What say we have a moral debate, Bhikku? I really need some mindless entertainment today.
-- The Diary, the summer of 500 BC
My dear female readers! O you choice grapes from the gardens of Jannat! O you jilukku jikkan takkar kuttis with many a taLuk and many a meLuk! I beg you to comprendre and pardonner. If I have often stalked you with unbridled lust, it is only because of the great sufferings of my childhood. Aye, I am a deeply scarred man--My formative years were spent in the gruesome concentration camps of Brownistan, where I was ruthlessly forced to learn Hindi. If I'm not a serial rapist today, it is but the triumph of will over adversity.
And yet, despite these painful memories, I miss Brownistan. Bad as Brownistan was, my current roosting place, known variously as Disneyland, Jesustan and Gaad-bless-Amaizhica, is even worse. True, Disneyland abounds in free porn and beeg dollaar, and that's what I came in search of. Even so, I recoil in distaste, because the natives of Disneyland, a tribe of savage pale-skinned Bushmen, are a most revolting lot. I do not exaggerate. Before every shit, the Bushmen consult Jesus; and afterwards, they refuse to wash up, content instead with a few ineffectual wipes. They eat when they are happy, and they eat when they are depressed. And since they eat anything that moves, they force their struggling prey down by drinking humongous quantities of fart-inducing beverages. They drive trucks as big as houses and live in houses as big as playgrounds, and yet they insist on having sex in public. Worst of all, the natives of Disneyland panic whenever they are asked to add two numbers, and immediately declare war on some remote Islamic country.
All of which, you will admit, would induce homesickness even in a phallus-worshipping techno-coolie from remote Brownistan. However, I'm a man endowed with great rationality and balls of steel. Even as the urge to escape grows, I pull myself together, and reflect that things aren't as bad as they seem. Indeed, for all their disgusting behaviour, there is but one flaw in the Bushmen: They have too many talk shows and nothing to talk about.
This might seem a facile explanation, one too kind to an infuriatingly idiotic people. But I insist that this one flaw is indeed the sole cause of the Bushmen's seemingly inexplicable stupidity. As an example, I recall here the mysterious saga of Bill Clinton and his internal affairs. The reader might remember the drama, the fuss and the brouhaha of those heady days, no pun intended. What he probably doesn't remember is that nothing really happened--Chelsea did not get a munna bhai, and Monica did not bring forth a brood of mutant Ninja turtles. Heck, there wasn't even a public wardrobe malfunction. Indeed, as King Clinton never tired of telling us, he "did not have sex with that woman". And yet, just because one has to talk something on talkshows, the Bushmen blew up a small thing into a big thing. (Oh, come on! Grow up.)
Back in my phlegmatic homeland, that great nation of South India, we scoff at such gratuitous displays of oral virtuosity, again no pun intended. Ours is the land where Emperor NTR, with his unique brand of universal love, founded three new species and fathered four regiments of the Hyderabad Rifles. Ours is the land where Shah-en-Shah MGR famously loved all life, even Begum Jeyalalitaa. And amidst all this action, what did we talk about on TV? Worm-induced diseases of ragi and solam, that's what.
But why expect the Bushman to match the noble Madrasi? The Madrasi is a hero, the North Indian is a Bihari, and the Bushman is a savage, because that's how the Gods ordained it. Nay, I am well content to let the Bushman be. Or at least I would be, if only his stupidity were not so appalling.
Aye, the Bushman is at again. Turn on the TV or open a newspaper, and all you'll notice is the Gay Rights debate. When I first saw the headlines, I was agog and rapt, because I mistakenly thought this had something to do with Ecstasy and marijuana. Now, these are things a man needs, and if a fight was afoot to secure my right to them, why I'll move heaven and earth to do my bit. But it turned out that the matter at hand wasn't one so pertinent. It was merely a difference of opinion, as my researches revealed.
Some Bushmen love their neighbour; some others love their neighbor's wife. Some Bushmen like madam; some others prefer Adam. Some Bushmen dig Eve; some others dig Steve. Bah! Pshaw! Ho hum! I hear you say. But hark! With this paltry raw material, the Bushmen have managed to keep their talk shows running for the last three years. The Senate of the land, no less, debates the matter every year. Elections are won and lost based on who takes what side. Indeed, Disneyland stands polarized today, and there are but two types of Bushmen left standing:
1. The Ecce Homo type: These worthies, who call themselves conservatives, fear that the obnoxiousness of she-Bushmen, combined with growing acceptance of homosexuality, will make the family obsolete. And if families go, so will children. And if children go, so will large scale misery and the need for Prozac. And if misery goes, so will the current popularity of churches. And if church attendance goes, so will moral values. And if moral values go, so will talk shows. And if talk shows go, what then must we do?
2. The Raj Kapoor type: These worthies are gay men, who go through life with a song on their lips. That song happens to be the old Raj Kapoor classic Aadmi hoon, aadmi se pyar karta hoon. But since they don't know Raj Kapoor, these people call themselves liberals. Their argument is simple: It is a free country, and they are rich, and their neighbour's wife is ugly, and so they will go homo. And since it is a free country, and they are rich, they should have the same rights as straight people, including the right to marry, and divorce, and buy some cheap children from Guatemala, and raise them to be punk-ass teenagers. Furthermore, since it is a free country, and they are rich, the liberals want to be baptized, and blessed, and assured of Heaven, just like straight people. After all, they ask, a man has got to do something, and we don't like doing women. What then must we do?
It doesn't strike the conservatives that God has better things to do than worry about human sexuality. I chatted with God yesterday and He assures me that as far as He is concerned, we humans can go screw ourselves, man-on-man, man-on-woman or in any other combo we find cool. It doesn't strike the liberals that liberalism is more about giving than taking, more about duties than rights. And so these two groups go on and on, talking right past each other.
But again, why blame the Bushmen? They are merely aping that old bastard Leo, as have so many others before them.
Nineteenth century Russia was a land of great poverty and great luxury alike, and since Leo knew squat about the trickle-down theory, he mistakenly thought misery was a problem. He moped and agonized over the issue, and in anguish, he wrote What Then Must We Do? (1886). Then he pottered around a fair bit and read all kinds of books, and finally concluded that we must do what Jesus did, i.e., lead a life of simplicity, love and self-sacrifice.
As you can see, the Bushmen are doing exactly the same thing. They look around and see the great inequity of our times. Being children of The Age of Viagra, they turn to the one cure they know for all ills: some steamy sex. But alas, this is also The Age of the Free Market, where the consumer has the right, nay duty, to choose. One can have steamy sex with a man, or a woman, or a child, or a beast, or a toy, or even Michael Jackson. Overwhelmed by so much choice, the Bushmen echo Leo's old lament: What Then Must We Do? What's more, just as Leo did, they have concluded that they must do exactly what Jesus did, and so they're trying to find out whether Jesus did Mary Magdalene or not. On that one question rests the peace of our times. I'm not sure one way or the other, but I am hopeful. Surely, like all other pressing matters of our age, this one will also be settled on Oprah tonight. With bated breath, I await the verdict. Watch this space for further updates, or just tune in to WFAA, Dallas.
Adieu.
-- The Diary, the summer of 500 BC
My dear female readers! O you choice grapes from the gardens of Jannat! O you jilukku jikkan takkar kuttis with many a taLuk and many a meLuk! I beg you to comprendre and pardonner. If I have often stalked you with unbridled lust, it is only because of the great sufferings of my childhood. Aye, I am a deeply scarred man--My formative years were spent in the gruesome concentration camps of Brownistan, where I was ruthlessly forced to learn Hindi. If I'm not a serial rapist today, it is but the triumph of will over adversity.
And yet, despite these painful memories, I miss Brownistan. Bad as Brownistan was, my current roosting place, known variously as Disneyland, Jesustan and Gaad-bless-Amaizhica, is even worse. True, Disneyland abounds in free porn and beeg dollaar, and that's what I came in search of. Even so, I recoil in distaste, because the natives of Disneyland, a tribe of savage pale-skinned Bushmen, are a most revolting lot. I do not exaggerate. Before every shit, the Bushmen consult Jesus; and afterwards, they refuse to wash up, content instead with a few ineffectual wipes. They eat when they are happy, and they eat when they are depressed. And since they eat anything that moves, they force their struggling prey down by drinking humongous quantities of fart-inducing beverages. They drive trucks as big as houses and live in houses as big as playgrounds, and yet they insist on having sex in public. Worst of all, the natives of Disneyland panic whenever they are asked to add two numbers, and immediately declare war on some remote Islamic country.
All of which, you will admit, would induce homesickness even in a phallus-worshipping techno-coolie from remote Brownistan. However, I'm a man endowed with great rationality and balls of steel. Even as the urge to escape grows, I pull myself together, and reflect that things aren't as bad as they seem. Indeed, for all their disgusting behaviour, there is but one flaw in the Bushmen: They have too many talk shows and nothing to talk about.
This might seem a facile explanation, one too kind to an infuriatingly idiotic people. But I insist that this one flaw is indeed the sole cause of the Bushmen's seemingly inexplicable stupidity. As an example, I recall here the mysterious saga of Bill Clinton and his internal affairs. The reader might remember the drama, the fuss and the brouhaha of those heady days, no pun intended. What he probably doesn't remember is that nothing really happened--Chelsea did not get a munna bhai, and Monica did not bring forth a brood of mutant Ninja turtles. Heck, there wasn't even a public wardrobe malfunction. Indeed, as King Clinton never tired of telling us, he "did not have sex with that woman". And yet, just because one has to talk something on talkshows, the Bushmen blew up a small thing into a big thing. (Oh, come on! Grow up.)
Back in my phlegmatic homeland, that great nation of South India, we scoff at such gratuitous displays of oral virtuosity, again no pun intended. Ours is the land where Emperor NTR, with his unique brand of universal love, founded three new species and fathered four regiments of the Hyderabad Rifles. Ours is the land where Shah-en-Shah MGR famously loved all life, even Begum Jeyalalitaa. And amidst all this action, what did we talk about on TV? Worm-induced diseases of ragi and solam, that's what.
But why expect the Bushman to match the noble Madrasi? The Madrasi is a hero, the North Indian is a Bihari, and the Bushman is a savage, because that's how the Gods ordained it. Nay, I am well content to let the Bushman be. Or at least I would be, if only his stupidity were not so appalling.
Aye, the Bushman is at again. Turn on the TV or open a newspaper, and all you'll notice is the Gay Rights debate. When I first saw the headlines, I was agog and rapt, because I mistakenly thought this had something to do with Ecstasy and marijuana. Now, these are things a man needs, and if a fight was afoot to secure my right to them, why I'll move heaven and earth to do my bit. But it turned out that the matter at hand wasn't one so pertinent. It was merely a difference of opinion, as my researches revealed.
Some Bushmen love their neighbour; some others love their neighbor's wife. Some Bushmen like madam; some others prefer Adam. Some Bushmen dig Eve; some others dig Steve. Bah! Pshaw! Ho hum! I hear you say. But hark! With this paltry raw material, the Bushmen have managed to keep their talk shows running for the last three years. The Senate of the land, no less, debates the matter every year. Elections are won and lost based on who takes what side. Indeed, Disneyland stands polarized today, and there are but two types of Bushmen left standing:
1. The Ecce Homo type: These worthies, who call themselves conservatives, fear that the obnoxiousness of she-Bushmen, combined with growing acceptance of homosexuality, will make the family obsolete. And if families go, so will children. And if children go, so will large scale misery and the need for Prozac. And if misery goes, so will the current popularity of churches. And if church attendance goes, so will moral values. And if moral values go, so will talk shows. And if talk shows go, what then must we do?
2. The Raj Kapoor type: These worthies are gay men, who go through life with a song on their lips. That song happens to be the old Raj Kapoor classic Aadmi hoon, aadmi se pyar karta hoon. But since they don't know Raj Kapoor, these people call themselves liberals. Their argument is simple: It is a free country, and they are rich, and their neighbour's wife is ugly, and so they will go homo. And since it is a free country, and they are rich, they should have the same rights as straight people, including the right to marry, and divorce, and buy some cheap children from Guatemala, and raise them to be punk-ass teenagers. Furthermore, since it is a free country, and they are rich, the liberals want to be baptized, and blessed, and assured of Heaven, just like straight people. After all, they ask, a man has got to do something, and we don't like doing women. What then must we do?
It doesn't strike the conservatives that God has better things to do than worry about human sexuality. I chatted with God yesterday and He assures me that as far as He is concerned, we humans can go screw ourselves, man-on-man, man-on-woman or in any other combo we find cool. It doesn't strike the liberals that liberalism is more about giving than taking, more about duties than rights. And so these two groups go on and on, talking right past each other.
But again, why blame the Bushmen? They are merely aping that old bastard Leo, as have so many others before them.
Nineteenth century Russia was a land of great poverty and great luxury alike, and since Leo knew squat about the trickle-down theory, he mistakenly thought misery was a problem. He moped and agonized over the issue, and in anguish, he wrote What Then Must We Do? (1886). Then he pottered around a fair bit and read all kinds of books, and finally concluded that we must do what Jesus did, i.e., lead a life of simplicity, love and self-sacrifice.
As you can see, the Bushmen are doing exactly the same thing. They look around and see the great inequity of our times. Being children of The Age of Viagra, they turn to the one cure they know for all ills: some steamy sex. But alas, this is also The Age of the Free Market, where the consumer has the right, nay duty, to choose. One can have steamy sex with a man, or a woman, or a child, or a beast, or a toy, or even Michael Jackson. Overwhelmed by so much choice, the Bushmen echo Leo's old lament: What Then Must We Do? What's more, just as Leo did, they have concluded that they must do exactly what Jesus did, and so they're trying to find out whether Jesus did Mary Magdalene or not. On that one question rests the peace of our times. I'm not sure one way or the other, but I am hopeful. Surely, like all other pressing matters of our age, this one will also be settled on Oprah tonight. With bated breath, I await the verdict. Watch this space for further updates, or just tune in to WFAA, Dallas.
Adieu.
