When albino porn saved the day

I was thinking about weapons. I love weapons. They bring to mind incredible power at the press of a button (guns), or a flick of the wrist (knives), or a clench of the cooch (women). The AA12 (Atchisson Assault 12) automatic shotgun is our case in point. It fires shotgun rounds, rapid action. I hark back to my days as a 12 year old runt, thinking how powerful the shotgun in Doom was and telling my brother "imagine if they make an automatic shotgun". Military Police Systems, Incorporated - USA has made a child's dream come true. Now that's powerful right there.



Designation: MPS AA-12
Classification Type: Assault Combat Shotgun
Manufacturer: Military Police Systems, Incorporated - USA
Country of Origin: United States

But what's more powerful is capturing images of that stuff in slow motion. I'm talking about the Phantom V12.1 camera, capable of upto '1 million frames per second' at a resolution of 128 x 8. Of course they probably use it at a much lower speed, maybe 6,000 frames per second and much better resolution. I love slow motion man, cuz it looks like another world. The first slow motion cameramen were shamans (shamen?), figuratively speaking. Cuz they'd swallow peyote, psilocybin shrooms, and all manner of hallucinogens to slow down time and observe things like water dancing on a leaf, geckos licking their eyeballs and aphids lactating for ants. Slow-motion's like that. It's almost like wilfully experimenting with hallucinogens just to see what'll happen. That's how people should buy medicine. The drugs with the coolest side effects go into the shopping bag first. Time dilation is by far my favourite side effect. You go on a trip into a vibrating guitar string and while you're there u take a couple of days to fabricate your own pocket watch from the mouth parts of talking caterpillars. When you're back, only about 15 seconds of your earth time are up. So you go back some more. I call these trips 'brain droppings'. Cuz for 5 seconds no one can tell you're on the other side of the Universe petting a brontosaurus that looks like your dad.

Some OTC anti-psychotic medicines can cause all kinds of shit to happen. This one time, a friend of mine who we call Bits (cuz he speaks binary and has a computer for a girlfriend), got it into his head that he was bored out of his wits. So he started taking pills that cure multiple personality disorder. I don't know if these pills are the cure or the cause for mental illness, cuz he didn't have MPD initially. But he started experiencing time dilation and hallucinations where he'd travel back in time to another Universe and meet himself. The only difference was, his other self was a woman. This came about when, on one particularly heightened voyage, he spoke of experiencing extreme testicular shrinkage, increased nipple sensitivity and an urge to introspect. This was followed by a sudden return to normalcy and the equally sudden appearance of a woman bearing a striking resemblance to himself. Needless to say he ended up date-raping her. In his head anyway. I mean what the hell is that? Why would you rape your alternate Universe twin? We managed to get him back onto albino porn. The Internet saves lives. I am thankful to the internet for gratis porn but when i think back to my ancestors, I wonder what the hell they did back in the 18th century. There wasn't any porn, except for Khajuraho maybe, and the only place you could get laid for free was the army (more on that later). Even the ancient world must have had this problem. But you know, I bet the great library at Alexandria had a smut section. That Cleopatra was antsy. i bet most of the artifacts we find on archaeological digs that look like women, aren't "goddesses" or "fertility symbols". Those figurines were just attempts at capturing the image of nude babes so guys could have something to look at when they were hard up for intimacy. Porn is, any day, better than going back in time and date raping yourself. I bet most of the Renaissance emoters were just super talented horn dogs.

Sometimes I feel like I have no control on anything. I may have involuntary control over my pupils right now, but this control is transitory. All control is transitory. Control is an illusion. In my honest opinion, the only character i know who was in complete control at all times was Bugs Bunny. That guy could not be fucked with at all. Except that one time when he landed on the moon and panicked for like 2 seconds cuz he was alone on the moon. That doesn't count. Fuck you.

Le Roi, mesdames et messieurs:

The death of innocence

I once left a book in the toilet. It was a joke book for kids. Never been ok since.

I once cut off my left eyebrow (by mistake) with a pair of scissors. This was the same day i snipped a certain article of clothing with the same pair of scissors. Looking back I recall I was fascinated by the sound of fabric and hair being cut. The experience was almost synesthetic. Mind you, I got the living daylights walloped out of me for denying I did it. This may be the main reason for my lack of addictions in life.

On one of my many ground scavenging expeditions undertaken on weekly holidays in shorts and a sleeveless undershirt at the tender age of 7, I found an unlit cracker on the outskirts of our building premises at the end of Diwali. The discovery of this incendiary gold actually gave me wood. I couldn't do anything about my tumescence though. It just felt good when i bashed it down so I could walk properly. Fuck off, I didn't know what the hell sexual arousal was at that age, did you? Moving the hell on, I realized that this cracker had to be lit and fast. I was losing wood. In true haraami fashion, within 2 days I managed to procure a box of matches for the simple sum of 10 paise. This is back in 1987. Back then you could buy a car for Rs. 10,000, the banks had interest rates of 19% on fixed deposits, and women could buy DDT and arsenic at the local grocer to poison their mice and men. Today a box of matches costs 10 times as much. So, matches in hand, I proceeded to a spot in the compound wall that had a tiny hole in it and placed my (yes it was mine now) cracker in it with the fuse sticking out. In case you're wondering where I kept the cracker for 2 days, I hid it in my baba ghanoush. not. I hid it in my pencil box. It was really windy that day, so the matches kept going out before i could get the fuse lit. So I did the logical thing of covering the flame with my tiny 7 year old hands. The next thing i knew BOOM the bastard had exploded right in my face. This was a complete anticlimax and I realized the fuck-up happened because of the short fuse not giving my young, unaccustomed mind sufficient time to back away from the impending explosion. I recall going slightly blind, deaf and not being able to breathe correctly. This means I didn't know if I had to inhale or exhale because I couldn't remember if I had just inhaled or exhaled. This, I later found out, is called sonic shock wave disorientation. Happens to soldiers on the battle field. It's caused by subsonic shock waves. However as this was a single pulse shock wave, I quickly recovered and got my breathing back. Next came my vision and finally the hearing. I picked myself up and realized I could smell the phosphorous on my clothes. I didn't really give a fuck, having just been battle-scarred. I tottered back to the play area of the compound and continued playing football with my brothers. No one ever knew. Till now. F.

When we were 8, 9 and 11, me and my brothers got a whole bunch of G.I. Joe toys. I wasn't really into the action figure thing or the trains thing. I was always about the chemistry set and the electric set and the ripping apart the guts of toys to see what the hell made them work. I wasn't able to take the GI Joes apart cuz they had strong rivets holding them together. I never got the chemistry set, but that never stopped me. I mixed all kinds of shit together: after-shave and bleach, vinegar and baking soda, toothpaste and nutmeg. Nothing worked. My action figure was Scrap Iron. He was on Cobra team, but he looked so damn cool that we put him on the GI Joe team. At least I did. Go to hell. That Baroness though, she always had me bashing the little guy. Take that to mean whatever you want.

It's getting late and i'm gonna wrap this one up here. The last thing I did before turning 8, that was utterly bastardly delicious, was this one time my dad (rest his soul) had taken us all to Delhi while he was covering the 1988 Asian games (my dad was a journalist). Delhi was particularly dry and de-hydrating that year. This one day I had worn a piece-of-shit (that was the brand on the label) pair of jeans and a blue and red striped t-shirt with Converse-style sneakers. I fell asleep in our hotel room after drinking 3 bottles of 7-Up. When i woke up, believe it or not, there was a giant, monster of an eagle at the window. I bet he had a donkey dick cuz he looked at me hungrily. The entire room was asleep, it must have been 4:30 pm. I wanted to cry cuz I knew in my heart that I was a pussy. I hadn't a hobbit-shit's chance of fighting that bastard. Now here's the complicated part: My MOM was asleep too. I was more afraid of disturbing her sleep and facing her demonic wrath than I was of fighting off this 3 foot (at the shoulder) bird of prey. Well, as I was fucked either way I decided to fight the bird. Mind you all this decision making happened within the span of about 10 seconds after seeing the bird. When he (it may have been a girl eagle, but i doubt that cuz it had a donkey dick) looked away i picked up a 7-Up bottle and flung it at the window. Today, if I had my way, there would be a picture of that eagle in every dictionary right next to the word KA-BLAM, cuz that's what happened. He wasn't expecting that shit. Who's preying on who now mofo? I couldn't believe my luck. Mother stirred only slightly. I felt like some kind of demi-god and so I decided to celebrate with a glass of cold water cuz it was so hot. Reaching cockily for the cold water thermos I accidentally knocked down an empty bottle of 7-Up which didn't shatter. However its glassy timbre did wake up mother who proceeded to take the shape of an Asura, her waking form. I got away with a glare and a whispered spell that she chanted in the direction of my heart. I didn't die, but my demi-god powers went away. No one ever found out how I saved their lives that day from a ruddy eagle. They wouldn't have believed me any way. Thinking back in it I feel like Rambo. Colonel, they drew first blood. not. But that rapist eagle would have. Nighty night, keep your bunghole tight.

Outraging - a retrospect

i never called you a bitch on your face.

no sooner had these words left his mouth, the insane man was ever after relegated to the halls of infamy. I like how infamy isn't the same as shame. it's infamy. You cannot shame an infamous person. He won't give a fuck. Case in point: I knew a guy once who played the bass guitar like it was a ukelele. A complete brainiac? Of course. This man was a genius. But he was known for being that dumb. Soon it was his trademark style. That's infamy. Shame is what you feel when you can't open your beer using your teeth.

Back to our insane asylum fuckwit: The woman in question had asked him whether he had referred to her as a bitch in a previous conversation with another person. He could have said "no". But in a moment of trepid fear he chose to blurt out something that sounded much much worse. This outraged her modesty. And thus she responded in the only way she knew. Ka-slap. Her clutch (a type of woman's purse) connected with his ear and jaw with little force. He looked slightly puzzled. This is what was going on in his head:

Modesty has such varied definitions in different cultures. Take police brutality for example. What's completely legal and acceptable in one country may be grounds for prosecution elsewhere. As men, we don't really know which country we're in when we're talking to women. What's worse is that a man may say something and think he's just paid the woman a compliment. Like telling a woman her hair smells coconutty, and she ends up thinking she smells oily. No hag, we're saying you smells nice. We likes the coconut shampoo. I don't have the exacta statistica but i assume that a man is slapped once every 3 seconds because he's said something that he thought was harmless but a woman thought was outraging her modesty. You know what? I'd like to see the cookie monster's mom slapping him for bad table manners. I tried that shit once with a bowl of cookies when i was 10. When I came out of the coma and asked for her they released my mom from incarceration. Ha, i love the cookie monster with his crazy eyes and his frenzied cookie binges. Here, at 2:30 he loses it:



Once again, after all was said and slapped, the woman walked off in a huff. As we got down to chatting, Mr. Brainiac and I realized that Jennifer's Body (the movie) is a pretty good approximation of your average woman. You know what I mean. When Jennifer feasts on man-flesh she feels normal. When Jennifer feels ill she goes about seducing more man-flesh. And in-between there's the lesbian kissing. Do not take this literally. I'm using this as a metaphor for feminine angst. Hey just to be clear, in no way does this blog condone the practice of human sacrifice. That shit is just evil and completely ix-nay.

Megan Fox ladies and gentlemen

Psyche and story

As i grew up and achieved pubescence, a single catch phrase that would roil my sensibilities as a budding linguist was one that is still employed by cricket afficionados to compliment skilled delivery. i shall not utter it here for fear of prudish ostracizing by proper people. not. well balled.

I seem to have found the underlying cause of my suffering. I am unable to reconcile my Id and Superego (apologies for capitalizing). They pull in opposite directions. While my Id is driven by baser pleasures (no, not crack), my Superego possesses an innate altruism and the 2 get into conflict and the bastardly outcome is guilt. The Superego causes it. Guilt is what separates us from psychopaths. Which is why I bought wada pav and samosas for a couple of little urchins today. I find my Ego to be the most detached from both extremes and the one responsible for managing my day-to-day shit. The Ego seems to be entirely taken up with dealing with the external world. The Superego tells the Ego to do good. The Id tells it to look out for numero uno (mygoodself). My Id, it would appear, is extremely hedonistic and wishes to experience every possible sensation, good or bad, hot or cold, male or female. My Superego only wishes to pursue constructive thought, altruism and thereby experience pleasure indirectly. But enough about my inner child. Let's talk gutter.

Ever seen one of those guys who walks around like he owns everything? One of those macho mofos. You know what I do with those guys? I walk up to them and make friends. These are people who are governed by their Id. Both the Ego and the Superego listen to the Id. These people go on to become great conquerors and destroyers of the world. But sometimes their creative side may take inspiration and allow for the flourishing of some of the most beautiful art in history. Case in point: Hannibal Lecter, any cat, demons.

Ever seen one of those fucks who walks around like they're everyone's friend? They fucking are some of the shallowest people imaginable. I am one such fuck. These people feed off of human energy. They only feel good if they are seen as good in the world's eyes. Their sense of self worth depends entirely on environmental feedback. This is the Ego category. This type of person can, at most, revert to the Angel category below, or swing to the demon side of things. They are the most unpredictable.

Now, ever seen an angel? This person may be male or female. But their defining characteristic is their innate nature to help and be kind. It just doesn't matter who they're helping. Case in point: If you've seen Les Miserables (Liam Neeson - Jean Valjean) try to recall the priest who helps Liam out in the beginning. Even when he's being robbed he helps Liam. There do exist such people. I recall reading a story in my 3rd standard textbook about a man who travels to a penurious land to meet the king and offer assistance. He ends up crashing at a farmer's home cuz it gets dark and he has no place to stay. The farmer offers him bread and water for dinner, and he tells the traveller that the whole family will have to eat in the dark because they're short on kerosene (i don't fucking remember if it was kerosene or some other fuel so don't ask). When the traveller offers his lamp, the farmer asks him to save it in case he may need it on his travels. So they all sit down to a dinner of bread and water. Next day this man reaches the king's palace and tells the king of his travels and of the farmer. He indicates to the king that he was rather insulted that the farmer forced him to eat in the dark. He told the king that the miserly ways of his people were to blame for their state of penury. Hearing this the old king smiled benevolently and asked the traveller to take him to the farmer's home. They reached the farmer's home and were welcomed in by the farmer and his wife. The king took the traveller to the farmer's kitchen. There he opened all the containers and found each one empty. Seeing this, the traveller was puzzled as he recalled having eaten breakfast. It was then that the king told him that his people were the opposite of miserly. The previous night there was just enough food to feed one person. The farmer gave all his bread to the traveller and went hungry along with his family. They forced him to eat in the dark so that he would not have to see the farmer and his family sitting at the table, going hungry. The next day they all left early and kept what remaining provisions they had on the table, which the traveller promptly ate. These people keep giving and the sheer act of giving keeps them happy. They care less for much else.

To evaluate which category a boy falls into, simply watch him playing with his friends. If a friend takes a toy away and the boy cries helplessly till he gets his toy back, he is in the Ego category. If he immediately fights for his toy he is in the Id category. And if he smiles at his friend he is in the Superego. Of course these aren't fixed. Depending on the situation the child may let any one of the 3 dominate. However, when you notice a predominance of just one of these 3 traits, you know you have an angel, a conqueror, or a demon.

On fertility and fearlessness

Apart from concerns over allegations of butt piracy that would emanate from the depraved minds *and mouths* of friends and family, I find the single life far more relaxing than when I had a hag sucking away most of my time and of course my will to live. It bodes well for me then to inform you that great cans are transitory but epic booty is forever. Case in point: I've heard of breast cancer but I never heard of butt-cancer.

I find that it is thus best to ignore the silence that greets me whenever I notice mother's homuncular eye glaring with stark disapproval at my lack of motivation to "settle down". Of course she means well, as most mothers do. A lifetime of contemplating an eternity of loneliness strikes fear into the hearts of the most ruthless of women. Companionship seems to be top prio for 20 somethings. I suppose it always has been. I wonder why. Why derive a sense of self-worth from companionship or lack thereof? Personally, my pet peeve, what I hate most, is when anything touches my eye. God I hate it. Eyelash, dust, fibre, drops, i hate them all. Makes me wonder how soldiers manage to take the torture of eyeball electrocution. Too many men, far better than me, have been blinded and killed defending my country.

The second thing that comes to the minds of people (and women in general) is childreeeen. It appears that my sperm need to work now and produce offpsring, or else I am hurting mother by not giving her the pleasure of raising grand children. Did I miss the wtf bus? Firstly I'm not all that kicked about being alive. Frankly I don't get what all the fuss is about. Secondly, I don't recall asking to be conceived. So what if I was the fastest sperm? The onus of creating children and raising them to struggle in life is exactly that. It's an onus. I say I'd rather not.

Let's leave the world changing to the yuppies. I'm gonna go take a dump. Later peeps.