon the unsuspecting public, and not many people adhere to it.

There’s a 4-line poem in Sanskrit, which describes the different intensities of smell that are associated with different levels of farting:

Darrr-am Burrrr-am Bhayam Naasthi
(Loud, sonic-boom farts do not stink)

Koiyyam Kotakasya Madhyaman
(There’s a reasonable amount of stink when the fart is squeaky and forced)

Thissssss-adhghoram Mahadhghoram
(Unbearable attack of stink forces when the fart hisses)

Nishabdham Praana Sankatam
(The unheard fart is a killer)

With this knowledge of the ages in mind, we can keep ourselves aware of what we need to do when we can’t hold it any longer. Here are a few tips on how to behave when we fart:

  1. If you’re alone, then let it out loudly, smile and say, “Wow, what a fart!”
  2. If in a meeting with 4 or more people and you very quietly let loose, then slowly start pushing your chair away from the person sitting next to you and give him/her a dirty look. Others will follow suit. This technique is called Farting The Blame.
  3. If you’re standing in a crowded bus, then make sure that you start pushing your way through the crowd slowly but steadily, moving towards the door, while farting quietly, so that the stink is distributed evenly throughout the length of the bus. (Not applicable outside India)
  4. If you’re with a girlfriend/boyfriend and you realize that you have to break wind, then play some music and tell your partner that you’ll dance for her/him. Unleash the wind energy quietly while dancing. He/she will never know. It’s easier for smokers – they can just light up to kill the stink.
  5. If you’re with someone who’s irritating you and you just want them to go away, then do the sonic-boom.

I sincerely hope this small but comprehensive guide helps people in distress. As usual, contact me for a free demo. 😀

Image Courtesy: Photobucket.com

The Dummy’s Guide To The Basic Rules Of Blogging

So you think you know how to blog, do you? Well, if you do, then good for you! Sometimes, the ability to delude ourselves is an important survival tool. For all those unfortunate netizens who sit and stare with open mouths at blogs and wonder how it’s done and for all those fortunate ones, who think they know how to blog, here’s a must-have quick reference – The Dummy’s Guide To The Basic Rules Of Blogging! It’s about bloody time someone taught us how to blog!

Rule 1: Eat

Before you even think of the word ‘blog,’ eat well. I suggest a couple of bowls of chicken soup as well. There is a scientific reason behind this and I don’t want to go into the details. It has something to do with the ability to stifle a yawn.

Just take my advice – eat heartily and then sit in front of the computer and open the blog engine homepage.

Rule 2: Logging in

You can use your own username and password or you could steal someone else’s. It actually doesn’t matter as long as you get in. There’s a button usually present next to the password field that says “Enter” or “Submit” or “Log in” or, sometimes, very rarely, “Spank me.” Click that button. Congrats, you’ve just logged in.

Rule 3: Do A Tag

You’ll never be recognized as a blogger if you write shit and don’t do tags. Very few people know this, but the word “Tags” is an acronym – it stands for “Towards A Greater Sexlife.”  The reasoning behind this would probably be the increasing amount of personal information that is being shared in each and every tag. (Oh, you wouldn’t believe it, but I once did a tag in which I asked a beautiful woman to marry me. But that’s just me. Different people reveal different things.)

So, beg, borrow or steal a meme, and do the tag. You’ll be certified as a blogger.

Rule 4: Etiquette

Just two words: No Nudity!

Whatever you write, whatever you comment, whatever photographs you upload and display, please make sure that your nude photographs and descriptions are not among them. No one wants to know. No one cares.

Rule 5: Comment Policy

One of the main aspects of blogging is to build good relationships with fellow bloggers. This can be achieved by visiting their site and leaving a scar comment on their article. This will force them to return the favor and voila! You’ve got a rudimentary blogroll! Now, don’t repeat that again. A good blogger never replies to comments or retaliates. A good blogger is always too drunk to do these things.

Rule 6: Logging out

Finally, after everything is said and done, you may search your page for a “Log Out” button. This button is also, very rarely, called “Spank me again.”

Go ahead. Blog! Show the world what you’ve got!

Let me rephrase that – Show the world how creative you can be! We don’t want to break Rule 4, do we?

Checkmate!

The white Queen stood facing the black Bishop. They were three squares away, in front of each other, in a single file. The Queen was tempted to kill the Bishop, but realized that there are other forces acting. The black Queen and the black King were very near, one square apart, on either side of the black Bishop, providing excellent protection and at the same time, harboring a threat to the white Queen. The white Queen was of a pure heart, unlike the three enemies facing her – they were dark and sadistic. She knew that if she doesn’t think rationally at this juncture, she would be killed.

She called out to her White Knight – her trustworthy adviser, her secret love, her Man among men – and asked him to help her. Ever the gentleman and always ready to lay down and die for his lovely Queen, the white Knight rode forward and in one brilliant move, stood in front of his Queen, defending her, and called out, “Check!” to the black King.

The black King was taken by surprise and the black Queen could not believe her eyes. Where had the white Knight come from? Her respect for the Knight grew, but was overtaken by her hatred and anger. She had to protect her dark King at any cost, and in her anger, she misjudged the existing threat to herself. She asked the dark King to move back a square, and as he did, she realized her folly. In an instant, the white Knight was on to her; drawing his sword, he plunged it deep into her black heart. She let out a horrifying scream as she lay dead on the battlefield. Her last words were, “White Knight, I salute you.”

Turning to his lady love, the white Knight bowed. The white Queen had tears in her eyes. “You risked your life to save mine,” she said.

“That, my lady, is my destiny,” said the white Knight.

The white Knight now stood right next to the black Bishop, who was quivering in his boots and had wet his pants just looking at the white Knight standing next to him in all his glory. The black King knew that his hours were numbered. He looked back into his camp and saw that his trustworthy assassin – the black Knight – was still available. He called out to him, “Save your King, O blackest of black Knights!”

Heeding to his King’s call, the black Knight leapt into action, and in one spring, he landed next to his King and threatened the white Queen. The Queen looked helplessly at her white Knight. He just smiled at her and said, “The dark ones are going to lose, my Queen. We shall triumph.”

He leapt high in the air and landed in front of his Queen and called out, “Check!” to the black King again. The King could not believe it. He had overlooked such a simple maneuver. “Shit!” he cried, and moved to a square to his right.

The white Knight then looked at his Queen, at her lovely face, at her beautiful eyes and extended his hand. “Do you trust me, my Queen?” he asked.

“Of course, I do!” said the Queen. “Why?”

“Then take my hand and come to me. Move a step towards me, my Queen. Trust me.”

She took his hand. She loved him more than anything else in the world and so far, he had saved her life thrice in three moves. She took a step forward and came to him.

The white Knight looked at the black King and said, “Checkmate, asshole!”

The Dummy’s Guide To Destroying Your Computer

Ah, so you somehow reached this page. Are you frustrated with your computer? Are you tired of waiting and waiting and waiting for Windows to boot? Are you going bald due to excessive hair-pulling? Do you want to kill your computer? If the answer to any of these questions is either “Yes” or “No” then you’re at the right place! This is my comprehensive guide to destroying your desktop/laptop computer without leaving any trace. It’s about time we hit back.

The Hard-where Kill

This is a technique that I have perfected over a period of time, and is perhaps the most effective way to destroy a computer. It involves speed, skill and timing, and should be practiced on a watermelon to assess yourself (avoid pumpkins; they’re a cliché). Contrary to a popular fairy tale that says the motherboard is the heart of the computer, I have recently made the startling discovery that computers are, in fact, heartless. This explains their lack of emotion, their oblivious indifference to our pleas of help and their disgusting attitude of throwing up sparks after a wet, sloppy kiss.

So, it’s wrong to assume that killing the motherboard will effectively kill your computer. You have to be more thorough.

Before And After
The Hard-where Kill: Before And After

Stand at a height of exactly 14 feet off the ground, hold a watermelon in your hands and extend your hands in front of you to the maximum. Close your eyes, let go of the fruit and quickly turn back to avoid the blood splatter – all in one motion. This requires a lot of practice, and it’s useful to have at least three melons handy. Once you’re sure that you’ve got the technique perfected, go unhook the computer’s monitor and imagine that it’s the watermelon. It makes for great reality TV too, so be sure to call AXN or any of those other cheap-thrill TV channels to capture the shards of glass and innards of the monitor flying in all direction.

Once the monitor is dead, pick up the motherboard and dump it in your water tank. A clean kill.

Serves them right, the idiot boxes!

The Soft-snare Kill

This is a more delicate and time-consuming process that requires a lot of patience. Install Windows Vista and wait.

Windows Vista is an operating system that works on the principle of camouflage and deception. Appearances can be so deceptive – it will make the computer feel all warm and cozy and important, but it’ll kill your system from the inside completely and comprehensively over time. All you have to do is wait and smile an evil smile, showing the same amount of sadism and indifference that the computer had once shown you.

Serves them right, the bastards!

The Why-rus Kill

Computer viruses are ubiquitous in nature. There are people who have spent their whole lives writing malicious bits of code and dangerous programs (because they didn’t have anything better to do and their girlfriends/boyfriends ditched them and their parents didn’t love them enough), and there are people who have spent their whole lives trying to protect computers from these viruses (because they didn’t have anything better to do and their girlfriends/boyfriends ditched them and their parents didn’t love them enough).

A little-known method of killing a computer is to open up the motherboard and sneeze on it a million times a day, infecting it with snot, dirt, phlegm and of course, the rhinovirus. Mankind, who’s been around for so many millenia, hasn’t been able to find a cure for this virus (that causes cold and God only knows why it’s called a Rhinovirus!), and there’s no way in Hell the bloody computers will.

Serves them right, the dumb machines!

Contact me for a free demo! 😀