Letter To Cupid, 2012

Statutory Warning: The following post contains words and imagery that some people may deem as inappropriate. I have used the word ‘fuck’ twice and I talk about raising my middle fingers to someone, giving that someone the message to go fornicate with themselves. I have used a photograph of a winged child-thing found dead, face down, with an arrow in its back, lying in a pool of its own filth. If you or anyone around you find(s) my language and mannerisms offensive, please click here. Else, continue reading. 

Cupid is Dead

Dear Cupid Asshole

Here we are again, in 2012. I’m still here, single as fuck, and you’re still there, dancing around with your gay wings and your gay arrows. I wrote to you earlier, around 4 years ago and you promised me that the next time would be different. You are a filthy liar and nothing more. If I look back on this year, all you’ve given me is hope, despair and embarrassment. What the hell is the matter with you, jackass? Can’t you just do your job right?

So, in the light of all that you’ve done for me this year and for the past so many years before, I raise both my fingers to you. Go suck an orange, kid.

Do you remember how I signed off my last letter to you? You don’t? Drop Dead.

In all sincerity,

Go Fuck Yourself.

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Bollywood Does it Again

Karan Johar & Tweety Bird: Separated At Birth?Or, more precisely, Karan Johar does it again. He has taken a cliched plot, soon-to-be washed up actors, ridiculously lame jokes and unoriginal catch-phrases from How I Met Your Mother and dished out two-and-a-half hours of pure and unadulterated crap.

He calls this soporific, brain-damaging spiel ‘I Hate Luv Storys’ – a phenomenon that I had the misfortune of watching last night.

Here’s what happens in the 135-minute joy-ride from Hell:

(Relax – ignore the spoilers, you’re not missing anything worthwhile)

There’s this guy, see, who’s disgustingly like Barney Stinson from HIMYM – he’s against the concept of love and he wants to sleep with a new woman each night. He considers the age-old concept of love as lame and does not want any part of it. Ironically, he works as an assistant to a Bollywood movie-director who specializes in just this of crappy movies. So, here ends the interesting part of the movie. Before it begins.

He meets a girl, who falls in love with him. He says he doesn’t want to fall in love. I think he hides the fact that he’s ridiculously and unbelievably gay, but that hasn’t been shown in the movie. He rejects her advances – which is strange, because when he first meets her, all he’s thinking of is how beautiful she is and how he can get into those pants of hers. Anyway, contradicting plot lines are the backbone of this crapoweseome* movie.

And then, as with all the other slipshod Bollywood movies, the hero (or rather, the actor-playing-the-lead-role) realizes that he’s lost his mojo and can’t get it up with any other woman, and all he thinks about is this chick. So, he decides to fall in love lest he spend the rest of his ‘manhood’ making love only to himself and the ever-present girls-gone-wild video that seems to be playing on constant loop in his room. (How bizarre)

He tell her that he loves her and now, its her turn to bitch-slap him and walk away. Aww, the poor sod is all heart-broken and decides to follow the chick all the way to New Zealand, in the hopes of scoring with her. But he realizes that the chick has agreed to marry some other loser named Raj, who wears atrocious shirts that look like something a cat dragged in, pooped on it and dry-humped your neighbor’s barbie doll on. So, our hero (or rather, the loser-who-plays-the-actor-who-plays-the-lead-role) decides to be generous and let her be taken by his nemesis.

And, just when he seems to settle down in his head, resigned to his fate of returning home to live with his insanely liberal mother (who, it seemed, would appreciate the beauty and charisma in anything from a sordid threesome to a full-blown monkey orgy) and marry some girl that she’s chosen for him, fate delivers the knock-out punch – his flight gets delayed and he realizes that he’s not in a Bollywood movie but rather in Paulo Coelho’s Alchemist, interpreting each and every coincident as a ‘sign’ from the ‘ooparwala’.

He runs back to the chick, tells her he loves her, and this time, amazingly, she says yes. Apparently, by this time, she has realized her mistake – she did not want to spend the rest of her life smelling of cat poop.

They hug, they kiss, the movie ends and the audience pukes.

There you have it – fresh from Karan Johar’s box of unbecoming movie ideas that he cooked up while getting drunk with four hot guys from Canberra who took turns in showing him exactly how handsome he is. Well, serves him right. Inox and PVR theaters all over the country are smelling of vomit and they have decided to shut down for a day to clean up the mess, under the pretext of the Bharat Bundh today.

My rating: Minus 34.5 / 10

*Crapowesome: A word that I invented while writing this post. This means an awesome amount of crap filled into a very small space, to the point of overflowing. It’s an adjective.

I’m Neither Gay Nor Sexually Frustrated!

Ladies' Night At The Beach
Ladies' Night At The Beach

A long long time ago, Bangalore was known as the clubbers’ paradise. Pubs boasting of imported liquor and clubs boasting of the sexy dance floors and sexier women in skimpy clothes that would promise a lifetime supply of eye-candy. Somewhere along the evolutionary line, things took a turn for the worse and Bangalore became a clubbers’ nightmare – strict curfews at 11:30 in the night, political bastards beating women up for drinking beer, cops taking a sadistic pleasure in accosting unsuspecting drunk drivers and the worst of them all, a steep rise in liquor taxes, ensuring the public that you could get drunk only if you have a salaried bank account. But, Bangalore being Bangalore, swallowed all these, shrugged and said in it’s trademark laid-back attitude, “Shit happens.”

Nowadays, it’s very ironic when someone tells me that Wednesdays are Ladies’ Nights in most clubs in the city, because if this isn’t the heights of hypocrisy, then I don’t know what is. It’s like saying, “We beat up women for drinking and just to keep things fair, once a week, we’ll give them a free drink.”  Ridiculous, right?

Anyhoo, this isn’t a serious post at all. I haven’t lost my marbles and no, I haven’t joined a political party. I haven’t lost my soul and I haven’t slept with the devil. It’s just something I wanted to ponder upon. The main purpose of this post with the scandalous title is to narrate what happened yesterday night, after work, when all I wanted to do was go home and sleep in the comfort of my blue blanket. Three of us decided to get drunk.

I kept insisting that I didn’t want to go a place where there’s Ladies’ Night in effect, because that would mean I’m interrupting all the wonderful women who were enjoying themselves, bathing in the soft glow of green lasers, getting drunk and doing other things that women do when they are drunk. Someone had once told me that only gay men and sexually frustrated men go to pubs on Ladies’ Nights to ogle at women or to feel like one. I know its a twisted logic, but then, I didn’t want to be one of those men. I have never ever gone clubbing on Wednesdays. Till now.

I got royally drunk and reached home at one in the morning and I’m proud of the fact that I didn’t puke. Funny enough, there were more men at the club last night than women. It took me a while to figure out the concept of the free drink coupons and that only I was being asked to pay a cover charge and that as time wore on, all the men started dancing and that it took the women a bit more time to loosen up and join the gay brigade and the sexually frustrated brigade.

So, I’m putting the record straight – I’m neither gay nor sexually frustrated. I have nothing against these two clans and I hope we can live and let live. And let loose a few expletives from time to time.

Oh, I’m so terribly hungover!

Image Courtesy: Bangalore.burrp.com

Skeletons In My Closet!

CartoonStock.comI will risk being ridiculed as a cliché when I write this post, but I have to get my fingers moving over the keyboard. I am suffering from a serious bout of writers’ block nowadays. I can’t seem to convince myself that I must write to keep my mind spiraling down into an abyss of mundane work. I’ve been putting in twelve hours of work everyday now, for the past few weeks, and that has taken a toll on my writing. I have been accused of neglecting my blog, neglecting all the beautiful people on my Gtalk list, and not giving enough time to myself.

So, I decided yesterday (while I was in the middle of a beautiful dream) that the best way to get over this block is to start by revealing ten deep, dark secrets about myself – the skeletons in my closet – for the whole world to see and judge and hopefully, have mercy on my poor soul and forgive me for all my cupidity. Er.. I mean, stupidity! 😀

1. Stuffed penguins freak me out! (As a kid, I used to watch Pingu and cry, and almost killed a friend of mine for forcing me to watch Happy Feet!)

2. I am homophobic – I don’t like the concept of homosexuality! (No offense to anyone, it’s just my personal belief that nature did not intend that to happen!) 😀

3. I like it when people scream at me. It’s probably not subtle masochism but the fulfillment of an innermost desire to annoy others! 😀

4. I am in love…

5. I like playing chess with people online, because that way, I can cheat by using Shredder Chess! 😀

6. I once burned my dad’s feet with a hot serving spoon intentionally, when I was six years old, because he refused to buy me chocolates! 😀

7. I think I’m from another planet, but I’m not sure of the facts…

8. When I’m alone, I fart loudly and smile to myself! 😀 (I will vehemently deny this fact in court, if it comes to that!!)

9. Till very recently, I did not know the difference between the kind of work a Prime Minister does and the kind of work a Mayor does! (Thanks for the enlightenment, Shefaly!)

10. I don’t bathe on weekends! 😀

Phew.. Took me half an hour but I did it! I wrote something! Yay! 😀

P.S. This was also a tag by Vishesh. I’ve got a couple of other left in my drafts, which I’ll be posting soon.

P.P.S. Ms. Charming Girl, you were exactly as I had imagined you would be. Thanks for meeting me last night…

(Photo Courtesy: CartoonStock.com)