Only in India Department

3 o Clock in the night/early morning/late evening (based on if you are normal/insomniac/college grad student).

That's when it started.

The grandmother of all cacophony.



Apparently, it signaled the onset of Bonalu - a festival celebrating whiskey and pot.


Yep, you read that right, the men get drunk and the women become potheads.


Honest.


Seriously.



You still don't believe me? Just go out and see.


You will witness hordes and hordes of women all loitering with big ass pots on their heads.


Anyway, to come to the point, 3 AM Sat night it started and continued continuously till 1130 PM Monday.


From what I have figured, its something to do with either Shiva or one of his wives.


Now from what I know of Hindu mythology, Shiva is the original pothead, and he sure as fuck would not have liked blaring music continuously for more than 40 hours. It might safely be assumed that an ass-kicking of epic proportions would have been forthcoming.


It can also safely be assumed Shiva never did, does not and will never give a shit about Jai Telengana, so playing Jai Telengana songs every 5 minutes does not help anybody.


And talking of Jai Telengana, purely judging by the way they organise and conduct their religious festivals, this lot won't be able to organise an orgy in brothel.


And they want to run a state.

I am NOT CRAZY; My Shrink had me Tested

Yes people

Its Esteemed Nutter of the Maternal Persuasion 0 Fat Uncle Cheapo 1


You see, the Esteemed One has always claimed that I am crazy, and that I should see a psychodoc, who will give me electric shocks and all. 


Having been enormously depressed lately due to the, amongst other things, the continued absence of a top hat or a viking helmet in my life, I finally decided to go bug a shrink.


So, it was time for mano y shrinko.



He asked me why I am bugging him. I told him because everybody is mean to me and that girls keep saying ewwwwwwwww. So he told me, "well you are spectacularly ugly, so what do you expect".

So I told him I am a decent, kind, generous, honourable, honest person.

And so he told me "so what, you are still stupendously ugly, and that's all that matters". He then asked me "whether I have ever considered using Fair and Handsome".

I replied saying am I a man or am I the Great Indian Chunkubaaz or Bhanu Pratap Pritam.


He then diverted the discussion towards my work. I said I am quite successful and respected and appreciated at my workplace. Then he adviced me to work 24/7 365 and my problems will be solved.


So I told him, am I human or am I a QuisLex employee?


Then he asked me about my relationship with family. I said they love me but dislike me since I am a loser. he said that he can empathize with my parents. He stated that had I been his progeny, he would have disinherited me long ago, since a loser like me cannot be good for the family name.

I agreed.


Then he asked me about my friends.


I said that since I am totally useless, I only have a handful of friends and that they pity me. He said "how you have even 1 is astonishing!"


Then he picked up a card and asked me to describe it.


I said that's a kangaroo pummeling Gary fucking Neville.


He picked another. I said that's a menage-a-5 involving Moby Dick, Moby Hump, Crybaby, Wellbeloved and a Tripod.


He picked another. I said that is an ice cream.


He said hmmm.


He then asked me about my likes and dislikes. I said I am a supporter of Chelsea during the Champions League.



He prescribed me 2 anti-depressants.


So, in conclusion, now I have a medicine which, amongst other things, is used to cure
premenstrual dysphoric disorder

And whose side effects include difficulty becoming aroused, erectile dysfunction, lack of interest in sex, and anorgasmia (inability to achieve orgasm), genital anesthesia, loss of or decreased response to sexual stimuli, and ejaculatory anhedonia. It seems that although usually reversible, these sexual side effects can last for months, years, or permanence after the drug has been completely withdrawn


Yep, that's exactly what I needed.

Mirror Mirron on the Wall, who is the greatest Roman of them all?

Lets face it, that damn Eternal City has been producing great individuals like a BMW production line. But amongst this plethora of greats, who can be crowned the greatest of them all?


We can start off with Horatio (not the drunk lackey of Hamlet nor the highly irritating cop from Miami)...the lad who stood on a bridge and said "Vos volo nonnullus , adveho adepto nonnullus" [You want some, come get some]. Mucho testicular fortitude of course, but he can't be the greatest on account of being an utter nutter and complete bananas.


Then we have old Julius and his bosom buddy Pompey.


Well Pompey is disqualified for  choosing the wrong side.


Julius on the other hand cannot be considered because...well let's face it...all that he did was

a. Beat some Celts (everybody does)
b. Make the Cheese Eating Surrender Monkeys..well...surrender (more or less on par with some dude claiming to raise the sun....lets face it, its one of them rules of nature like:

what goes up must come down, 

the sun rises in the east, 

women say ewwww to Fat Uncle Cheapo

and the Cheese Eating Surrender Monkeys surrender)

and c. Bonk Cleopatra (everybody did)

So, in conclusion, nothing special really ...and so Julius is disqualified.


Octavian is more complex case. The man founded the bloody Roman empire. Immortality is guaranteed. But then he did betray his ally Cicero. Betrayal of an ally is a heinous crime. It separates the men from the Kingshuk Ukils. And so Augustus Ceaser is disqualified.



Nero - Setting fire to Rome - ok, burning Christians for light - well it was the favourite pasttime then, so ok......but playing the violin??!!!! nopes, that's just not right, so disqualified

Caligula - On the plus side, he made his horse a priest (and it is alleged that the horse was perhaps the best priest the world has ever seen...certainly the least corrupt and hypocritical)...on the minus side, he prostituted his sisters, that's as wrong as the existence of A of the B...so disqualified


Ovid - He was kicked out of his own city/country and ended up in Romania.....can't really be treated as the greatest Roman.


So, at this point you might be asking who? Who is it that is the greatest Roman of them all?


Well, it is pretty evident isn't it?



He used to sell rubber ducks from his apartment. Now he is one of the richest men in the planet.


He is friends with one of the most, if not the most, bad ass politicians of all time.


And he is the owner of the greatest and most carefree and the sheckshiest club of all time.


Ladies and gentlemen (who am I kidding, I have 1 regular reader)...so Pooja Sancheti, I give you


Roman Abramovitch.

The Mysterious Affair at Arihant Ashray

or

The Curious case of the Multitude in the Night Time


Well, a couple of weeks ago, Fat Uncle Cheapo and the Esteemed Nutter of the Maternal Persuasion were watching some quality television, late in the night, when all of a sudden there was a multitudinal shout of "Reshu!!!"

Now, being a Nutter, the Esteemed One naturally and obviously inferred that somehow someone was looking for Fat Uncle Cheapo. Now, just how the word Reshu in any way, shape or form resembles either Fat or Uncle or Cheapo is anybody's guess. 


Anyway, when the cacophony refused to die down, the Esteemed went to investigate.


And came back and informed Cheapo that apparently some lass called Reshmi has locked the door and is refusing to open it, thus preventing aforementioned multitude entry into their domain.


Speculations ahoy!!!!


The Esteemed One set the ball rolling by proclaiming that it is a clear case of suicide.

Cheapo argued that it might be a case of alien abduction, and that it was a governmental conspiracy to hide the story. "The truth is out there mum" he was heard to mutter.


The Nutter countered by saying "Aliens, smeliens! If not suicide, then an African tsetse might be involved."



Cheapo argued that maybe the lass was a victim of murder, and since all the doors are locked from the inside, it possibly involved a monkey and a blowpipe.


Nutter refuted by claiming that if it was murder, then rather than a monkey and a blowpipe, it might have involved a ninja and a raygun which when pointed towards the heart, stops it from pumping.


Further theories discussed included the possible use of arsenic, pygmy poison, cobra venom, hypnotism (thereby forcing victim to take her own life), coconut oil, mime artists and the spontaneous combustion of both mind and body due to the incoherent ramblings of that non-sentient blathering fool A of the B.  


Suffice to say that this entire discussion was taking place just in front of the agitated multitude, with the winsome twosome sitting on chairs only a couple of feet away from the action, happily gulping down copious quantities of ice cream . For some reason, the multitude kept giving them awfully dirty looks. 


Having failed to elicit any response from 'Reshu', multitude then decided to procure a ladder from somewhere. Now far be it for the Cheapo to accuse other personnel of being slightly on the rotund side or their actions as being chuckleworthy (the words chimney, pot, kettle etc would be flung around by the critical intelligentsia) ..........but one of the few universally constant joys of life involve fat people trying to climb a tottering ladder.


Well as it turns out it was neither murder, nor suicide, nor alien abduction. It wasn't even a case of exposure to A of the B.


It was, put simply, a case of Singhanapallitis...a disease where even the fucking Armageddon would fail to wake a person up from slumber.


The earliest known patient was Kumbhakarna. Other famous patients include the men who had slept through

• Kurukshetra
• Hannibal's invasion of Italy with pachyderms
• Porus's dimwitted defence strategy of using pachyderms against Alexander
• Alexander's destruction of Babylon
• Genghis Khan's destruction of everything
• Alaric's sacking of Rome
• Battle of Hastings
• Battle of Agincourt
• Saladin's capture of Jerusalem
• Austerlitz
• Nelson kicking Bonny's arse in Trafalgar
• Wellington kicking Bonny's arse in Waterloo
• Gettysburg
• Pearl Harbour
• the Blitzkrieg
• St Petersburg

The disease has been named by scientists to honour Midas, who once slept through an hour of Fat Uncle Cheapo calling, knocking, pounding and bellowing at the top of his lungs.

Lucky Bastards

All ye lot who know me know that in the annals of luck, you can't beat A of the B.



But its not only him, there are some other entities who have been as lucky as..well...Fat Uncle Cheapo's alter-ego.



All Cheapo wants is to get reborn as one of the following



A pet pig in a vegetarian community/farm - No bathing ever and continuously eating as much as I can!!!! Can you imagine the "great success"?



A half-hippo half-chupacabra in the LH of CIEFL during the late 90s, early noughties...you know why


Hugh Hefner



A conquistador with Cortez...seriously, how many times do you get to be worshiped as gods?


The Army Chief of Staff of Switzerland


One of the Indomitable Gauls


The Foreign Minister of Canada or New Zealand or Bhutan


Vladimir Putin


Gimli, son of Gloin


George Washington



Phineas Fogg


Chewbacca


Any of the Louis - from I to XV




But this being Fat Uncle Cheapo, he will probably end up as



A chicken...anywhere


A half-hippo half-chupacabra in the LH of CIEFL during 2010


Reincarnated again as Fat Uncle Cheapo


An Inca warrior a couple of years after Cortez's arrival


The Army Chief of Staff of Poland (during early 20th century)


A legionary in one of the camps


The Home Minister of Lebanon or Afghanistan or Somalia


Whoever is going to stand against Vladimir Putin in the elections


Balin, Lord of Moria


Robert Lee


Quasimodo


Jar Jar Binks


Louis XVI

How to Get Women

Well after a lot of observations and profound cogitations, Fat Uncle Cheapo is pleased to announce that he has discovered the surefire guaranteed way to get girls to get gaga over you (a guy).


A point to remember is that this survival guide is only for those who aren't fortunate enough to be born rich, powerful or handsome/cute/hot.


For ease of ..well...for general easeness, lets divide it into DOs and DONT's


DOs

1. Be a lying cheating scumbag and overall despicable human being
2. Beat women up and generally treat them as garbage
3. Be a coward


If you diligently perform these two activities, women will que to:

• Give you money
• Sleep with you
• Defend you in the face of the whole world

Now there are some activities you should never ever do if you want to have any chance of ever having a girlfriend.

1. Be a nice, honest, kind, generous human being [nothing turns women off faster than these traits]
2. Have enough courage and willpower to follow your beliefs (for example, give up your job and stare at bankruptcy to take care of those in need) [that's just wrong as far as women are concerned]
3. Be respectful towards women [that's fucking kryptonite for your chances]


If you are any of the 3 above, then rest assured that women will rather commit suicide by jumping off the Sears Tower after consuming poison, alighting themselves all the while decapitating themselves with a chainsaw than go out with you.


So come on guys, be heinous, be douche-bags, be the scum of the humanity...and look out of the window to see the que.

WANKERS

Well, in today's Telegraph's there was an entry requesting the name of a Biblical dancer. Its Salome btw.

However, this particular clue posed two interesting observations in the mind of Fat Uncle Cheapo.


The 1st observation was that whoever makes crosswords are either geniuses or wankers...or probably both.


And this being Fat Uncle Cheapo, the thoughts soon permeated into identifying who all were Biblical Wankers.


We start with our man Adam.
He was a man.
Ergo he was a wanker.
All men are, no point pretending otherwise.

Next.

We come to the angels. Well, there seems to be way too many of them. In fact, there were so mnay of them that they had to establish an underground colony called hell. There is no way to determine the penchant for wanking in all of them. So we have to contend with a few superstars. (And its not my fault that all the superstars are from hell)

Apparently Asmodeus is a very lusty fellow; he fell in love with Sarah but never got to do it with her; so yes a wanker.

Baal on the other hand is a spider with 3 heads - so not a wanker.

Beelzebub is an insect...there is no proof whatsoever of any insect ever wanking, so.

Belphegor apparently "originated as the Assyrian Baal-Peor, the Moabitish god to whom the Israelites became attached in Shittim (Numbers 25:3), which was associated with licentiousness and orgies. It was worshipped in the form of a phallus."....comments or speculations are unnecessary


Leviathan is a whale (how in hell's name a whale ever came to symbolize evil etc is something noone will ever understand). Nuff said.


And finally, it seems that Moloch was a bit of a Wellbeloved. He went around asking people to sacrifice their children to him. Well, we all know what type of people like children in such a disturbing manner.

There seems to be some confusion about Archangels. It seems the religious types can't make up their mind about how many there are...some say 3, some say 4, some say 7. I will restrict myself to 3 - Michael, Gabriel and Rafael.


Rafael, being a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, is definitely not a wanker.


As far as Michael is concerned, reports indicate that he is a dude but all images, illustrations portray him as a feminine......no conclusion can be arrive at at this juncture but the words hermaphrodite, eunuch etc are roaming around.

Gabriel is apparently a man with superpowers - so basically a mutant. He is horny (has a horn) and loves children. I am not saying anything, but based on those facts, you draw your conclusions.





When has an Authority or Ruler or Power or Principal ever been a wanker? Since they exploit everybody so it is safe to say that they are not wankers.




According to Dionysius the Areopagite
 
"The name of the holy Virtues signifies a certain powerful and unshakable virility welling forth into all their Godlike energies; not being weak and feeble for any reception of the divine Illuminations granted to it; mounting upwards in fullness of power to an assimilation with God; never falling away from the Divine Life through its own weakness, but ascending unwaveringly to the superessential Virtue which is the Source of virtue: fashioning itself, as far as it may, in virtue; perfectly turned towards the Source of virtue, and flowing forth providentially to those below it, abundantly filling them with virtue."

If that's not a description of an erection, nothing is. And if they are continuously erect, they have to wank.




From all accounts, the Dominions are Jedis...and Jedis aren't wankers.




An Ophan/Throne, mainly because it is either a wheel or a throne, is not.




The Hoi Polloi might think that Cherubs are fat kids. Deep research (3 mins in Wikipedia) suggests that that's bollocks. According to the lad Ezekiel, Cherubs are 'a tetrad of living creatures, each having four faces: of a man, a lion, an ox, and an eagle. They are said to have the stature and hands of a man, feet of a calf, and four wings each.'
Why do you think they had hands of a man?
Exactly.




The Seraphim most definitely are. Think about it, they are incredibly hot but so hot that they can't do it with others. So....




Next we come to the masochist carpenter. There is a difference of opinion amongst the theosophical types regarding this contentious issue. Well, to save the readers' (who am I kidding, reader's [sigh]) time, let me summarize it. Its a simple either-or scenario.


Either
JC went around doing prostitutes
Or
He was a wanker
Or
He married Magdalene and they had offsprings etc and there is a long line of descendants ending in

Now coming to the big man

a. There is no Mrs. God
b. He liked to look at naked women (can't blame him) and kicked out Eve when she nagged him for clothes


Well, do I have to spell it out people?



GOD is a Wanker.

Revelation

29 years, 2 months and about 20 odd days.


That's what it took for the Fat Uncle Cheapo to find his true calling.


All this time he was waddling about pissing away his time dabbling in grammar, literature, mathematics, biology, logic (for some extremely illogical reason), geography, statistics, economics, history, political science, syntax, phonology, semantics, sociolinguistics, Russian, applied linguistics, Spanish, American law, banking, insurance etc etc.......but none of them attracted him enough.


But now he has found it, he finally has an ambition.


He now knows what to do.


You see he always thought that there are 2 types of people who actually get paid to mess around with women's you know whats - gigolos and plastic surgeons.


Now Cheapo can never become a surgeon because the training process involves dissecting frogs, rabbits etc. Deliberately killing and mutilating innocent animals when there are millions of Manchester United supporters roaming around is abhorrent and repulsive, not to mention repugnant.

So that's out.


Now since it has been established that women would rather drink poison, set themselves on fire and then jump out of a very tall building all the while hacking themselves with a HIV and tetanus coated chainsaw rather than take off their clothes in front of Fat Uncle Cheapo, being a gigoglo is also out.


Ergo Cheapo was ambling around procrastinating like no tomorrow.




But it has recently come to his attention that there is a 3rd type of profession which involves said activity - women's blouse making.


Apparently, women have no problems getting their you know whats measured and groped by these individuals.


Upon hearing of this, Cheapo's first reaction was "Eh??" followed by "Are you serious?" and "WTF!!".



But upon pondering about this he has come to the conclusion that this is in fact perfectly logical and reasonable behavior from a species that regularly pluck their own eyebrows out with a tweezer and then draw those eyebrows with a pen.



So, now that he has an ambition and a zest for life, the only thing left for Cheapo to do is to learn how to put a thread through a needle.







Ohhhhhhhhhh dear 

A grave injustice has been done in which Fat Uncle cheapo has somehow managed to infuriate and insult 2 ancient civilizations, millions of human beings as well as cats.


 Now Cheapo is not really bothered about the cats, those lying, scheming, stealing, mouse hunting, milk drinking, brainwashing, meow shouting, aspiring world dominators are the enemy anyway. You see, the cats have made extensive treaties with the aliens (for the benefits of people from USAUSAUSA, let me clarify that by aliens, I DO NOT mean Mexicans, but rather Venusians and those buggers from Uranus), the giraffes, the seagulls (led by the brothers Eric and Steven) and of course the octopuses.


It is of course a plan to raise Cthulhu.



Fat Uncle Cheapo, whose innate awesomeness allows him to see the future has, well, seen the future and has already made preparations for the impending battle. Treating with the dogs and the orangs have been made. The dolphins and the ravens will come on board anytime.


The only problem is that the damn cats have so successfully managed to penetrate the human brain and brainwash them that most people don't even realise the peril they are in.

We will see what happens.



Anyway, to come back to the point, Fat Uncle Cheapo's favorite niece - the mommy missing, Uber following, McDonald working, media studying, orgy hating, Missisauga living, Ayush supporting, Abhas baiting, perennially crying about EFLU (even Adam did not cry this much after getting bumrushed out of Eden) - Kiddo has adopted a cat.


Having no imagination, she started calling it Jacks (it would have made much more since if it was in Montreal and the cat was called Jacques). Cheapo rightfully called it a lame name and decided to rename it.


He called the cat Nebuchadnezzar. Unfortunately, there were protests from various quarters.


So Gilgamesh was chosen.



The problem is that the cat is Persian.....as it turns out Gilgamesh most definitely wasn't....if anything he was Babylonian.



For those not historically inclined, this is tantamount to calling George Washington a royalist, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin a capitalist, Montogomery Burns an environmentalist, Pat Rice alive, Twilight literature, Mamata Banerjee a communist, Wellbeloved heterosexual or post-modernists as anything apart from a complete waste of time.


You see, the Babylonians and Persians, have, with grim determination and concentration, continuously been fighting each other for close to 4 or 5000 years now.


So, see renaming the damn cat, has once again become a bit of a necessity.


And here are the options.


Silulumesh Inimabakesh
Untash-Napirisha
Shutruk-Nahhunte 

Ashurbanipal
Nabopolassar
Artaxerxes

What's with the Leprechauns

Note: I am only taking literature in mother tongues.


I have been reading this set of stories by this Irishman called Michael Scott. quite decent enjoyable stuff with lots of history and mythology chucked in for good measure.


However, it got me thinking.


What is it about those Guiness drinking, potato eating, green wearing, rainbow chasing, English hating, begorrah shouting, St Patty worshiping bunch of leprechauns that make them good authors??


Some of them are really bloody good. What is even more interesting (well mainly to jobless people like me) is that they are not restricted to any 1 particular field (unlike say the comrades). These nutters are/were good in:


poetry n stuff - Yeats
adventure stories to far away lands - Jonathan Swift
horror/supernatural - Bram Stroker,
taking the piss - Oscar Wilde (one of the greatest piss takers the world has ever seen)
soul-crushing despair akin to watching paint dry - J M Synge
religious stuff - C S Lewis (though I still have no idea why he was against lip-stick; I mean I am against lipstick ads, esp in the middle of matches; but I just don't give a damn about the product per se, why he was so indignant about it only he knows)
postmodernism la-di-dah stuff - Beckett (forever destined to be mistaken for that English archbishop)
killer and mutilator of ancient classics - Joyce
the 2nd most mis-quoted playwright/dramatist in English language (after William the Bald) - Congreve
founder of malapropism - Sheridan
the other play write and perennial late comer - Goldsmith
thriller writer - Jack Higgins, Declan Hughes, Bateman, Alex Barclay, Declan Burke, Arlene Hunt et all


and then there is the guy who wrote (in his own words, "Die hard - with fairies") and created the 3rd richest fictional character in history [http://www.forbes.com/lists/fictional15/2011/forbes-fictional-15.html] and a series 2nd only to Pottermania


and the guy who won both the Noble Prize [back when it meant something, before they completely fucking ruined it by giving Henry Kissinger the Peace Prize (more or less akin to giving me the Don Juan de Casanova award for Services towards Women's Orgasms) and then by awarding Obama for being black] and the Academy Award [before they ruined it by giving the Best Pic gongs to Titanic over Good will Hunting, Shakespeare in Love over Saving Private Ryan  and then Chicago over Gangs of New York]



See the diversity?


In comparison:


Let's look at the Comrades.

They have great legendary authors, no doubt. However, those vodka drinking, proletariat loving, aristocrat killing, Mongol fearing, Rasputin obsessing, Siberia holidaying Ivans have successfully and with complete and utter determination and confidence managed to churn out masterpieces with just 1 template - 


Ch 1 - The suffering
Ch 2 - Oh the suffering
Ch 3 - Why so much suffering
Ch 4 - Is there no end to this suffering
Ch 5 - The misery

and so on an so forth


The only times they go away from this template, they either end up with pedophilia (a certain Wellbeloved's favourite book of all time) or go complete bananas with the excitement and end up with cats, choir-masters, Mephistopheles, witches, Pontius Pilate and the world's biggest masochist.



Let's now look at the Cheese Eating Surrender Monkeys


The more or less continuous thrashings and subsequent and inevitable surrenders to the Romans, the Goths, The Huns, the Normans (or in other words their own expats), the Germans (repeatedly), the Italians and the Vietcong have given rise to a bunch of authors who more or less can't see anything positive anywhere. They end up writing stories where everybody dies (exception being Count of Monte Christo where almost everybody dies)


On the other hand, the more less continuous drinking of fine wine, eating of good food (and snails), keeping of mistresses and basically not working at all (35 hour workweek) have also shaped the psyche so much that they have managed to churn out stories where people travel around the world, or go to the moon or to the centre of the earth (and harass dinosaurs) or go off to fight krakens or solve awesome mysteries.


They have also managed to give rise to without a doubt the world's most famous village.


I am not taking any of the philosophers into account because..well they are philosophers and thus not to be taken seriously at all...and anyway Camus was a goalkeeper, and we all know keepers are a little bit odd.



Let's look at the Senors.


Those tapas eating, siesta loving, castanet clacking, flamenco dancing, bull-fighting, god fearing, India searching, ole shouting, constantly moaning and whining, Inquisitional, genocidal, perennial whipping boys of just about anybody and everybody (they couldn't even win a civil war) have never managed to get around to the idea of joy and fun.



Being more or less mightily busy massacring ancient blood thirsty civilizations and getting their own arses handed over to them over and over and over again by the Romans, the Vandals, the Muslims, the British, Bonny etc have had such a profound effect on the collective psyche that they can't even think beyond

• Pessimism
• Disillusion
• Worries about the passing of time
• Loss of confidence
• Windmills

I am not even considering those hemlock drinking, Alexander teaching, robe wearing, eureka shouting, Spartan/Persian hating, democracy (true democracy you know, for only the ones who matter, not for undesirables like slaves, poor people, and women) inventing, perennially fighting, Zeus and Poseidon fearing, "History" creating, theorem sprouting, Academy founding, Colossus building bearded omnisexual baldies.


Any lot who have within them the means of writing both the story of Odysseus as well as the story of that wanker Oedipus while creating western philosophy, history and geometry have to be left well alone....those buggers are dangerous, no ass is safe.




And finally, we come to the Hypochondriac Hypocrites


Compared to some of the other languages, written Bong is awfully wee....it is only about 600-700 hundred years old. And the first 500 hundred years of that time was spent on writing religious stuff. And then came the Britishers and a whole new world. And so came a whole new plethora of writers (Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay, Manik Bandyopadhyay, Tarashankar Bandyopadhyay, Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay) and stories based on the template


Boy meets girl
Option A - boy falls in love with girl
                  girl reciprocates
                  they elope/get married
                  they starve to death
Option B - girl falls in love with boy
                  boy reciprocates
                  they elope/get married
                  they starve to death
Option C - boy falls in love with girl
                  girl does not reciprocate
                  boy goes bananas or drinks himself to death
Option D - girl falls in love with boy
                  boy does not reciprocate
                  girl commits suicide or becomes a nun/female sadhu etc
                  

Thankfully these atrocities were later redeemed.

Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay first moved away from the template and wrote some war stories.
Michael Madhusudhan Dutta wrote an epic poem

Sharadindu Bandyopadhyay introduced the Bong people to one of the best detectives ever in any literature anywhere in the world
And then the Roy clan took over. Sukumar decided to take the piss off everybody everywhere, Lila Majumder wrote awesome kiddy stories and Satyajit redefined science-fiction, fantasy and mystery stories forever.
Sunil Gangopadhyay (mystery), Shirshedu Mukhopadhaya (comedy), Bimol Kar (mystery), Moti Nandi (awesome sports stories), Samaresh Basu (mustery) and Majumdar (mystery and adventure), Syed Mujtaba Siraj etc have further redeemed the Bong literature.



Though nowadays, it seems people are only writing about extra-marital affairs for some reason. So, its only a matter of time before the original template is readopted. SIGH.


Based on the fact that a little knowledge is a dangerous thingy and that I have no wish to look a fool in my own fucking blog, I am staying clear of German and Hindi/Urdu literature. I also have absolutely no fucking clue about Chinese, Japanese, Dravidian, Balkan, Portuguese, Scandinavian and Persian literature. And Arabian literature is beyond criticism after that awesome book of porn spanning 1001 nights. And I am not taking South American and African literature coz, well, all the good stuff (ye know the ancient tribal lores etc) is gone forever anyway. Fuck, sadly even their languages are dying. Its all in French, English or Spanish.


So I come back to the original question. What is it that makes the bloody Irish so much fun?