More WC

One for the road

Just back to say,
hip hip hooray.

The bottle is mine to keep.
I drank it deep.

It still doesn't say,
why I wasted away.
--------------------

I didn't know they had such talent in the lower east side. Should have seen more of the city when I was there.

This way to more WC.

MTv, Enjoy!

I think the following captures the gray outlook of a graying head.

---
64 sq. ft. decay

Slow day, low day, a no-glow day.
Ideas, flashes, a show of leg.
Pause.
Slow me, low me, no me, dead me.
Did you know me?
---

Not mine, W.C.'s. He sure was a whacked out dude! Too bad he got flushed.


This way to Ignazio Silone

I-hate-that-frog

If you, as a poor Windows user, are also plagued by the inane laughter of the crazy frog, and his ringtones, this link may help you to vent your frustration, and also teach you something about projectile motion:

http://crazyfrog.yourebustingmyballs.com/hatethatfrog/index.asp?q=ringtones

The best I did was 70 m. Let me know if you top that, I will send across an eeeespecial crazy frog all for you.

Nothing like this frog to scare away any leftover sleep. Get up in the morning, check e-mail, accidently scroll over Crazy Frogs advertisement, and you are already running out the door.

The Daily Slimes: The Interview

In an effort to bring you groundbreaking news, we managed to corner the unheard of recluse Sharma, on the occasion of his breaking new ground; his 27th year. He agreed to talk to us about his cultural accomplishments through the last year. This is a real breakthough in the news media, considering that he has never granted an interview before. Though our opponents would have you believe that no newspaper has asked him yet and, further, that that he has a majority stake in The Daily Slimes. As if we would stoop that low.

Anyway, here are some excerpts:

(i = Interviewer, i = Ishan).

i: And how old are you today?
i: 20.

i: 20?
i: Give or take a few months.

i: We hear that you have taken up a musical instrument?
i: Lies, all lies. People are trying to say that because I can't find a live partner, I have stooped to inanimate objects.

i: No, no, I wasn't asking whether you have you taken up WITH a musical intrument. I was simply asking whether you are learning to play any?
i: Oh, yes, yes. Here it is. 500 smackers. Rather pricey for guitar, you know. And somewhat smaller than I expected. But, it was a good deal. I got this stick-thingy for free. But, I am a little disappointed with my teacher. She doesn't allow me to make-d0 like the rock stars. Says, I have stick this guitar into my neck, and have proper posture, and play it with a stick rather than pluck. Hey, Aerosmith doesn't look like he gives a rat's ass about posture. Finally, whats all this jazz about reading music, in order to be able to play the guitar. Between you and me, I very much doubt if Aerosmith can read a tattoo, much less music. Personally, I think this teacher is a fraud. I think I will slam-dunk her.

i: Ah, yes, the "guitar". A splendid instrument. In our corner of the woods, we tend to call it the Violin.
i: Really? Well, live and learn, I always say.

i: Moving on, we hear that you are beginning to learn Yoga. Why this sudden interest?
i: Well, with age flexibility becomes an issue. And flexibility is good. You can do maneuvers in badminton that leaves your opponent a hopeless puddle of puss in the middle of the court. Finally, I came across this interview with Ron Je

i: Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, I see. And what all can you play on your "guitar"?
i: Oh, I am very excited about it. I am all the way up to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Before you know it, Knopfler will be looking for a new job.

i: We also hear you have become interested in ballroom dancing?
i: Yes, I thought that would be a nice way to get "up, close and personal" with people. If you know what I mean. But, when I went to some of these classes, it turned out we had necessarily to dance with girls. No other option. I was very, very disappointed.

i: Ah, I see. Quite. We also hear that you have become fond of frequenting theatres and music halls?
i: Well, I won't say fond, but I have been to a few in the recent past. When I was in Prague, I went to three of those in three days. The background score was nice. Some up-and-coming chappies called Verdi and Mozzie. But everyone was dressed from tip to toe, and dames kept breaking into shrill notes, and guys would frequently sing like they got bolus stuck in their throats. Shit, if I wanted that kind of a thing I would have gone to one of those operas.

i: But, of course. I see high culture will have to await your arrival a tad longer.
i: Hey, you know what, it can wait till the cows come home.
---
This way to a previous scoop.

Pop philosophy #1

Announcing a regular feature bringing to you new-age wisdom culled from the most penetrating of modern thinkers and seething seers, along with my helpful commentary.

On the need for a strong interplay between the brain and the body:
"A body without a brain, is like an empty commode"
- Yoko Ono, after flushing out Lennon from the Beatles.

... and we all know that there is nothing like an empty commode in the morning to really shit your day.

Sharma's Corollary: A body with a brain is full of shit.

On increasing disquiet in the World:
"Battles are seen by people with fire in their eyes."
- Wise Prince Vader, you know who.

No wonder I am relatively at peace. Fire would melt my contacts. Also explains why Prince Vader used thick goggles. Suggests that the way to peace is through a war on carrots. Kill those carrots!

On controlling one's ego:
"Miniaturize your inner 'I', and the World is your peanut."
- Jambelezi Wattambanga, Chief of the Lower Zambesi.

Don't ask me how they heard of miniaturzation in the Lower Zambesi. Must be his penetrating insight. If you are allergic to nuts, too bad, but you will get your choice of plastic pacifiers.

This way to Dr. Sharma's pop philosophy

Practical suggestions for a happier life #1

You know how, after successful negotiations, some people peer into the commode to estimate their incredible lightness of being?

Here is a tip. Don't do it when wearing loose spectacles.

Ugh.

Please look down under

In my youth I used to play computer games. I tried, but ultimately gave up playing computer games online. The culprit was the fact that the imbeciles on the other side would make frequent uses of the following two soundbites:

"All your bases are belong to us."
"Someone set us up the bomb."

Funny, first time. Ok, dokey next time. Stop already!

Yeah, when I was younger little things used to irritate me. I have simplified things since then. Everything irritates me now.

Anyway, I was curious about the history of the above two blots on the English language. Sure enough, they come from a Japanese video game Zero Wing, helpfully translated into English by probably the same folks who are responsible for requesting tourists to "walk straight towards the front of their backsides" in order to find the toilets in subway stations. Here is a transcript:

Camera, action, mental meltdown...
***

War was beginning

Captain: What happen? Mechanic: Someone set up us the bomb Operator: We get signal Captain: What! Operator: Main screen turn on.

Captain: It's you!! Cats: How are you gentlemen!! Cats: All your base are belong to us Cats: You are on the way to destruction

Captain: What you say? Cats: You have no chance to survive make your time Cats: Ha ha ha .... Operator: Captain!!

Captain: Take off every 'ZIG'! Captain: Move 'ZIG'. Captain: For great justice.

***
ZIG?

In answer to a recent query about why gentlemen prefer blondes, note how the blonde is the saviour of great justice, while the brunette is setting us up the bomb.

Questions

I blinked out of my office into the sunset. My head was sore after another eight hours of trying to make a dent into the wall. No dice. Maybe cement was stronger. For the moment though I could look forward to an unquestioning and soft pillow.

It wasn't to be.

The dame Fortuna was awaiting around the next bend with a sledgehammer in the form of more questions. Fifty metres up there was a white thing, spinning around in the middle of the road. There was dark blue car parked next to it. Questions bombarded my brain like shotgun pellets on a tresspassers bottom. Was it a top, a disembodied fan, or was it a miniature cement mixture trying to break the local cement-mixing speed record. Under this fresh onslaught of questions I felt like a slug with a headache on whom a three ton safe is about to fall from the ninth floor.

I crept up closer.

It was white pullovered young man spinning around on his feet. In the middle of the road? Why? The question hung heavy on me, like a particularly wet pair of waterlogged shorts after a long run through a thunderstorm.

I sneaked up.

Suddenly, all the pieces of the jigsaw fell in place as Canterbury men do after a hard Friday night. There was a pretty young thing giggling in the car.

Men... Women can make them do the silliest things.

Night photography

While in Lugano, Switzerland, I got interested in night photography. If the pictures come out right, they beat the daylights out of daytime photgraphy. I have put up a few samples earlier, and here are some more:



The Lugano harbour at night. There is an excellent ice-cream parlour on my right. Too bad you weren't there.



Central Lugano. The first building on the left is where I was politely refused access to the internet by the helpful five star hotel staff. "Come on you are in Hyundai Getz, not even an E-class Mercedes!"



Inner and outer courts of St. Johns college in Cambridge University. The wierd angle is because night photography requires long exposures, mandating a still camera. Because of the vagaries of age, my hands are not that still anymore, so I need the support of solid ledges. The ledges in Cambridge, though solid, are predominantly of a skewed character.

I was going to show you a bit of Aland, but that is for some other time. The innards grumble in protest.

Doctor Sharma's Cooking Prescription #1

Maybe its just me getting inured with utter tripe, but in my not-so-humble opinion, Sharma's cooking is rather good. Note the subtle British understatement. Also, it (the cooking style) cannot be classified. So, we at the Sharma Experimental Cooking Dispensary proudly announce the launch of this regular feature. Today I shall tell you how to cook something I made yesterday. I don't know what it is called, but it tasted damn good.

This will feed 3-4 people, or one particularly large specimen - a special man!

You will need:

The Basics
5-6 teaspoon Olive Oil
1 Onion cut into strips
4 medium sized Tomatoes cut into discs

The Masala
1 teaspoon Mustard seeds
1 teaspoon red Chili (seeds version is better than the ground one)
2 Cloves, ground
1/2 teaspoon Garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon Ginger powder
1/2 teaspoon Cinnamon powder
1/2-3/4 teaspoon Garam Masala
1/2 teaspoon ground Black Pepper
1/2 teaspoon Coriander powder

The Stuff
4 medium sized Potatoes cut into cubes. Raw. Peel if you want.
400g each of Peas, boiled red Kidney Beans and boiled Chickpeas. Frozen versions of the first, and tinned versions of the latter two are known to turn in very good performances also.

Here is what you do:
Pray.
Pour Oil into pan.
Put pan on stove, and turn on stove.
Ok, ok, ok, cut to chase.
----
1. Fry onions with mustard seed, cloves and chili seeds. Wait till mustard seeds are nice and done. Hell should have no surprises for them after this. Don't worry about the onions getting fried. We got a surprise for them further on. Bwahahahah.
2. Add tomatoes, reduce heat and let simmer till tomatos look semi-depressed with all the frying.
3. Add remaining Masalas, and give it five minutes.
4. Turn on Oven to about 200 deg celsius. Haha, threw you a curve there, huh? Boy, were the onions surprised. From the frying pan into the oven.
5. Add Stuff to pan and stir till everything is mixed well.
6. Now take this mixture and put it in a baking tray and shove it into the middle shelf of the oven.
7. Take out of oven when potatoes are done. Use fork to find out, not your middle finger. Feel free to borrow someone else's finger though.
8. Pray.
9. Eat with roti/paratha/bread/blonde. Your choice.

Remarks:
1. You can add 1/2 teaspoon Asphoetida in step 3. I forgot, but I know that the results are always deadly. I mean that in a nice way.
2. You can add Mushrooms, Corn and Green Pepper too, if you want. Though this may require some reconfiguration with the Masalas. Ask me. I accept payment through PayPal.
3. Also reduce Chili/Garam Masala/Black Pepper amounts depending on how much your tongue, body, sweat glands can tolerate.
4. Freeze toilet paper, if necessary, for the morning after.
5. In case of adverse symptoms, take two aspirins and call me in the morning. Tonight if you are a blonde.

Let me know if you ever try this.

Sunday

For a day reserved for God, today sure turned out to be a real dog of a day. It started of well enough. With wind on my back I sailed straight into the problem that has been eating my innards for over a year now. Wind On-My-Back; I had held successful clearance negotiations. Unfortunately, I ran into rough asymptotic weather. I turned to cereal for thought. But, the ship had run out. Now, because a morning is by cereal made, I knew that this morning was trashed.

Cut to afternoon.

I am informed that my email account has been hacked into and personal details are floating around in cyberspace, in places that are virtual incarnations of Sodom and Gomorrah. The hacker has the cheek not only of using my account, but also my picture. May fire and brimstone erupt from his commode whilst he shits on top, deep in thought.

That pretty much canned the day as far as work was concerned.

Cut to evening.

Just returned from a play. A spoof on Hollywood. They have become so common that one can do a spoof on a spoof now. Still it was Ok. But, the day closes with a numb mind and an empty workbook.

Post script: In hindsight, but for its effect on someone I know and like, I might have found the whole hacking thing hilarious. Something made to order for The Daily Slimes. They would have had a field day with this. Fortunately, I am great friends with the Editor. I have convinced him that this would make a better anecdote for the The Annals of B.

Ideas, Ideals and Idols

You had an idea about how people should approach their work. You knew it was good, but you couldn't demonstrate its efficacy. Somebody else had the same idea and he put it into practice. He showed that the idea worked. He became successful and a famous leader of men. You went around thumping your chest, pointing to him and saying "See, I was right". Soon it became less of an idea, and more of an ideal. Meanwhile, that other chap went on succeeding. The ideal was becoming universal. And this other chap was becoming your idol for demonstrating that your idea was an ideal.

Then that chap started to fail. A fear of failure was making him unfaithful to the ideal. Earlier you would have clicked your tongue and moved on, as this chap had failed to uphold an ideal. But he had become your idol, and idols can't fail. So, now you allow your ideals to relax to accomodate your idol. Sad, but maybe things will get back to normal. But, it doesn't help, he continues to fall short. The ideal now looks like merely like a good idea. The idol is no longer the personification of the ideal. It looses its sheen. You don't know whether to empathize with the idol for being human, or get angry at him for having once been a true idol, or to get angry at yourself for confusing ideals and idols. You think that maybe it is better for good ideas to remain ideas and not progress to ideals. For ideals can't be compromised with.

These inane ramblings were prompted by whats recently been happening to Saurav Ganguly - the captain of the Indian cricket team. At one time he was the idol. A fearless leader of men, who looked the devil in its eye and made it blink. But a vicious and judgemental media and increasing self-doubts seem to be making sure that not even the shell remains of this once fine leader.

Arecibo

You guys seen Goldeneye? Remember that scene towards the end on top of this big white bowl where they were all bashing each other, while pausing to make smart remarks? Well, here is the bowl, or rather the paraphenalia that hovers over the bowl.



That is the World's largest radar telescope in Arecibo, Puerto Rico. And just to let you chaps know that I am a real daredevil, except that I decline to wear my underwear on top of my trousers, note that I went on top of that stuff hanging in mid-air in the background. It is quite a sight from there. Basically the bowl covers the whole valley floor, with the neighbouring clifftops servings as stands for the pillars that act as hooks to hang the radar-beam projector on. You can see all of Puerto Rico from there, not that there is much to see.

Hail scientific tourism. All in aid of science. Pshaw!

So, what to radar astronomers do? They study pretty rocks in space called asteroids, e.g., Ida, which has its own private sidekick (satellite), Dactyl.



Serves the kids in the picture below right for hauling water and missing school.

Yeah, something's just ain't right.

Enjoy your weekend

Words are not enough, but perhaps poetry can give it a shot

At the head of all is God, Lord of Heaven.
Then comes Prince Torlonia, Lord of Earth.
Then comes the armed guard of Prince Torlonia.
Then come the hounds of the armed guard of Prince Torlonia.
Then nobody else.
And still nobody else.
And still again nobody else.
Then come the farmers.

Powerful stuff from Fontemara by Ignazio Silone.
All this emotion makes me feel thirsty. What do you think? Flavoured water? Mus'nt spoil onself in these times of strife.

Hell.

Limerick 3

A certain young charmer of Ghent
Was rather too clearly enciente
When her father yelled: "Who??"
She replied with a coo:
"I don't know, he just came - and he went."

Another of Chandler's little gems - his morning limericks he called them. He said he could make these up in a few seconds.

Along similar lines here is one of Sharma's morning puns; I was never much good with limericks.

Bloke A: I hear Mary and John are having trouble having children.
Bloke B: Yeah, I suppose she always blows her chances.

I can cook these up in a few seconds too.
---
This way to Limerick 2.

...

Have a look at today's Dog Humour. Some peeps ain't ever satisfied.

Money talks

Got this splendid little thing in the mail
...
A shabby old man walks into a bank and says to the woman at the window, "I want to open a ***king checking account."

The astonished woman replies, "I beg your pardon, sir. I must have misunderstood you. What did you say?"

"Listen up, damn it. I said I want to open a ***cking checking account now!"

"I'm very sorry sir, but that kind of language is not tolerated in this bank."

"Listen up lil Mz Emily Post, I got money, and I wanna open a ***king account. Where does my language come into the picture?"

The teller leaves the window and goes over to the bank manager to inform him of her situation. The manager agrees that the teller does not have to listen to that foul language. They both return to the window and the manager asks the old geezer, "Sir, what seems to be the problem here? I am told you are using foul language with the employees."

"There is no ***king problem," the man says. I just won $200 million bucks in the ***king lottery and I want to put my ***king money in this ***king bank."

"I see," says the manager, and is this bitch giving you a ***king hard time?"
...
And for people who have a sense of the idiotic, and have not yet been incarcerated as politically correct prisoners, I would recommend the song "I got cash" by The Brooklyn Funk Essentials. But I am warning you, if you are not entirely comfortable with yourself and your secularity, and prefer to see yourself and the World through rose tinted glasses, don't listen to it. I am yet to find someone who could digest that song in the manner it was meant.

Musafir*: Highlights

Have just finished the movie Musafir. It was panned by reviewers, but I quite liked it - entertaining, flashy and young. Reviewers tend to have a humourless, unimaginative, and rather wholesome taste. For them the movie must have a message. I will settle for a massage.
Here are some highlights:

1. Great songs! Krishna's haunting rendition of Rabba, and Sukhwinder Singh's devil-may-care Saaki** are perfect to lift the cloud that haunts Cambridge. Great for cars. When I took Jahnavi*** to Scotland, she liked them so much that I had to listen to these two songs six hours straight. Almost drove me out of my mind, and my car off the hill.

2. Anil Kapoor - long time no see. Rather well preserved for his age. Wonder what his diet his.

3. Sanjay Dutt - Wacko as usual. The scene where the sight of him causes a lame Shakti Kapoor to suddenly "find" his legs is priceless.

4. Aditya Panscholi - nice to see him back. Looking good with a bald pate. I always kind of liked him, but he got run over by the chocolate brigade.

5. This movie confirms my earlier suspicion that there is a short supply of talented baggage in the acting arena. Here too, a high flying suitcase busts its guts causing money to fly into water, followed closely by a sea of humanity diving in, in pursuit of quick riches, and then probably copping it with cholera. Anyway, if the suitcase had had any inch of artistic integrity, it would have maintained its silence, and poor Anil Kapoor would not have had such a rough ride. The movie would have been over by the interval, and I might have got some work done. I really think the Film industry should incorporate stricter quality control over aspiring character actors posing as pieces of luggage. I am sure with due diligence they will find a suitcase worthy of its casing, willing to preserve its contents in the face of adversity.

6. Paeans can probably be sung about the sylphs populating this film , but it would be wise to stick to short sentences of words of few syllables. Their dialogue delivery left me in doubt about their capacity to manufacture coherent sentences, so absorption of the poetic medium may be rather slow, if at all it took place.

*Musafir = Traveller.
**Saaki = Beloved (I think)
***Jahnavi, my sister. Nine years my junior, light years ahead in most other things.
Jahnavi = Ganga, Ganges.

The Daily Slimes: The friendly boss

Hello duckies,

Here is a little update courtsey our super-slugth in the field, SS.

A certain software Sultan, who is about to go gold soon himself, is spending too much time away from his desk, while keeping his slaves at work. I know love is always in the air, but you got to watch the hardware Son, especially with a slave's hon.

That is all for now loves.

X

And remember dear readers, you got your slime here first. The only reason we ain't sliming you is because we are sliming someone else.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From the Editor's desk: Dear patrons, we are not very happy about our slogan, so if you have better, slimier ones, do let us know. As an incentive for your participation we offer you the guarantee that we will not let out that you are a patron, thereby keeping your questionable taste in reading matter our little secret. The winner will get a sneak peek into which one of his neighbours share his own low taste, and if your slogan is really good, we may even tell you what your other half has been up to lately. If you are single, we will let you know what we "know" your other half will be up to, if and when they arrive on the scene.

Disclaimer: We at The Daily Slimes do not vouch for the veracity of the slime, but we take immense care about its quality. It is toxic green, putrid and very sticky.

Inspiring stuff

The taste of that silver spoon is making me gag now.

Blackadder's obsoivation

While still on Love, here is Edmund Blackadder's* guaranteed circa 1550 crowd-pleaser:

Life without you my love would have been like a broken pencil. Pointless!

If you are a guy reading this, use it with your girl. They like that kind of a thing.

If, on the other hand, you are a girl reading this, feel free to use it with your girl too, and send me both your phone numbers.

*Go on ask me who he was.

On love

No I am not in Love, I am commenting on Love. It is what we theoreticians love to do. Comment on things we have no experience of.

Meanwhile, I think the World is about ready for another of Doc Sharma's Earth-shaking observations (or obsoivances as would be said in the Souther US).

The measure of love is in deeds, indeed.

Like it? Don't bother, I know it is good. Its drawing power can be gauged by the (absence of a) long line of girls outside my flat. Hold on a second.
...
No, that was just the postman with some bills.

Backhanded compliments 1

"Not over till the fat laddie spins."

The Sun pays a backhanded compliment to Shane Warne

Ganesh

It has come to my attention that Ganesh Chathurthi is, or was, in progress recently. Here is an interesting picture for the occasion (courtsey Piyush Kumar):

Bank or bunk?

"Once you open an account, we make a deposit. What sort of a bank does that?" asked the thick blue envelope in garish green print.

"A bank that is about to go bust", was the immediate and obvious answer, followed by a swift Azhar* into the corner dustbin.

*An Azhar is backward flick of wrist in the general direction of something that is behind you. Named after that skilled executioner of leg-side play, Azharuddin. A tremendous fielder, he used to frequently grab the ball and flick it at the stumps while his back was turned away. Later, he learnt to do a few more things while other people's backs were turned away.

Three from London

Though my mouth was occupied with mastication, my ears remained open to catch these three nuggets:

1. An argument overheard between an Englishman and a Bengali
E: We *ucked you mother country for a century.
B: Oi bheel phok yor moder tong phar ebher.

2. Ahmed and Imran walk into a Millets, a store specialising in backpacking gear. This was after experiments had demonstrated that explosions are mightier than expectations*. After spending some time trying out different backpacks, Imran finally pounces upon a likely candidate. He straps it on and stands sideways in front of the mirror, and says: "Hey Ahmed, does this backpack make my bum' look bigger?'

3. When there was knock on the door on the couple's wedding night, the bride went and hid behind a curtain. Call him a shallow and suspicious person, but the husband got a little worried when the reason his wife gave for her actions was that she was afraid it was a police raid.

*For more on this theme, I recommend A Fistful of Dynamite, a movie with more philosophical layers than most philosophical claptrap.

Online dating tips

• Under no circumstance should you give someone you meet online a lot of personal information. You could place yourself in the dangerous position of having a date who knows what a loser you are.
• When considering the serious step of marriage, it's good form to seek the approval of the message-board moderator.
• Online dating services provide an easy way for recently divorced singles to meet new and interesting people. It's too bad your ex-wife got to keep the computer.
• When you write your online classified ad, be sure to make explicit the fact that a sense of humor is very important to you.
• Set yourself apart by choosing a descriptive user-name like SocialRetard342, CuteFaceFatAss, or RohypnolLarry*.
• Don't just tell women what they want to hear. Type it in all caps.
• Remember, online dating is not for everyone—only the desperate and pathetic.
• Dates like to know that they're appreciated. Go the extra mile and send that special someone an e-card or virtual flowers.
• If you decide to break up with your online mate, for God's sake, have the decency to do it over the phone.
• If you're a man who prefers younger women, but you only seem to get responses from older women, take heart: Older women can give birth to younger women.
• When getting together for the first time, arrange to meet online dates in an open, public place. That way, you can use binoculars to check them out from the car beforehand.
• Don't worry. If you actually meet someone decent over the Internet, the two of you can tell people you met at a party.

*Rohypnol: Also known as the "date rape" drug is banned in some countries because it is a tasteless, colourless, and odourless sedative. It thus facilitates the guy from getting to know the real "her".

Marvin Pontiac: I am a doggy

Well gentle readers, I am in London for two days, stuffing myself with all that is good to taste and lays waste to the human system. Meanwhile, so that you can survive this display of gluttony, I will leave you with lyrics from the legendary Marvin Pontiac. If you think these are risque, you need some washing powder for your mind. Enjoy.

bow wow wow

I got a bone for you,
I got a bone for you,
I have got a little bone for you,
I got a bone for you,
For I am doggy,
Yes, I am a little doggy,
And I am naked almost all the time.

And I stink when I am wet,
I stink when I am wet
I really stink when I am wet,
I stink when I am wet,
'Cause I am a doggy,
I am a doggy,
And I am naked almost all the time.

bow wow wow

And I bark at the moon,
And I growl at your feet,
And I chase little rabbits,
And I go to sleep,
'Cause I am a doggy,
Yes, I am a doggy,
And I am naked almost all the time.

bow wow wow

Maybe sometime I will tell you about his Little Fly.

...

As I wake up to the smell of damp laundry going stale, I realize that I can't deny it anymore. I have gone to seed. Though my brain was always a seed that never sprouted, at least I had work ethics. Now, I just have work.

Oh, well. Yet another day to while away.

The tryst

'nuff said.

Then the cyclops arrived, in the form of a one-eyed gas guzzling 4-by-4.

As Kurt Vonnegut said Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are 'It might have been'.
Perhaps they shall meet again, the poor guy looks heart broken. I think he is the one on the left. No my hand did not shake because of emotion.

Famous last words 3: Barbara Graham

Good people are always so sure they're right.
Executed at San Quentin in 1955.

Just about sums up my world view at the present. I don't know who Barbara Graham was, but her observation is right on the money. Or, as I would say,

Judging is an art perfected by the righteous of heart.

Famous last words 2

I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis.
~~ Humphrey Bogart

Go on, get out - last words are for fools who haven't said enough.
To his housekeeper, who urged him to tell her his last words so she could write them down for posterity.
~~ Karl Marx

Either that wallpaper goes, or I do.
~~ Oscar Wilde

Capital punishment: them without the capital get the punishment.
Executed in electric chair, Florida.
~~ John Spenkelink, d. May 25, 1979

How about this for a headline for tomorrow's paper? French fries.
Executed in electric chair in Oklahoma.
~~ James French, d. 1966

Well, gentlemen, you are about to see a baked Appel.
Executed in electric chair in New York.
~~ George Appel, d. 1928

Epitaphs 2: Death in West

I am rather dead today. Very, very long day. Hence, appropriately:

Bill Blake
Was hanged by mistake.
Boot Hill Cemetery, Tombstone, Arizona

Here lays Butch.
We planted him raw.
He was quick on the trigger
But slow on the draw.
Silver City, Nevada

Here lies a man named Zeke.
Second fastest draw in Cripple Creek.
(May be in Cripple Creek, Colorado)

Toothless Nell (Alice Chambers)
Killed 1876 in a Dance Hall brawl.
Her last words: "Circumstances led me to this end."
Boot Hill Museum, Dodge City, Kansas

Here lies the body of Arkansas Jim.
We made the mistake, But the joke's on him.
Culver City

He called
Bill Smith
A Liar
Cripple Creek, CO

Opportunism

While climbing to the top of Furkapass (2436m), one is inclined to stop three quarters of the way up to take a gander at glacier there, and to lessen the pressure in one's kidney's accentuated no doubt by the thrilling climb up. Here are a couple of views of the road up:


Much is to be said about the enterprising souls who have bought up the land that offers the only reasonable access to this glacier. This picture sets the scene.



Note, how the little building to the right of the icy mass command access to the glacier. It is between the big building and the ice. Thus, one is forced to pay five Swiss francs to go and see what is essentially free. Oh, well, perhaps it is an indisposition on my part to be taken for a ride, but I ain't payin'.

However, here is the glacier. Quite a sight you will agree. I need to find out its name sometime.


The cunning metallic arrangement that keeps at bay people unwilling to shell out francs is at the beginning of the road to the right and bottom of the picture. Those poor chaps in the picture are probably thinking: "Shit, this snow's too cold. I didn't pay five francs for the same old cold snow, I can get that in my refrigerator. Bad business practice! Swiss tourism is going steadily downhill"

Another funny thing about this establishment was that I had to pay money to gain access to the toilette. Fair enough if at the end of the deal I was led into a well appointed, cozy little place. Instead what I got was a semi-room built into the rock face. The toilette had a door, thankfully, but the wall was absent, so that people buying souveniers outside could take a souvenier shot of me and add it to their 'apes in communion with nature' collection, if they were so inclined.

The show-stopper though was this piece of rock:


Note how cunningly the message that translated from german read "not a Pissoir" is woven into the rock's fabric. This rock was jutting in into the toilette, right next to the Pissoir. Perhaps, the clientele preferred to create their own mini waterfalls while passing water. Or, maybe people prefer to be in direct contact with nature.

Speed: Its ins and outs

Taken from inside a car being driven by me at 100 Kph, inside a tunnel outside Lugano. Looks like something from a thriller, huh? All I need is a blonde and a beretta.



Taken from outside a train coming towards me at around 100 Kph. Well, Ok, a high rate of knots anyway. It was the train that climbs to Gronergrat from Zermatt. I was walking down perpendicular to the railroad spirals.

Neither of them is focussed very well, perhaps because of some slight disinclination on my part to go splat.

The suitcase

I just finished watching The Killing. A great movie. Though in the end the protagonist's getaway with the loot is nicked in the bud by a malfunctioning piece of luggage. The suitcase's performance was definitely below par. I don't think its cinematic career lasted too long after this.

Personally, I think the last scene threatened to drag the film from pathos to bathos. Didn't quite though, so it is still recommended. There is a great line at the end, for people who like pithy summing-ups. I do.

The fact that the failure of a selection of baggage to realize its full potential could mean the difference between your having a blonde on your knees in the Cayman's, and you sitting on a large bloke called Bubba's knees in Sing-sing, made me think. Yes, I sometimes indulge in that activity, but judiciously, taking care I don't injure and head muscles.

Have you ever wondered what twist of fate allows some crook to rise to the heights, or, if you prefer, plumb to the depths, of Dawood Ibrahim, while the neighbourhood's Saleem Supari has to remain contented with the knowledge that he shall resign from his criminal days as just another average history-sheeter. No inglorious paeans will be sung for him, and no friendly neighbourhod dictator will be called upon to deny his presence.

I am sure both these men had the same streak of nastiness, probably the same gray cell count, and the same selection of misdirected henchmen. So, what do you think made the difference?

Could it have been the choice of suitcases they made to transport their drugs, or accept payoffs for protection and/or kidnapping, or to pack their Jocky's in when taking the weekend off to go to Khandala? I can imagine Saleem Supari berating his sidekick Chappan Churi for having been skint:
... cut to scene...

In godown 17 in Ghatkopar SS is glowering over CC, who is cowering in a corner ready to pass water.

SS: Tere ko main bola tha Seth Ganpath Rai ka maal VIP ke suitcase mein lene ko. Par tu saala paise bachane ke chakkar mein Sadakchaap Sandookwale ka peti le gaya. Airpot-ich mein sala peti khallas. Abe khokha sambhalne ke liye achcha peti mangta. Agar wo mama sala paise pakadne ko nahi daudta to apun wahin thuk gaye hote. Ghanta saala. Agli baar main bolta hoon sirf VIP mein maal lene ka, aur dene ka.

...
D. of course was always a VIP man, and is now, deservedly, the VIP's man.

Epitaphs 1: John Brown, dentist

Stranger! Approach this spot with gravity !
John Brown is filling his last cavity

Famous last words 1: Voltaire (1694-1778)

"This is no time to make new enemies."
(When asked on his deathbed to forswear Satan)

Great guy, huh? I bet that let the hot air out of the self-important, pompous, interfering, would-be man of God.

Hemingway's epitaph....

... as proposed by RTC.

Here lies a man who was bloody good in bed, too bad he is alone here.

From what is known about him, and what his books suggest, seems apt to me.

Though, I wonder what Hemingway's epitaph was...

Paternal humour

Eldorado
When I first landed in the states, the first thing my father, who was accompanying me said, just before landing at JFK, was, "Maybe you should get down and kiss the tarmac, and start digging. You have reached your Eldorado."

Cinematic subtexts
When he was in Government College Ajmer, pater was in the habit of watching movies. A lot of movies. First day, first show, first bench. Because the populace in Ajmer had decided against learning a colonial language, the buisness minded, and user-friendly owners of the local cinema houses used to explain the titles of English movies. Hence,

From Russia with love became Angreji jasoos, Rusi haseena.
Not too bad. Gets the point across. But, the one that tilted the scale was
El Cid, which was explained to the Ajmeris as Englis CID.
Explains the audience's mystification during the subsequent shows.

The Boss
His Boss, who recently denied him a British visit, passing it on to his junior, was described by my father as a "Complete prick", which considering that the said Boss' name is Poornalingam, seems rather appropriate.

The annals of B.: Eldorado

"Ladies and gentleman, please return to you seats, we will be beginning our descent to New York."

Finally, Eldorado! Boy I can't wait to get going. All those nights of watching 'The Grind' on MTv to get motivated for GRE are going to get paid off. If my neighbour was any indication, this is going to be good. Phew, she is hot. And can hardly keep her hands off of me. No, I don't believe that she needed that magazine, or wanted the toilet. These are subtle hints. Hollywood's right, these girls are go-getters. No man's safe. Who wants to be?

Hmmm. Maybe, I should transfer my love glove to my pockets, just in case my neighbour gets antsy on the airport. Or, if there is a strip search. Or, if some opportunistic dame kidnaps me. I hope so.

Luckily I am well prepared for Eldorado. Can't dig for gold without proper safety equipment.

.........

Six hours later, a tired and unsatisfied B. steps off the Grayhound bus, while Ezra Cornell eyes disapprovingly his too tight jeans with stained sticky pockets.

Damn this cheap packaging.

B. takes his first steps at University towards a garbage can.

Ok, so this game may be a little harder than it was made out to be.
-----------------------------------
Chronicler's note: The premise above is true. I am only building a fire, where smoke was seen. Some artistic license is taken.

Random notes

Greased lightening
In my opinion the best prophylactic is bhindi/okra/lady-fingers (keep a hold on your dirty mind). The little seeds act like roller bearings and the innate sliminess as grease. It just chucks the stuff out. I feel several kilos lighter.

Misplaced conviction?
When Wilde was convicted of perversion (too deep a fondness for his own kind) he was sent to an all male prison. Was that wise? Would that in any way help cure his deviant ways? Or, would it just exacerbate the malaise? If I was the judge, and really wanted to help poor Wilde back into society's 'normal' fabric, I would have sent him to a all women's prison. Short sightedness. apathy, or incompetence of law?

A shaggy dog story
On a very hot summer afternoon a couple of hippopotami were basking in the muddy water of the Nile with their noses just showing above. They appeared very contended and even a little drowsy. Finally one of the hippopotamuses raised his snout out of the water enough so that he could open his mouth. He said dreamily, "Somehow you know, I can't help thinking it is Thursday."

Definition: A shaggy dog story is supposed to be pure nonsense and yet somehow funny.