Vague Fetish from the 90s

If i ever get a lady gimp, I'd make it wear the same clothes and make it dance the same steps as Rohini does in this video, while this song is being blasted in the background, till the eejit gimp begins to limp.

The Ill-Fated Mr.Kotresh

I plan to write a two part story about an ill-fated Mr. Kotresh. I know not of his future but now Kotresh ,on a hospital bed, is holding his testicles in a vice grip, reminiscing the series of unfortunate incidents that unfolded upon him (rather cruelly) on the 24^th of April 2002.

He had been visiting his toilet far too often then. Diarrhoea, you guess!! Nah. It was his arse. It never felt empty.

Strange things were being reported in the papers that April. The Times of India spoke of the death of a certain someone, they, with their usual air of apathy, nicknamed “Piddler on the roof”. Mr. Rao –the piddler had not been able to squeeze the last drop of piddle out of his you-know-what. This gave him a rather nasty itch in the region. Mr. Rao had gone crazy trying. He was seen frequenting the terrace. People believed he did so to hide his shame. But little did they know that Mr. Rao was very seriously contemplating jumping off the roof. The only problem being he was overcome by an urge to pee every time he tried. Soon he stopped the intake of fluids. He even carried a desiccator around with him and as soon he went dry as a Bombay Duck he jumped. Needless to say, Mr. Rao succeeded in his attempt.

In The Hindu- an article about planetary alignment that was to happen on the 24^th of April. Kotresh tightened his grip on them danglers. They aligned themselves along the axis of his piddler. “Planetary Alignment!” he chuckled to himself.

It was as if, a rebellious piece of turd (Bas-turd he called it) had quite comfortably tucked itself into an inaccessible recess in his rectum, refusing to budge. He sat for hours on, trying to push this last nuisance ounce of excrement out. But this piece-of-shit had its own ideas. At night Bas-turd came to life, it tickled nerve endings, drew letters on the walls of anal canals, as if trying to communicate with him. Our protagonist, Shri Kotresh, was at first nonplussed but after several days of having letters scribbled on his viscera, he gave in (mignight, the 23^rd of April). He sat on his commode with a paper and a pencil, noting down Bas-turd’s dicta.

“H I . M R . S T O O L . M Y N A M E “said Turd.

Kotresh wondered how he could communicate back. Twenty minutes hence he was swallowing a Rupee 1 coin with his name written on it. Soon the coin would meet Mr.Stool and the two would have formally begun a dialogue, thought he. To Kotresh’s misfortune Mr.Stool, the fox, kept the coin for himself. Kotresh now swallowed another two warning Mr. Stool of the dire consequences of his actions. These coins too were promptly retained in Stool’s niche. Now his arse felt heavier than before. Kotresh thought long and hard and sent down one more coin that read “Truce. Let’s shake hands”.

“V E R Y W E L L” said Stool.

Kotresh in an attempt at Rectal Rectitude sent his left arm up his bowels, past the sphincter into his rectum.

He extended his hand roughly in the direction of Stool. Then there was an unbearable tingle in his rear (not different from the tingle people get when they clean their arses with fresh ganja leaves). His nervous system went berserk in its entirety. His head was filled with a spate of signals. His eyeballs began to twitch. They then traveled to the opposite corners of his eyes and now his brain received two sets of visual data. “The apocalypse!!” cried a soothsayer with his budbudke “The planetary alignment shall herald the end of this world and all of its worldly inhabitants”. All of this was just too much to handle for Kotresh. There was momentary lapse of reason and he took a wild swipe at Stool and his three coins. By his actions Kotresh had now revealed to Stool his true intention in entering his citadel.

Meanwhile, Stool seeking to escape Kotresh’s left arm, dug deeper into his rectum. The deeper went Stool, deeper went Kotresh’s arm. Then all of a sudden Kotresh felt his rectum stop growing. He now knew he had Stool cornered. Then came the mother-of-all swipes. Thwack!! A crippling pain shot through Kotresh’s crotch. Kotresh inadvertently drew his hand of his anus and fell unconscious. He had had his victory alright, Stool was knocked dead (seconds after his death, Shri Stool turned into fluid goo and oozed out of Kotresh), but something had changed in Kotresh. Women would now see him in a different light…

To be continued.

David must be Lynched!!

I have been watching a helluva lot of movies lately; most of them, winners of the Golden Palm at Cannes or the Academy Award for the Best Foreign Language Film category. Classics like Kurosawa’s Kagemusha, Dersu Uzala, The Hidden Fortress, The Tin Drum, War and Peace, Der Untergang, Fellini’s La Strada, The Manchurian Candidate, Alfonso Cuarón’s Y Tu Mama Tambien, Kamal Hassan’s Devar Magan etc. I can go on but I’m sure the aforementioned list is sufficient to have given you a complex. Knowing me you would probably gather that I was pretty kicked, having crossed off a big bunch of movies from my ‘must watch’ list. I then decided in this fit of movie mania that I would download every movie that ever won a Golden Palm (which isn’t by any distance a bad decision). The first on the list was David Lynch’s “Wild at Heart”. A Lynch movie that won a Palme d’Or!!! You don’t get that too often, do you? Assuming that this movie was an exception to the ‘Lynch will piss you off’ rule or the more ubiquitous ‘I did not understand the movie, but it’s alright, I aint that intelligent’ rule, I downloaded it.

Now, having seen this (what do I call it? oh yes!! movie) movie, (I will keep the adjectives for later) I will in the following section give you 5 good reasons to watch “Wild at Heart”.

Wow 1) Nicholas Cage!!

Wow 2) The female from Jurassic Park!!! Ya the one who sticks who her finger in dino poop!! Her?? Yup her!! She’s naked in this movie!! Her name is irrelevant.

Wow 3) Willem Defoe playing the psychopathic assassin.

Wow 4) Mr. Reindeer, a mysterious mob boss who is surrounded by (you guessed it right!!) topless nymphs.

Wow 5) The OST has ‘Wicked Games’ by Chris Isaack

Spoiler Warning: The following section contains information that will discourage you from viewing this movie.

The film opens in Cape Fear, where Sailor (Cage) is accosted by a random nigger threatening to kill him. The nigger is then beaten to death in full public view, for which Sailor is rightly sent to jail. 22months and 18 days later, Sailor is out of jail. Lula and Sailor beat the probation and head for California. Marietta, Lula’s psychotic mom (who hires the nigger to kill Sailor after he rejects a lewd offer from her) sends out Johnnie (her lover), a private eye, to bring Lula back. While Johnnie is out in New Orleans looking for the runaway couple, Marietta brings in Santos, a sinister mobster to find Lula and kill Sailor. Much to Marietta’s chagrin Santos agrees to kill Sail on the condition that she must allow him to polish off Johnnie too. Reason: Santos is also in love with the hag. Santos then contacts Mysterious Mr.Reindeer to do the job. Mr.Reindeer is a hitman who employs topless valets and a bunch of ritual killers. During one of their several ‘sexy times’ Lula narrates the story of her cousin Dell to Sail. Dell is a nervous wreck who wants everyday to be Christmas. He makes sandwiches and puts cockroaches in his underwear to relieve himself off this anxiety (see fig). I found this flashback particularly disgusting and utterly pointless. The movie is rife with other such futile attempts at iconography, that tend to frustrate the viewer to a point where one does not know whether the scene he is watching is of any significance to the plot or not.

Coming back to the plot, Marietta calls Johnnie, who is already in New Orleans, to warn him of the impending danger. During this conversation Marietta smears her face with red lipstick and then dunks her head in the commode for no particular reason. Yet another demonstration of effective methods of wasting celluloid. Cut!! Marietta is with Johnnie in New Orleans urging him to leave with her that very night. Johnnie is then abducted by the trio of ritual killers while he is packing. Marietta is informed that Johnnie has gone buffalo hunting. In the mean time Sail and Lula who are on their way to Texas encounter a victim of a car crash, who later drops dead after rambling around in a much too lurid fashion. This incident apparently portends the dark future that lies ahead of the eloping couple.

While all of this is happening Johnnie is killed by the ritual killers in the most mind fucking way concievable. Santos takes Marietta back and Lula starts hallucinating about a bad witch. Arbit!! The couple then reaches a vague Texan town called Big Tuna where they encounter a bunch of freaks inc Bobby Peru (Defoe), an abominable ex-Marine.

At the dinner table some long haired dude introduces another quirky guy called Bosis Spool to the pair. Spool goes onto say the following:

My dog barks some.

Mentally, you picture my dog,

but, I have not told you

the type of dog which I have.

Perhaps

you might even picture Toto

from the "Wizard of Oz". /*one of Lynch's various references to ‘Wizard of Oz’*/

But I can tell you

my dog is always with me.

I suppose you see where I’m getting at. Cut!! Flies all over bits of cereal. Sailor enters the room and asks Lula why the room smells bad. Lula Says she has barfed. Bastard Lynch shows the barf (The flies!! The regurgitated cereal!! The vomit). Ewwww!!! Lula then tells Sailor that she is pregnant. Cut!! While Sail is filling his engine with oil Peru molests Lula. Random digression.Peru and Sail go onto rob a feed store during which Peru reveals to Sail that he has been sent to murder him and later accidentally blows his own head off. Sail is put in jail. Some years later Sail is out of prison and Lula brings their kid Pace to receive him. Marietta is now a drunk degenerate. On their way back home Lula arbitrarily gets anxious. Sailor assumes that she isn’t interested in getting back with him. He then leaves her only to be knocked out cold by a bunch of hoods. In his state of fist induced stupor Sailor dreams of a good witch who tells him that if he were truly wild at heart, he would fight for his dreams. He then runs back to Lula and sings ‘Love me tender’ despite his swollen nose. They unite and live happily ever after.

The end.

I had seen Lynch's Mulholland Drive and Elephant Man . This movie did little to change my opinion of the insane cunt.

I rest my case.

A Personality Test and a random link

Saw this on Ali's blog. Cool test this. Very happy with Angel.



oh and the random link
http://www.hindu.com/2007/07/09/stories/2007070954941100.htm

The Week That Was

I have 23 precious days left in here Surathkal. I would therefore like to chronicle these days to every minor detail.

The last week has been a momentous one, with a lot of firsts (Respect!! Double Respect!!) and probably a lot of lasts. Learnt on Monday morning that that my project guide had taken ten days off to visit his hometown (rumours were abound that he was suffering from an illness and was out to get it treated). Irrespective of the cause of his absence, our deadline was extended by a few days. Insert arbit smiley . Was generally ultra bugged. Looked towards bollywood to sate my thirst for mindless entertainment. Watched Bunty Aur Babli (BnB for those who have a thing for brevity). Dozed off before the climax.

Tuesday was worse. Slept through the day. Read the Wiki article on Grindhouse multiple times. Cursed our conservative censor board. Saw all the faux trailers on Youtube. Felt a strong urge to watch something macabre. Eli Roth’s Hostel came to the rescue (I’m sure these aren’t the choice words one would use to describe such a thing. But I am verbally constipated as usual). Went on to read the wiki article on the same, only to realise that it alone would have done well enough to gross me out.

Wednesday was memorable. Put fight on the project in the night. Upesh and I managed to complete a major chunk of the work allotted to us. Watched a documentary on the follies of the MPAA’s* rating system. It had some retards cribbing that their movies had been given an NC-17 rating (read as commercial death) whilst some other movie with n-hajar explicit content had been given an R rating. I could not see the point of this discussion for here in India they do not release NC 17 or R rated films.

Stayed awake through the night. Went to thadambail. Gobbled up puries. Went to the beach; early enough to avoid the sight of people defecating/micturating into the Arabian Sea. Saw a dead turtle . Mourned for its death. Whacked someone’s hard earned nongu*. Watched Jammy chase a peacock or rather a peacock run away from Jammy. Came back to the room and crashed.

Thursday was brilliant. Attended my last under-grad class. Sob Sob. Went to class hoping that the teacher would bid us all an emotional adieu. In quite an NITKian fashion he screwed it up with some bullshit on entrepreneurship and a stupid appraisal form. Nevertheless the thought that I had attended my last class in college left me choked. Suffered from my first attack of nostalgia.

Got my eyes checked for pittance with help from Ms. Sweaty Palms. Put dinner at Cherry Square. Tried hookah at Froth on Top after a lot of coaxing from Multikanth, Chakka and Co. Good Shyte.

Friday the 13^th : Good day; atleast better than the reputation that preceded it. Slept hajar. Watched The Big Lebowski-A Whatamovie!!! Kudos to Jeff Bridges and John Goodman. Selected my new spectacles. Belted chat at Shiv Kailash. Nenapirali at SAC was marred by Team Smriti’s efforts to recreate the visual splendour of Crescendo-04; some period movie huh? Fucking degenerates. Got back to sleeping.

Saturday was strange. The Tamizh New Year at NITK was lousy as usual. Went to the temple in the morning.Lost my old keyboard.R.I.P. Came to know that a dude who lived a few rooms away was thirsty for my blood. His blog says he’d like to,among other things, drive a knife through my heart. Anyways a full blog entry dedicated to me makes me feel very important. Swam in the evening. Slept. Got up at 2 and wrote this blog.

*MPAA - (Motion Picture Association of America)

*Nongu - Palmyrah Nut

Christmas Candy

Merry Christmas my fellow disgruntled degenerates. Yes this is the perfect time of the year to celebrate the holiday season, family, love and togetherness… Yeah!!Yeah!!Yeah!! And all that candy floss…Speaking of which…People in Bengalooru (formerly Bangalore) are either going colour blind or are turning into pansies.

Pink is Bengalooru’s new obsession!!! I see pink everywhere now. Pink bougainvilleas, Pink villas, Pink hoardings (now that hutch has turned pink), Pink scooterettes and the most disturbing of them all, sparkling new pink fucking buses for women!!! Eeeeyuck!!! There are 10 of these bitches plying on Bengalooru roads as of now and there are 25 more to come. Eeeeeeeeyuck!!!!

I wonder which self-righteous lady would board something that looks like Godzilla’s candy bar!! This ‘thing’ is pinker than Pinky’s penis, pinker than the pink panther or Porky Pig’s palate even. You’d want to lie down on the road with your mouth wide open in hope that this pink monstrosity would someday get in and you’d suck away to posterity, only to realize that you’re already half way through to heaven or hell. Yes!! It is alright to have special buses for women given the high rates of harassment in Bangalore (statistics from the pre-Bengalooru era). But not in pink…please!!! It isn’t like women will not board buses that aren’t pink. If the idea was to keep the men out, then BMTC must realize that no sane man would dare board a bus meant for women!!!

Sticking to the current theme of ‘color blindness’, here are some photographs of buildings that have arbitrarily cropped up near my place. God knows what was going through their minds when they picked these colours. But what can I say. Colour Blindness has its own ways.The one to your left houses a bunch of frustrated bachelors and the lanlord's wasted family. The one to your right - a government colony.

God Save us all from the pansies...

How it all began!

I was just a six year old then. I came home with Appa at the usual 4’o’clock .Amma had woken up from an afternoon nap. She had had her day off from work and had spent the holiday at home doing nothing more than read a couple of “Ananda Vikatan”s*. She had read the review of this new movie by some Mani Ratnam guy, which apparently had a new hero and a new music director. The Vikatan review crew must have doled out quite some marks, for Amma seemed to be Gung-Ho about watching it. After a small squabble between my ever apprehensive father and profligate mother a decision was made. We were to go on Sunday to Pallavi to watch this movie, Paati* called, ‘Roja’.

Sunday came. I was tending to my little brother in the theater when delightful music began to diffuse through the cinema hall. All of us looked up at the giant screen.

‘Arvind’…‘Madhu’…’A.R.Rahman’…A gorgeous sunrise, verdant farms, a beautiful waterfall, water droplets flowing down leaf blades and the music of ‘Chinna Chinna Aasai’ complementing this visual treat.

These powerful images planted themselves deep into the memory of a very impressionable six year old.

A little later in the movie- a very raucous, rustic song, the visuals of which reminded me of ‘Rakamma’ from Thalapathi…then came a duet which started off with the sound of glass shattering...didn’t like this one too much. This was followed by my two favorite songs from the movie…The first one with a sad-faced Arvind singing in a red sweater and the second with him trying to stop terrorists from setting the Indian flag on fire…

A few weeks passed when my father got home the audio tape that changed the way I listened to music.

It was a double tape with ‘Mannan’ on one side and ‘Roja’ on the other. Printed in blue bold letters on the ‘Mannan’ side, was Ilayaraja’s name and on the other was a small, almost unnoticeable mention of A.R.Rahman. This tape, in more ways than one, represented the passing over of the baton from the ‘Isaignani’ to the ‘Mozart of Madras’. Somehow no one ever played ‘Mannan’ except when Thatha* wanted to listen to ‘Ammavendrazhaikaadha’. Within one year of its purchase this tape was played so much that it SPB in ‘Kaadhal Rojave’ sounded like he was suffering from sea sickness & the duet that started off with the sound of shattering glass was now my favourite song.

‘Raja Sir’ had lost this round to his former keyboardist. We knew more rounds were to come. But, none could have guessed then, that Rahman would grow up to swallow Ilayaraja whole.

*Thatha=Grandpa
*Paati=Grandma