For a monk, Bhikku, lust and hatred are a strict no-no. But disgust, now that's another matter altogether.
-- The Diary, Date Unknown.
Call Him Allah, or call him Khuda; call Him Rahman or call Him Rahim. Call Him what you will, gentle reader, but observe that God is a sharp cove. He protects, but does not pamper. He is kind, but not mushy. In short, the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.
To Chinese, Koreans and such-like cartoon characters, He giveth eternal youth; but from them, He taketh away all desire for sex. After all, as the old song goes,
Sook Yung, and Cho Chong, and Ming Lee, they
Look Young, and Live Long, but Singly!
To white men, God giveth heap-big-heap desire for sex; but from them He taketh away mojo and renders them homo.
To black men, He giveth libido and mojo; but before they can do anything, He taketh them away and puts them in jail.
To you, gentle reader, God giveth our delightful blog to read; but from you, He taketh away the taste to appreciate it.
To Us, He giveth the looks of Adonis, the valour of Achilles, the wit of Cato and the wisdom of Plato; but from Us, alas, He taketh away all intelligent readership.
There was once a time when this blog was read by many people, including some gumtalaka she-ple. But now, alas, that time is past. Today, we are reader-less. Noone comments on our posts.
Or so we wish.
In truth, some private comments on the last post were sent to us. As it turns out, this blog still does have its readers. Alas, they are the Aged and the Infirm, the Fossilized and the Mummified, the Hideous and the Grumpy. Their opinion is like our aunts' advice. We do not ask for it, but we get it anyway. Our writings, these readers declare, aren't good enough for them anymore. Our profile, they say, stinks. Our new layout looks so ugly, it makes us look pretty by comparison. Our blog, in short, needs a quick and decent burial.
These readers are the sort of blokes who buy second hand jattis, and have no control over their moocha. We could go on about their deviant sexual tendencies, but they would probably take it as a compliment anyway. Nay, we will not bad-mouth them, ungrateful sons-of-a-what-not that they are. The fault, gentle Reader, lies not in our underlings, but in our stars. We were born to suffer thusly. We do not wish to moan, but we are a most unlucky bastard. We were born in the babeless nation of South India, and all through our life, we have endured grave misfortunes. Indeed, nothing has gone our way. Ours is a tragedy fit for Homer. But we are a Real Man, and we can't quite get ourselves to trust a European man who calls himself Homer. At any rate, Homer, we're told, is dead.
Self-help, once again, is our only recourse.
We present here an Ode to Ourselves. Please read it. And comment only if you do not have facial hair. Thank you.
An Ode To Ourselves
(For the illiterate, and for the Meter-Nazi tailor types, audio link here)
BIRTH
It was a loverly morn,
Mama was on the john.
He held some roasted corn,
And a secret book of porn.
Mami she cried, "It's born!"
Her voice was like a horn.
Mama's ear was torn,
And so he heard, "It's porn!"
The foul mistaken sound!
He thought he had been found.
Stunned, he swallowed the corn,
And soon, alas, was gone!
Ere they broke the lock,
Mama had died of shock.
That's how we came to Earth,
Our birth it caused no mirth.
CHILDHOOD
But-oh, we won't be bitter,
Our life it did get better.
For soon we were a boy,
A cuddly mass of joy.
The ladies that beheld us,
So tenderly they held us.
A horde of hot young misses,
On us they planted kisses.
We were so appealing,
That they would start a-squealing
"Oh, what a little beauty,
I swear he is a cutie."
Alas we were a hermit,
Their kisses we didn't permit.
For though we were a nudist,
We also were a prudist.
As they kissed and petted,
Their skirts we slyly wetted,
On many a sultry missie,
We confess we got pissy.
YOUTH
The times they soon mended,
Our trials were then ended.
We roamed around in jatties,
Untroubled by kutties.
But when we started shaving,
We felt in us a craving,
And soon we were a-missing,
The hugging and the kissing.
It didn't make us queasy,
We thought the matter easy.
The thought of our pedigree,
It made us sure they'd agree,
To chicks we proposed smartly,
Alas, they opposed tartly.
Indeed, they seemed revolted.
Our confidence was jolted.
When WE had been a-suckling,
We were a cute duckling,
But now we weren't lucky,
We'd grown to be a ducky.
Our taste had refined vastly,
The looks had grown ghastly.
The truth alas was simple,
Our face was like a pimple.
TODAY
A-turning on the charm,
We knew would do us harm,
We sought to win their hearts,
By turning on the Arts.
Since babes no longer lusted,
In wit and grace we trusted.
Our looks didn't get us snogging,
But hope there was in blogging.
Our hopes they were cemented,
When many a fan commented.
Our fans we then befriended,
And soon our hopes they ended.
Our fans we learned are balled,
And most of them are bald.
We'd told our great adventures,
To fossils wearing dentures.
O Gods, Ye must be crazy,
Or deaf and dumb and lazy.
We asked for reading lasses,
Ye gave us reading glasses.
Allah, Ram and Jesus,
If you wish to please us,
Send us a sexy reader,
We really do need 'er.
-- The Diary, Date Unknown.
Call Him Allah, or call him Khuda; call Him Rahman or call Him Rahim. Call Him what you will, gentle reader, but observe that God is a sharp cove. He protects, but does not pamper. He is kind, but not mushy. In short, the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.
To Chinese, Koreans and such-like cartoon characters, He giveth eternal youth; but from them, He taketh away all desire for sex. After all, as the old song goes,
Sook Yung, and Cho Chong, and Ming Lee, they
Look Young, and Live Long, but Singly!
To white men, God giveth heap-big-heap desire for sex; but from them He taketh away mojo and renders them homo.
To black men, He giveth libido and mojo; but before they can do anything, He taketh them away and puts them in jail.
To you, gentle reader, God giveth our delightful blog to read; but from you, He taketh away the taste to appreciate it.
To Us, He giveth the looks of Adonis, the valour of Achilles, the wit of Cato and the wisdom of Plato; but from Us, alas, He taketh away all intelligent readership.
There was once a time when this blog was read by many people, including some gumtalaka she-ple. But now, alas, that time is past. Today, we are reader-less. Noone comments on our posts.
Or so we wish.
In truth, some private comments on the last post were sent to us. As it turns out, this blog still does have its readers. Alas, they are the Aged and the Infirm, the Fossilized and the Mummified, the Hideous and the Grumpy. Their opinion is like our aunts' advice. We do not ask for it, but we get it anyway. Our writings, these readers declare, aren't good enough for them anymore. Our profile, they say, stinks. Our new layout looks so ugly, it makes us look pretty by comparison. Our blog, in short, needs a quick and decent burial.
These readers are the sort of blokes who buy second hand jattis, and have no control over their moocha. We could go on about their deviant sexual tendencies, but they would probably take it as a compliment anyway. Nay, we will not bad-mouth them, ungrateful sons-of-a-what-not that they are. The fault, gentle Reader, lies not in our underlings, but in our stars. We were born to suffer thusly. We do not wish to moan, but we are a most unlucky bastard. We were born in the babeless nation of South India, and all through our life, we have endured grave misfortunes. Indeed, nothing has gone our way. Ours is a tragedy fit for Homer. But we are a Real Man, and we can't quite get ourselves to trust a European man who calls himself Homer. At any rate, Homer, we're told, is dead.
Self-help, once again, is our only recourse.
We present here an Ode to Ourselves. Please read it. And comment only if you do not have facial hair. Thank you.
An Ode To Ourselves
(For the illiterate, and for the Meter-Nazi tailor types, audio link here)
BIRTH
It was a loverly morn,
Mama was on the john.
He held some roasted corn,
And a secret book of porn.
Mami she cried, "It's born!"
Her voice was like a horn.
Mama's ear was torn,
And so he heard, "It's porn!"
The foul mistaken sound!
He thought he had been found.
Stunned, he swallowed the corn,
And soon, alas, was gone!
Ere they broke the lock,
Mama had died of shock.
That's how we came to Earth,
Our birth it caused no mirth.
CHILDHOOD
But-oh, we won't be bitter,
Our life it did get better.
For soon we were a boy,
A cuddly mass of joy.
The ladies that beheld us,
So tenderly they held us.
A horde of hot young misses,
On us they planted kisses.
We were so appealing,
That they would start a-squealing
"Oh, what a little beauty,
I swear he is a cutie."
Alas we were a hermit,
Their kisses we didn't permit.
For though we were a nudist,
We also were a prudist.
As they kissed and petted,
Their skirts we slyly wetted,
On many a sultry missie,
We confess we got pissy.
YOUTH
The times they soon mended,
Our trials were then ended.
We roamed around in jatties,
Untroubled by kutties.
But when we started shaving,
We felt in us a craving,
And soon we were a-missing,
The hugging and the kissing.
It didn't make us queasy,
We thought the matter easy.
The thought of our pedigree,
It made us sure they'd agree,
To chicks we proposed smartly,
Alas, they opposed tartly.
Indeed, they seemed revolted.
Our confidence was jolted.
When WE had been a-suckling,
We were a cute duckling,
But now we weren't lucky,
We'd grown to be a ducky.
Our taste had refined vastly,
The looks had grown ghastly.
The truth alas was simple,
Our face was like a pimple.
TODAY
A-turning on the charm,
We knew would do us harm,
We sought to win their hearts,
By turning on the Arts.
Since babes no longer lusted,
In wit and grace we trusted.
Our looks didn't get us snogging,
But hope there was in blogging.
Our hopes they were cemented,
When many a fan commented.
Our fans we then befriended,
And soon our hopes they ended.
Our fans we learned are balled,
And most of them are bald.
We'd told our great adventures,
To fossils wearing dentures.
O Gods, Ye must be crazy,
Or deaf and dumb and lazy.
We asked for reading lasses,
Ye gave us reading glasses.
Allah, Ram and Jesus,
If you wish to please us,
Send us a sexy reader,
We really do need 'er.
2 comments:
Maplai,
AAAAWWWWEEEESSSSSOOOOMMMMEEEE...
N:)
machi! aaaazum !
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