What would RTH do?

That is the question.

If I were in a highschool yearbook, they would vote me most likely to die of a lynch mob. That does not prevent me from opening my mouth and serving a warm hearty cup of STFU to people who deserve it. My dark scathing humor will leave no matter of existence untouched. My innocence will touch your soul.

Welcome to a warped world turned inside out and upside down. All sorts of discretion advised.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

More Poetry

Mehfil main yahan
Ishq ki ijjazat nahin
Dil dene ki tumhe himmat nahin
Dard lene ki hamein taqat nahin

Thursday, November 5, 2009

The Delicate Womanly Fine Arts



One of my most vivid school memories is of a day when our class monitor was tearing out his hair. A teacher was absent, which meant we had a free period. It is hard for a teacher to contain a group of teenagers, what is one teenage boy to do. As soon as the next teacher walked in he heaved a sigh of relief, wiped the cold sweat from his brow and exclaimed exasperatedly "Miss the girls are creating havoc in the class"

In a different time and a different place, the whole lot of us would be sent to a finishing school. A stern headmistress with her hair pulled in a tight bun, wearing gray drab outfits would, stalk the stonewalled hallways of a towering girls dormitory ensuring that every single girl is prim and proper and ladylike. We would learn to dress appropriately, walk and carry ourselves delicately, speak softly and sweetly, and eat food silently. Its a sad dull place. Although one thing you have to wonder, where in the world did the Catholic school girl stereotype and outfit come from. Surely men in this world have not been suddenly gifted with vivid and elaborate imaginations.

Thats not the point. The point here is such delicate fine arts are a thing of a past. In fact it is baffling when you see some old fashioned gentleman who is searching for a delicate flower to care for and water. Gone are the days when women would flutter and bat their eyelashes, make puppy dog faces, and bend over to show some skin.

I'm not sure which era they live in. It is indeed tragic to be caught in some sort of twisted time warp and not know which century it actually is. Its a whole new world out there. For example I played hockey and went to shop class. While some girls were learning to dance the flutter of the butterflies we as a team were wielding sticks, wearing studs, flexing the shoulder to thwack the ball real good, real hard. While some girls were cleaning their pretty pink outfits we were playing the dirt working up a sweat, till we were splattered patches of sweaty mud. While some girls were learning whatever delicate womanly fine arts there maybe we were sawing through bars of iron and making knives on the grinder from the broken blades.

Now some men may delude you into thinking that they get it off only on the fine arts, they will tell you that its no use being tough, and they like only pretty butterflies. Its all a lie. In your whole life did you see a guy catch colorful butterflies unless they were gay? Guys have always preferred the more wild creations. Its amazing how many men can line up to watch a girls hockey game, or how the mechanical and industrial engineering boys drool at the rare phenomenon of girls in their midst.

All the talk about strong women being intimidating is a myth. People are not intimidated by strong women. The plain and simple truth is, only those who have a reason to be insecure will feel insecure. An ordinary person will do nothing but appreciate and enjoy the qualities of their fellow humans.

Perhaps some people love all the fineries and refineries. For others there is a charm in the scruffier things. Like rugged carpenter jeans and tees, like boy shorts and flannel, like crawling out of bed and crawling into the car with no shower, like wearing the same jeans for a month, like combing your hair with your fingers, like following a sport with utmost passion, like shout outs, yos and hi fives instead of niceties, like eating cold pizza for breakfast and breakfast for dinner, like building a pyramid of pop cans by your couch, like never really making your bed, like acing at a game of beer pong and drinking the boys under the table, like burping out a song or laughing at a sick joke, like chowing on wings like a barbarian and fitting a hoagie in your mouth, like conversing with your mouth full and dribbling your condiments on your shirt. People are more comfortable with imperfection, its more personally connecting.

There is also this talk of an art called flirting. Last I heard that true artists rarely brag about their feats. I'm sure social skills require refined artistry, but I'm perturbed over human repellents peddling such arts. I'm not sure when the fine arts changed, but the last time I checked smart and funny people enjoy a good dose of sarcasm and love a sarcastic person. The last time I checked people love it when you can stab with the glint of an eye, its reassuring that they do not have to treat you with kid gloves. Silly girl laughter is a thing of the past, people take more joy in the mischievous eyes of a prankster. I think some people just do not like to believe in the fact that there are some people out there who can win over hearts with intellectual conversation, witty banter and some very confident ninja like moves.



Some of the arts of the masters are so interesting that sometimes I wonder if I should practice some. It would save me some of the odd situations I can sometimes find myself in. Like try and repel people for a change. Like try for people to actually find me creepy and set their distance, or find me too evil and disdainful that it triggers all their painful childhood memories. Thats an art I could find useful when I need to be left alone in my personal happy place. I think the so called artists could do well with learning the ways of a dork like me, for some odd reason it seems to have the affect they fail to achieve.

On a final note lets take Shane McCutcheon. Men who claim to excel at the manly arts should really rethink of it. Its Shane - men want to be her, Shane is the master. Whats Shane got that men don't? Why do girls fall for her? Why do they fantasize about her too? Somewhere down the line men and women lost a certain charm and chose to settle for the available alternative. The attractiveness of androgyny shows that there is no real one sided magic charm or arts. Its people being people that people love. Maybe thats an art to learn, being yourself, being an ordinary person.

Live Long and Prosper, Party like a Ninja!!!!!

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

I Hate

Kanye West
Boys with pants falling of their asses
Girls with tits hanging out their blouses
Tiny yippy spoilt little furry dogs
Insecure whimpery people
Holier thanst thou preachers
Bad Drivers
Bleeding heart liberals
Ass brained conservatives
Fashionistas
Uptight society people
Asinine bastards
People who ruin sarcasm and continue to do so
Sparkling vampires
Long nosed intrusive desis
OMG India is so great desis
OMG America is so great desis
People who are clingy
People who act too smart
People who go on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on
People with babies in movie theaters
Whiny fags
Pretenders and fakers
Ditzy dumb bimbos
Stupid man whores who suck up to ditzy dumb bimbos
People who have no life
People who have too much on their plate
Harley bikers
Bull dykes & man hating lesbians
Women with no class
Women with too much class
Gold diggers
Bitter people
Nauseatingly sweet people
One click popularity systems
Imitators
False worshipers
People who never learn
People who think they know too much
People who laugh for no reason
People who think their laughing is cute
Ditzes who laugh and dumb shit
Self absorbed people
Hypochondriacs
Genuine bitchies
People in cliques
Internet Trolls
YOU
......... and a whole lot more

I hate everybody equally. Equal opportunity hatred.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Devilish Blasphemy

Got Heathen?
Will save soul!
The Gospel Makes Good Weapons!


I think I have been slowly learning why we intellectual nerds are often fixated on the impending doom of Zombie apocalypses. We spend a lot of time reading books like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, the Zombie survival guide; watch all the zombie flicks, and play video games killing Natzi zombies. There actually is a darn good reason that we do it. You see legend has it that zombies feast on brains. Yes they feed on the flesh, but fresh brains they crave. Considering that we are the only people in the world left with any, its a good reason for us to be scared.


Picture Caption: Sunday School

These book thumpers can predict any prophetic doom they desire like mysterious plagues, curses and raptures. It is only we intellectuals who know that while the mindless book thumping freaks get plagued by the infestation and turn into blood thirsty zombies craving for the delicious brains they never had, we will be the ones succeeding earth and fighting for survival. I mean sometimes when you look at these book thumpers, don't you get the feeling that they are almost 90% there into zombiedom. The glazed glassy look in their eyes. That movement in rabid flock. The repeating of the same nonsensical phrases. That inhumane anger.

I've understood that if I am most likely to die at the hands of a lynch mob, there are plenty of morons out there likely to get bitten by a mad cow and turn into ravaging zombies. They do not eat cow, but they are almost there.


Picture Caption: Warriors of God studying best angles to throw the gospel for maximum impact.

So until the zombie infestation sets in, I try my best to inject some brains into the lifeless masses floating around on earth. As Annie Camden once described her daughter Mary 'diabolical but good'. I am one of those Satan's little saints. Diabolique is my name, riling is my game, saving souls is my claim to fame. Thats why whenever I place a bet or give out loans, I ask people to stake their eternal souls. I've collected quite a few souls all these years. People will be glad theyir eternal goodness is in such capable hands.

Its not easy trying to singlehandedly save the world with rationality. People are averse to it. They are Hillary Faye filled with God's love and are ready to fling the scriptures at you, right at the back of your head when you turn away in disgust. Thats how they fill you with God's love.

They often tell me I am going to go to hell. Welcome to the ninth gate I say. Hell is just as good as any place on earth. Honestly, I'm kind of terrified of going to heaven. A lot of weird, twisted, strange people rooting to go to heaven. It seems to be a very scary place. I'm creeped out by the people I might meet in heaven. As far as I know, all good people I have known so far are apparently going to hell. So I think its a safe bet. They say we will be tortured in hell. I'm just picturing it to be either one large S&M club or filled with people who tease but do not put out. As I say, just as good as any place on earth. We also hear things like hot as hell and cold as hell. I'm picturing the hot and cold cancelling each other out and making it delightfully pleasant.

Some of you must be wondering why I'm terrified of people in heaven. Well you know, I just learned that if these heavenly people were allowed to rule the world - Middle Earth would be no more and the Galactic Empire would have taken over the Universe by now.

For example I was made aware of an important caveat that even the noblest and greatest of heroes on whose shoulder the fate of the world lies on is not allowed to say no to his father. Can you imagine the disastrous consequences of such rules. The entire universe would spin out of alignment.

Picture this - Luke Skywalker is battling Darth Vader at Bespin. Han Solo lays frozen in Carbonite. Leia is torn apart. Chewy is devastated.

Lord Vader: I am your father Luke.
Luke: No
Lord Vader: Its true. Obi-Wan lied.
Luke: O Rly?
Lord Vader: Now come join the dark side. Let us fight side by side father and son.
Luke: Yoda 1, Verse 23 Obey thy father. I understand and obey father.

Oh what a catastrophe. Looks like Empire really struck back and there will be no return of the Jedi.


Photo Caption: Darth Vader pulls out his ace card and tempts Frodo with a slice of heaven for being a dutiful son.

Picture this - Frodo and Sam have traveled across perilous terrain, battled death, and force ahead to Mordor. Two small insignificant hobbits, with the fate of the entire world in their hands. Trudging forward with the hope, that there is some good left in this world. By destroying the ring they can save the world.

Frodo: Let us go, please!
Sam: Let the Captain of Gondor show his quality.
FaRAMir: Fuck quality. My father wants the fucking ring, he gets the fucking ring.
Frodo: Please the fate of middle earth depends on this.
FaRAMir: Fuck Middle Earth. Middle Earth can go to hell. Obedient sons go to heaven.
Sam: Do we know if heaven and earth exist for Middle Earth.
FaRAMir: Fuck you! Don't question the rule of God.

Meanwhile Arwen also listened to her father and left Middle Earth. Aragorn was heartbroken and refused to fight. Minas Tirith was crushed. And thus Sauron used scripture to plunge middle earth into his darkness. So you see what I mean terrifying. It makes our adorable little Faramir more schizo than Gollum and the lovable Luke cackle like the Emperor.


Picture Caption: FaRAMir asks Frodo to give him the fucking ring.

Blasphemy. Its whats for dinner. Ticket to hell was never funnier. For God gave you brains, and wants you to use it. Opposable thumbs, biotches suck on it. Middle fingers, respectable salutes to my friends. Hope you survive heaven. Its a party in hell for us.

Disclaimer: No Zombies or zombie books harmed in this project, even if they deserved to be bludgeoned. If you do not have a sense of humor, you have been deeply offended by this and I am sorry. Not for offending you, but because God failed to give you a sense of humor. I am diabolical, but still good. If you get what that means, you understand the tender soul within. From the bottom of my heart, may you live long and prosper.



Wednesday, October 14, 2009

The Blue Pill (Do Not Wake Me Up)

This was originally conceived and written by me on October 12th 2008. After a years worth of hibernation on facebook, it has aged enough to come out more publicly. Obviously one year later I have no idea why I wrote this. Something tells me its something to do with the matrix. It might also have something to do with the oncoming election. What do I know, honestly?

They tried to sell me the truth, the truth would set me free
I had been asleep for too long, and it was time to open my eyes
simple is the price to pay for opening a world infinite
laying down entering the world I confine myself to the mind
there is no glory in sustaining inertia
preserving the soul from the forces abound, perpetual is the need for motion
molded by the power of knowledge, they tried to make a trade with me
that one ought not remain in rest and peace
stay a vassal of selfish contentment, when even the blind can see
that I am the lesser amidst the mortals
a jarring defect of asynchrony in the wheel of perfect harmony

They tried to sell me the truth, the truth would set me free
they tried to shake me awake with the even trade of freedom with freedom
foolish is denial, escape is cowardice complete
courage epitomized by investing the price
to open ones eyes in the truth of the world that we live in
emerge from the shadows of slumber
to the light of the life that offered glory to bask in
transform from a scion of villainous schemes
into a hero with the vision of conformity
melt myself in the baptismal fire of judgment, forge myself into the spoke
falling in alignment rotating along the way it was designed to be

They tried to sell me the truth, the truth would set me free
to swallow the red pill of knowledge, pay the price of freedom
but the world that they offer is not really free
it is the cage of glass that opens to a field of dreams stretching endlessly
untouched hyperopic in vision myopic in movement
invisible walls and unnamed barriers holding back without touch
a world where everyone walks free undaunted unrestricted
absolute complete mortal freedom enshrined within truth
traded and purchased with a worthy price of eternity
the confinement of mind and soul
unfeeling uncaring unloving island of paradise

They tried to sell me the truth, the truth would set me free
telling me we are all entrapped cold steel encompassing me
what they did not tell me was that the truth was within me
the world I enter when I close my eyes
is created by me for me to be, to be able to be me
no walls hold back when I reach out and touch
ceaseless dreams bringing into life reality
slumber awakening a taste of forbidden freedom
the red pill will wake me up into truth rejuvenated and saved
the blue pill will cast me deeper into the the bliss of my sinful stupor
I chose the blue pill, do not wake me up, I live a dream, I sold my life and lived their lie.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Falling for fall!

One of the most beautiful aspects about living in the Midwest is being able to witness the changing of seasons. I've lived in the warmer tropical climates where summers get blisteringly hot and the winters remain mildly temperate. As much as I grew up loving the temperate climates for their lack of winter extremities the truth is there is something lacking. Warm tropical climates are static, the weather may change but it seems the world is limp and motionless at a boring standstill. Nothing changes at all.

Up here in Wisconsin our winter maybe bitter. However, the changes in the seasons more than compensate for the bitterness. Nothing is boringly constant. This is mother nature's spectacular canvas its a moving portrait of changing moods and colors. The beauty of changing seasons is an unparalleled feat. People in the south may boast of their joy and warmth, but deep down inside you know they envy us who get to enjoy the seasons. For the changing of season is love in its finest splendor.

The Tale of First Frost


Summer days are coming to an end. Persephone must leave the land above the grounds and Return to Hades. From his dark lair beneath he awaits her arrival. He blows her a kiss, reminding her of their love. His kiss travels across the lands to meet Persephone, his bated breath chillingly cold. It envelops the land with glistening coolness, slowly covering the earth carpets with a chilly hue. Now the green grass is frosted, with a filmy cold hue.



The breath maybe dark and cold. Such bleakness is not the warmth that one believes to be love. Its a different kind of love. One simply has to open their hearts and minds to look closer and deeper. Its dark and cold, but its stunning indeed. Hades has covered the paths with jewels, crystalline specks of intricate pattern cling to the blades of glass waiting to be found. Delightful patterns fleeting, that will dissipate in moments, making them precious than gold or diamonds.

And no wonder Persephone is happy. She prepares to take her leave of the mortal world. Against the perfection of the clear blue sky she decorates the world, top down. In the next few weeks she will paint the world with hues and colors, of red, green, yellow, auburn and gold. The grasses will also flicker and bloom. She will be gone soon, and the word will plunge into the chill of winter. However, through her colors she reminds us, that this is not loss - its love in its purest form. She wants us to gaze at the colors that adorn the world and rejoice and celebrate.


Sunsets and summers and beaches are all fine, but there is nothing more beautiful about love then wondrous world of winter magic to come.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Lessons in tragedy

Sometimes I begin to wonder if I am a terrible mommy. It seems that every few months my baby girl Aria needs to be rushed to emergency veterinary care. Try as hard as I might to keep her healthy and safe, trouble always comes brewing our way. So it was so on Friday evening, during our daily walk.

After talking an extensive stroll around our neighborhood, we were headed our way back home. All of a sudden I heard a child's scream. I turned my head and saw a mighty large Labrador tearing from way across the road in our direction like a bull on parade. The child was screaming calling the dog back, but the dog bounded on relentlessly. I braced myself to prepare Aria. Aria suffers nervous anxiety, and I was preparing her not to react negatively.

Unfortunately, I did not prepare for the worst - from the other dog. When the dog reached us he literally clamped her hind area in his jaws. My heart was beating in a frenzy, my mind blacked out. My baby girl was getting attacked by a giant dog and I had to do something. So against all good sense that they teach about dog handling, I grabbed the lab by its collar and pulled it back. It kept going at her, while I mustered all my strength in my already wobbly knee to try to hold it back by the collar. Instead of the calm assertive energy they advice all the time, I was screaming frantically like a two year old who just broke their favorite toy. Screaming with the fools hope of a lonely woman being mugged, that someone actually might help.

Eventually, the owner came out to take his dog away. The funny thing is, his kids had seen their dog try to maul my dog and now they wanted to pet Aria. Despite what she had been through, Aria waited patiently tail between the legs for the kids to pat her head and rub her neck. I checked her for injuries but could not see any, so continued walking home. Another dog walker who had seen the incident came up to see how we were. She offered treats and petted Aria. It was very kind of her, because it made my whimpering, shivering, shaken baby a happy little puppy again.

When I got home, I decided it was good measure to recheck Aria for injuries again. It was then I discovered a gaping hole by her thigh. My dad immediately gave us a ride to the veterinary emergency care while my mom went to the offending dogs owner's house to have them foot the bill. Its usually the code of conduct in dog ownership that you own up to damages caused by your dog or if you are a jerk you wait to be sued.

The diagnosis:

Aria suffered a puncture wound to the abdominal cavity. She was lucky that it was a surface wound, any deeper it would have been critical damage to the abdomen. She was sedated and operated on to clean the wound and stitch it up. She will have a drain attached to the hole to drain the would of fluids and prevent septic build up. Usually, this process is not excruciatingly painful - but Aria is an idiot who suffers nervous anxiety. Any human who has this fear anxiety knows that such nervousness manifests and increases hypothetical pains. So we have a dog who is thrashing, whimpering and howling in manifested pain. Its been an ordeal.

The family owning the attacking dog is not in financial position to pay us. The guy lost his job. They have an autistic child. The mom is just in training in her job. Their house is facing foreclosure. We can go to small claims court and recover damages. In fact many acquaintances are recommending that we sue. However, our family has decided that we will let them decide if they want to pay or not. We will not force them into this.

The lessons:

Our baby Aria is a strong girl. From injuries, to infections, from abscesses to reactions to vaccinations - she goes through it all. Yet immediately after she bounces back to her happy go lucky crazy bundle of joy please calm her down I cannot keep up with her lunacy kind of nature.

I'm obviously not as smart as I think I am or would like to be. I will never forget the citronella spray bottle. Its not just for Aria's barking but it prevents dog attacks. I need to remember calm assertiveness. I did not let go of Aria's leash, and did not manage to control the dog in an assertive manner.

My fight or flight mechanism is fight. I foolishly put myself in mortal peril for my dog. I was lucky the attacking dog did not go after me. Dogs can mangle human appendages in minutes. But the thing to remember is that when you love someone, danger to yourself does not matter. All you want to do is ensure that people you love are safe.

One thing I have always worried about is that can I stand up to my own principles of compassion and forgiveness. I preach compassion and forgiveness, to sometimes let things go and move on. I've always wondered if I can stand true to it. The fact that I have absolutely no anger or hard feelings, that I would want to cuddle the attacking lab sometime, and actually pray for the family to overcome their hardships has reassured me that I indeed am deep within a warm fuzzy person.

You do not look after the ones you love because you can afford to. You do so because you want to.

Monday, September 21, 2009

Poetry

Duniya banane wale ne ki
kaisin hasin gustakhiyan
hum jaise
nacheez
battamiz
hue tehzeeb walon par meherban

Sunday, September 20, 2009

A Mad Tea Party

America is a special country. The people in this nation are special indeed. They are so multifaceted with so many diverse interests, needs and cultures, its a true kaleidoscope of diversity. American citizens love to celebrate their diversity. In this desire to celebrate diversity, they create many a special occasions for festivities.

Rural America celebrates it produce, they have festivals surrounding their produce like corn festival, dairy festival, garlic festival, green bean festival, they have county fairs, farmers markets and all that good stuff. Urban America likes to celebrate their greed. They have goals on how many consumers they can suck dry and when they reach major milestones they have anniversaries, parties, celebrations, lots of well dressed debauchery and all that good stuff. Politicians and celebrities like to celebrate their fame, they make stuff like scandals and controversies happen, and then call massive conferences to celebrate freedom of babbling like brook.

Truly, the spirit of the American is unsurpassed. But what of the common man. What is an ordinary American like me to celebrate. Thanks to some really compassionate concerned Americans we have recently been gifted the Official First National American Outburst Week. Because we have so much shit in our heads that we just need to get it out.

It all began with Rep. Joe Wilson, a salt of the earth kind of guy from South Carolina who screamed 'You Lie' to President Barack Obama while he was speaking about health care reform. I'm really not sure who is the bigger hero. A president who dares to lie in front of millions of people or one who screams it out. I'm guessing the President would be foolhardy to take such a risk, so my vote goes to him. But in Joe's defense - we just need to get it out our system.

Then a few days later the ever so graceful Serena Williams just showed us what a classy lady she can be and why we are smitten by her etiquette and poise. A linesperson footfaulter her and she ever so politely waved her racket menacingly in her muscular arms and screamed 'I will fucking kill you'. I'm tempted to call her a sophisticated gorilla, but after what happened to Harbhajan Sing, I dare not. She is just a very large, muscular, strong, big, hefty, classy and lovely lady. You see we Americans cannot tolerate injustice towards us. We will fight for our rights.

Finally at the MTV Video Music Awards Kanye West just gave us the highlight of the week. A historic moment for the nation. He stepped on stage when Taylor Swift was giving her acceptance speech and interrupted her, only to say that Beyonce deserved the award. Freedom of Speech is cherished by us Americans. Douche bags, ass holes, pricks and dicks do not exist in our nation. There are only patriots who speak their mind in the true spirit of a free American and there are traitors who remain silent letting the country bleed to death, by giving awards to Taylor Swift.

Actually what makes this outburst week even more special is that it involves a Tea Party. Hold your horsies laddie, coming from a tea and biscuit culture, I almost came in my pants at the thought of an official tea party. There is no tea in American tea parties. Apparently, there is no party either unless by party you mean political. What else would you expect from a nation that still orders tea tea at the coffee shop and does really feel the need to know that chai means tea.

Usually, these parties involve destroying some tea. I almost get a heart attack thinking of all the waste at Boston. Thankfully, this time around there was no tea really. It was just like a scene out of wonderland really. A few really cooky people gathered around at the party called by Glenn Beck who is the Mad Hatter. Not just any hatter who is mad as a hatter, but a hatter who madder than someone mad as a hatter. We had some March Hares hopping about screaming that we are running out of time, but were not exactly sure time for what - just that it was running out. We had some sleepy little dormice who nodded with their glassy eyes and composed some new age haikus centered around medicine. I think there was some hullaballo about some knave stealing tax tarts and off with their heads. I'm not positive if they are planning to go all French and guillotine people. But you sure cannot put things beyond Mad Mad occults like this.

Someone online did have an imagination like I do. Well folks this is America. Go have an outburst. Yell at your neighbor for living next door or chew your kids out for breathing. After all its not sense and doing the right thing that matters. Self expression is the key.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Health Care Reform

Or Fokken Americans!!!

I lost my supervisory job because the company shifted their call centers to Makati.

Unlike some I do not blame the Filipinos. I've spoken to some of my replacements in Makati. They are really nice hardworking people. Their attendance and performance is better too. I do not even blame the business, businesses are here to make money and improve efficiencies.

Fokken Americans and their fokken crappy work ethic. Fokken Americans and their fokken eternal fear of socialism that business regulation is out of the question.

I could not afford the health care through my work, so I purchased private individual health insurance.

I do not blame the insurance companies, they are here for profits. I do not blame my company, it is a small business and cannot afford low cost health insurance like the big boys. It is a farm operation and there are risks, which unfortunately even the office folk have to bear the cost off.

Fokken Americans and for letting the government ignore small businesses. Fokken Americans and their fokken attitudes to small town farmers and their ignorance and apathy towards companies looting rural America.

My wages were cut by 5% in light of the recession.

I was lucky not to be laid of again. I do not blame the company. Times are rough, but they kept me despite being the new one and least experienced in a specialized industry. They are giving me a lot of training and development opportunities as they can. Thank God for the Obama government and their stimulus funds towards stormwater management and green business.

Fokken Americans for voting a fokken government that fought a fokken worthless war for fokken selfish reasons and took the fokken country and its economy down the drain.

My insurance premium will be increasing 33% this November. If this continues, it will eventually become unaffordable.

I do not blame the insurance company. They work in a capitalist environment and are out to make profits. I do not blame the pharmaceutical companies for overcharging for medications because, they legally can and why should they not. I do not blame everyone who works in an inefficient and selfish system that literally rapes the citizens of this country - because they are allowed to and people feel it is acceptable to do so.

Fokken Americans and their resistance to reform. Fokken Americans and their irrational occultic fears of public health care. Fokken Americans who think Europe, Canada and the rest of the fokken world are just fokken dumb shit for what they do. Fokken Americans for thinking that government option would ruin our system. Fokken Americans for they probably think I am a fokken lazy immigrant on welfare who deserves to die for lack of health care if I cannot afford to pay the premiums.

Fokken Americans because I am Asian and I am magic and know how to manage my expenses to make ends meet despite this epic rip off. Fokken Americans because if this was Fokken you, you would be Fokken screwed for your life. Yet I hope this would never befall you and am actually open to the idea of spending more of my hard earned money that comes from 40+ hours a week including grueling labor in the heat and dirt to pay for a better system so that no human being ever be ripped of or be denied of basic rights and care. I'm such a fokken retard and softie.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Profiling 101

I'm quite miffed that they detained Shahrukh Khan at the airport for hours. Don't get me wrong, while I am a fan - I am not upset that they detained the next best thing to God. I'm more perturbed by the logic of the detention. You see I'm half Hindu and half Good Jew (read Gujju). I'm with millions of people across the globe, some who really are Good Jews for whom the KKK forms the holy trinity. My KKK is Shahrukh (K)han , Aamir (K)han and Salman (K)han. Of course its a flexible cult some people interchange one with Saif (K). Some like their (K)hans (K)apoored.

The media keeps comparing Shahrukh Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise, but in the truest sense it would be like frisking Jesus Christ at an airport. Maybe thats a bit too far, but I'm sure people would not approve if the Pope ever were to be detained. The KKK are like our hope, dope and pope in one. So you see the gravity. The thing is I would strap dynamite to myself and blow myself up for Shahrukh and so would millions of other people. Its a good thing we are a very tolerant group of people. If not can you imagine people driving their cars into cellphone towers? Imagine the mass chaos when thousands of turbulent teens can no longer type, twitter and text on their phones. So you can see why I am miffed. This utter lack of intelligence almost brought about the end of days.

Anyway this was not the intent of this rant. It was all said and done. The world was saved from doom and I've tucked away my dynamite for a more pressing sacrifice. However, the repercussions of any near catastrophe are overwhelming. People have bounced of many ideas to retaliate. One idea that I am particularly fond of is detaining Hollywood celebrities for questioning. Since we have no real questions or reasons we have to come up with excuses. I'm really up for Tom Cruise being detained for an improptu Seedhi Baat on Scientology, or maybe they can do some sansanati khulasa on Lady Gaga, if its Oprah we can ship our entire government for some therapy. It is not a bad idea at all.

Now some retaliations were down right confuzzling. Case in point - they burnt an effigy of Obama somewhere in Bihar. He's a black man, his father is a Muslim, he just got slammed for defending another black man - but he is the reason why Shahrukh was detained and there is some sort of glorious justice in burning his effigy to make a point. Up until the burning of Bush and Cheney effigies I was thrilled and ecstatic that Indians were brilliant to see what a bunch of scoundrels Republicans are. Now I am having serious doubts about their intellect.

As far as I can see, they are no more or less profilers than the security in American airports. The security here sees the color of your skin and pulls you aside to frisk you. Intelligence could be smarter and make security and air travel more efficient with better system of checks than lets harass all those who look remotely Middle Eastern. Similarly, these citizens and politicians in India hear USA and make judgments on you. Something goes wrong, blame Americans. Shahrukh is detained, blame Americans as if the entire country is engaged in one big conspiracy to disgrace the next best thing to God. Heck our President could be a black blind paraplegic Muslim lesbian and they would still burn effigies because she is the President of the United States. Apparently the President of the United States has some sort of moral, legal, social and come what may obligation for the welfare of Indians across the globe. No wonder Bush went senile from day one, thats a tough job.

Anyway, thats the moral of the story - when you have nothing to do worthwile - pick someone to harass and profile. I'm smart, witty and awesome and I shall profile and demean all those less intelligent and ask them stupid question.

Heres a crash course in profiling. Profiling 101. Its really easy, you just have to convince yourself that someone ought to be blamed for everything and treat them suspiciously because they might do something blameworthy.

Step 1: Pick one or more nouns from 'A' and hate them for one or more reasons on 'B'

A: Niggers, Kikes, Faggots, Micks, Pakkies, Hoosiers, Rednecks, Blondes, Left Handers, Elvis Impersonators, People named Bob (I mean you an really put anyone here, heck you could even say everyone you know)

B: stupid, smelly, so gay, ugly, fugly, creepy, poor, rich, liar, thief, stole your job, slept with your wife, are actually smarter better and prettier than you are (You can make it up really, you can hate Bobs because the sky is blue)

Step 2: Throw a big fit hue and cry when you see someone else following step 1. Show moral superiority and tell them that they ought to grow up and see the light.


Now as I teach you to profile, our great intelligence is going to start spying on me to see where I hid my dynamite. They think I'm serious, and they think this statement is a ploy to throw them off. Don't do this on your blog. The intelligence is not that intelligent, and they don't get humor. I hear they do not laugh. They are lean mean killing machines and I just made myself likely to be shot by CIA sniper.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

The Many Moods of Rain

Ah, the rainfall. A simple downpour of water from the skies. An ordinary event explained in textbooks. Yet, its a fascinating, mysterious and somewhat elusive phenomenon, that evokes so many moods and ambiances.

First there is the joy of the first rainfall. The scorching parched earth welcomes the sprays of monsoon into its bosom, like a mother embracing the long lost child. It fills the atmosphere with that delicate yet robust earthy scent, that makes every person feel that loving embrace. People smile in contentment as the cooling veils of water, relieve them from the harsh beating heat of the summer sun. Even a passing shower can light up the mood on an entire sunbeaten town.

Then there that inexplicable feeling swept in by the rains, that gives you butterflies in your stomach. It's a sweet and savory tantalizing mood evoked by the drizzles in the atmosphere. There is some strange naughty but nice sensation of the cool droplets trickling down from your wet locks. It is a strange feeling being hugged by your moist clothes as tiny rivulets flow across your skin. While there is a very hormonal twinge to it, it still brings out the child in you, making grown men and women catch a drop on their tongue, jump through the puddles, loose their inhibitions and kick soccer under the deluge.

Perhaps its this inexplicable feeling that makes the rain so romantic. There is just something incredibly romantic in wading through knee deep floodwaters with someone you care for. I am not sure exactly, how and why, but walking silently through the curtains of rainfall just seem to add so many more layers of depth to any relationship. You just walk silently, soaking in the rain, sometimes not even acknowledging the other, and still manage to have some deeper level of conversation. Monsoon has the power to make you fall in love again and again.

Yet at the same time there is something incredibly sad and painful about the rain. Every now and the the clouds are not bearers of joy or romance, but are dark messengers of a heartbreaking tale of unrequited or unfulfilled love. The fluffy little havens of bliss are transformed into stern colossal towers that cloak the entire world in a gloom of misery. You do not know why, but you feel sad knowing someone, somewhere is aching in their heart and you think of all the things that make your own heart ache.

There is something thunderous and mighty about dark rainclouds. Their larger than life booming presence serves as a reminder of your insignificance and slightness in the whole scheme of things. It asks who are you to deserve all that joy, what have you done on this planet. The storms drown you in their loud claps and earth shaking din.

Deep down in the sadness, you still live, love and hope. For through it all electric flashes of hope streak through the skies, reminding you that all will be good in due time. You know that the darkness will pass and the sun will shine. A colored spectacle unveils itself reminding you that all hope is not in vain. The world eagerly awaits the next rainfall, eagerly anticipating what moods it will bear this time.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Bringing Desi Back

One of my favorite lunch box items back in my school days were chappatti rolls. Chappatti is an Indian unleavened bread. They are very much like tortillas, but made of wheat instead of corn. Normally chappatti is not served as a roll. However, moms would spread jam or curry or pieces of meat/veggies and roll them up to make handy rolls on the go. As we grow older we wean away from rolls to the more traditional ways of eating our desi food. But the nostalgia of old times remains.

This nostalgia was always revived when our American friends would come over. They love chappattis. After all who would not love soft hot of the stove warm chappattis, with a little drizzle of clarified butter. Made from whole wheat flour they are mighty flavorful and delicious on their own.

Now Americans are unable to eat with their hands, let alone break off bits of chappattis to eat them in the traditional manner. So they would do to chappattis, what they know best. They would roll it up with our curries, rice etc just like burritos. In many parts of the Caribbean this is a traditional and popular meal on the go. Several road side carts and small cafes will serve rolls stuffed with curry called 'roti'. In fact so popular is roti as a whole dish, that people are unaware that roti or chappatti is just the Hindi name for the outer shell that holds the stuffing.

My dad has always joked that we should quit our jobs and start selling such rolls on the go as fast food in the mall. While we laugh and brush him aside, at the back of our minds we have always secretly desired that someday – someday these desi rolls will be just as common as Chinese take out or Taco Bell.

So imagine my utter delight when I discovered that some Indian brands of foods have started selling frozen desi rolls. There are so many stuffing flavors to choose from like chole, paneer chilli, achari aloo, palak paneer, chicken tikka. Of course not as delicious as mom's hot homemade delicacies, this is heaven in a roll for desis. What I loved about it is that the proportions in the roll are just right. Delightfully flavorful, yet not soggy or mushy.

Someday, some Indian entrepreneur, as crazy as my father will rent a cart in the mall and sell rotis just like they do in the Windies. Someday, I know I will stop by an Indian fast-food place and order a Number 5 with a side of mango lassi. The guy at the counter will slide my plate over and beam, his heavy accent joyfully echoing “Thank You! Come Again!”

Now about the very same time that I was reveling in desi rolls and fantasizing about exotic desi eateries, another aspect of me was fuming. My mind was seething, and I wanted to go over and bitch slap this stupid woman I met.

A customer I had been working with on the phone had stopped by at our office to pick up a plant order for the City. I went up to help her load the plants. She was a regular hippie type of plant lady. I thought she was batty but nice, until she opened her mouth. She told me that I was not how she pictured. Apparently, she imagined me as having long hair, wearing long flowing colorful skirts, patterned clothes and in her own words 'more exotic looking'.

Ugh! Bitch! I am from a different country, but I am not some exotic creature. Besides, I've lived here for years. I'm just an ordinary American what else did you expect. Fuck you exotic plant hippie, with your delusions of being worldly aware. What the fuck do you know? Who are you to assume how I should look? You do not even know me well enough to share that.

I'm one of the most politically incorrect people ever, so it's amusing and amazing that someone touched my raw nerve in this manner. I've been told various things about my appearance that I should take offense to, but am cool with it. I think I'm not offended because most people draw conclusions from my appearance. This one was an assumption. A very incorrect assumption. I'm offended that someone in this day and age pictures an Indian to be 'exotic looking'. Sans the mocha skin, an Indian looks like just any other person. Forget in the states, most Indians back home too will dress casually in jeans and tees. Indian women will cut their hair short and wear masculine clothing. See if someone assumed a 'saree' or 'salwar kameez', I would not be as offended because at least they are aware of what traditional everyday attire in India is, but then again how many young Indians stick out in the states unless it is a special occasion.

Ugh! This totally frustrates me so. Worst thing is, instead of sounding off like I usually would – I have to burn within with my anger and rage. Unfortunately, this is a customer and not a lay person I could bitch slap or chew of to death. Someday, though someday I will get my revenge.

PS: I am not completely averse to being 'exotic', if you get my drift. I'll be bringing Desi Back.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

My Dirty Little Secret

Alright, it is not really a dirty little secret. It is more of an amusing, funny, silly kind of secret. Just like the song, dirty little has a catchier ring to it. So what is the secret?

Well my little secret is my knee. My mangled, painful, hobbling, inflamed little knee. Most people really do not enjoy their injuries. Me on the other hand have been enjoying my injury in some ways. Let's just call it a bittersweet memory. Hidden within every painful spasm is a pleasant peaceful feeling, a feeling that I do not understand but enjoy very much. I actually weaned of my meds pretty quickly, just to see how long I could endure the pain and then would become delirious with pain.

Now do not get me wrong here, I am no masochist. I absolutely do not derive any pleasure from pain. In fact I am a big baby who cringes and whimpers at the notion of pain. It just so happens this pain is somewhat endearing in its own way. Not for the pain it causes, but for how it happened. Its kind of an epic pain in the making. How many people miss three whole stairs and fall. I mean three whole stairs in their own house. Three whole stairs in their own house, on which they go up and down a zillion times a day.

What were you thinking? Thats what most people ask me. I smile to myself and laugh a little inside. Exactly! What the fuck was I thinking. Initially, I was miffed. I was very upset and cried like a baby. Then I asked myself 'What the fuck was I thinking'. The funny thing is, I was lost in thought, while climbing down the stairs. When the pain subsided, I remembered what I was thinking and almost burst out laughing.

I wish I could tell you what I was thinking, because you would probably have a little bit of a snicker too. Some who know me, would be like Oh RTH, that is so naively, innocently and stupidly. Trust someone like you to dwell on that, and mangle your knee. Oh dear, If I were what I was thinking about it would be quite empowering to my narcissistic ego and would be glad to have knee mangling down my belt of things to do. The irony of it is a tad bit empowering in its own way.

Nevertheless, this painful little injury is just a simple little reminder, that life is to be enjoyed. A reminder in responsibility and the consequences of irresponsible behavior. A reminder of irresponsibilty and the liberation of irresponsible behavior. A reminder that its pointless to dwell on the past and mull over the future. A reminder of the good times to keep with me.

I'm able to walk pretty briskly now. It is healing, but it has not healed the best. My mom is quite concerned that if I'm not putting enough effort and I may have a twist or a wee limp in my step for eternity. While I do not relish the thought of having that for the rest of my life, but if so it must be God's little way of tying a permanent string on my finger. I have a very poor habit of shutting out and blacking out things and never emerging wiser. Perhaps this was God's little reminder to grow up and wisen up a bit. Perhaps this is a little secret I have to deal with for a longer time.

Trust me to be so deeply thoughtful about a mangled knee. Most likely, its just a stupid fall. Trust me to be so immersed in. But what was I thinking? And I was thinking, and its my fault. Someday, some people will be in on my little secret. They will snicker and giggle, all this from - THAT. I'll just shrug and smile. Oh well thats me.

Oh by the way, I hope you were not really hoping to be in on the secret, for then it would cease being one.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Strings

Is not just a theory about the universe
Can be something you stitch with
Maybe stronger than blood and weaker than water
Are vital to the functioning of a pulley
Make interesting concepts for art
Do not know you or me
Attached, clamped, tied down in place
Piercing, controlling, every inch of the body
Thats what you hold in your hand
Could you pull harder now please
The slack is painful

Thursday, June 25, 2009

R.I.P.

Sometimes we like to believe that we are stronger than we are. That nothing can move us or break us down. We are convinced we are invincible, harder than a rock. Death is a painful lesson that saves us from these delusions. It is amazing how something so terrifying can come with such wondrous lessons, a reminder that there are those people in this world who care. There are those people who made a difference, people who left an indelible imprint behind upon the entire world. These are the people who leave us behind to go to a better place. You feel a void in your life. It is baffling how someone you never even knew, can make such an impact.

The last I cried for a stranger was on August 31st 1997, and I did so again on the 25th day of June 2009.

R.I.P Michael Jackson

Thursday, June 18, 2009

A Good Day

People do the strangest things. This morning, I got on the beltline and was as usual racing away to work. Yes, I was speeding and thats my bad, but who doesn't. Besides, 60 mph in a 55 zone is not that bad. Well as it happens, I was behind this car who was kind of going slow with enough room to run a barge between her and the car ahead. I followed with ants in my pants, anxious about the barge. It is improper to overtake from the right and I never do so, unless absolutely necesscary. Drive time traffic is polite and people move out if they are blocking traffic.

Finally she signalled changing lanes. Relieved, I hit the gas a bit eager to run the barge. All of a sudden the bitch hits her brakes with her car half in one lane half in another with no freaking reason to do so. There was no car merging ahead of her. I was like what the fuck and tapped my brakes. When she finally decided to shift lanes, I overtook her curiously glancing to the right to see if some senile geriatric was driving the car. It's some young chick, glaring at me. I can't hear her but her lips said "You better watch out".

"What the fuck bitch!". You may think I was tailgating, but had I been there was no way I could have avoided hitting her. I mean she slammed the brakes right in the middle of a lane change. I did not even slam, I was able to tap and slow down with enough distance to spare. I'm still baffled on what she was trying to prove. I mean even if someone is tailgating you, slamming the brakes in the midst of a lane shift is pure shitty driving. You can slam your brakes in your lane, flick them off, but you don't slam the brakes in the middle of a lane change. You now risk two lanes being blocked due to your stupidity. Normally, I have immense amounts of road rage, which is spent swearing under my breath my whole drive. Today, I was just confuzzled on what people think.

I hope she swerves of into the median and totals her car, and I can drive by and watch. Haha. No I would not wish harm on anyone, just the sheer and utter destruction of the car.

Now for the late evening dish. I am talking my dog for a walk. We have walked half an hour, she has done her business long back. I cleaned up and tossed it in the garbage already. In the final ten minute leg, Aria stops to pee. Now she is a female, so she does not lift her leg. She squats. Kind of looks like she is pooping, but the back is straight in a pee squat, it arches in a poop squat. Also unlike male dogs, female dogs do not mark scents everywhere, they kind of do it all at once. So she is squatting for a while.

When she is done we continue walking. Now there was this geriatric standing in a balcony with his walker watching us. As I start walking he mumbles something which sounds like "Are you going to pick that up?". I'm not sure exactly, I'm kind of deaf...so I keep walking. He raises his voice "Are you going to pick that up?". I'm like "Sir, she peed, she did not poop".

Although, in general I must say it was a good day. I took a field trip at work and travelled to see the greenhouse and fields. Saw what how plants are seeded and transplanted. Watched Prairie Smoke being hand harvested and got treated to a free meal. To top it off no calls from crazy plant ladies either.

Even if you run into bitches, it always evens out to a good day.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

So you think you can - Generation Pussy?

There was generation X, Y, and Z. Now the next breed of children that our world is raising can perhaps best be described as generation pussy. This is a strange world that we live in in, with reality TV shows and all that jazz. Ten years ago things were looking quite good, and now all of a sudden we are on this surreal detour.

We live in a world where text messaging is the most active and energetic sport children engage in. Leading a guild in World of Warcraft apparently establishes leadership experience. It is not important if you know what DNA stands for or what H2O is, as long as you can cipher out words such as OMFG, ROTFLMAO and such. As we can see this definitely is not the generation that is going to sustain the human population in apocalyptic times. In fact this is the very generation that will bring the apocalypse through their meddlings with Cyberdine systems.

However, my issue with them can be dealt with later. My pressign concern at the moment is the parent generation of generation pussy. Of course I perhaps fall in this parent generation, as a lot of my peers are mayhap parenting. But, since I have no degraded mother earth with more burdens, I feel I am entitled to the priviliges of scorning disdainfully at irresponsible parenthood.

Case in point - reality shows with children. I usually do not watch many reality shows. Ok, I do watch Indian Idol, Dance Indian Dance, Jhalak Dikhlaa Jaa - and food network shows like Chopped and Iron Chef. But I'm not into it like the crazies.

So recently, I watched Sa Re Ga Ma Pa little champs. Now I have to admit that some of the kids blew my mind and left my jaw dropping in awe. But for the most part, I hid under the covers wondering what atrocity on screen was screaming like the rejected love child of a banshee and a cat with a sore throat. It came as no surprise that the judge left screaming 'save me'.

Now some people call that making fun of children. But tell me, how do you tell a child that they frighten you more than Linda Blair in the Exorcist and you'd rather have them spiderwalk and throw up on you instead of opening their mouths. How do you react when the best thing for the good of the world is to hand the parents a lifetime supply of really high quality duct tape.

A lot of people feel that young children should be handled with kid gloves and not receive such treatment. Fair enough I say, because what the fuck were the parents thinking. When I try to sing, my entire family tackles me down and attempts to seal my mouth. How someone who makes me sound like an angel with a silky voice and honeyed tongue, is allowed to sing on public television by their own parents. If it was my child, I would have established a blockade to prevent my child from embarassing themselves.

It is not the public embarassment that bothers me, but the expectation of people that these children ought to be coddled and not made fun of. I remember playing hockey. Every time we missed our hits, our coach would look up in the sky say sarcastically 'look there, the balls going to Jupiter'. If we were too slow or incompetent, the coach would scream on top of his lungs the choicest of animal names like saandh (bull) or suer (pig). They had no qualms calling our game raanti (of the jungle, uncivilized, not fit for humans).

There is a certain motivation in degradation. One of my finest games of badminton, was the result of degradation motivation. I was down 14-0, and all my friends were making fun off me. Worse, my own dad laughed at my horrendous position. I turned around and won that game.

Degradation works even for the sensitive souls, degradation can spark a fire within. The challenge of the coach is to find the right degradation and never push the limits. The challenge of the parent is to teach their child to seek inspiration in degradation. Of course us sports people have more balls than the average person, but still back in my day even the music teacher or dance teacher used such techniques.

Call me masochistic, but I miss the good old days when a teacher could insult me in class. When I could get rapped on the knuckles or had an erasor thrown at me for misbehaving. When punishment was kneeling in the hot sun, clearing pebbles of the soccer field and such meaningful work. Not this pussyish one hour detention business. What the heck, we think we can discipline teens sending them in the corner which is like a big hall. I miss the days when people did not feel obligated to waste their time on character destroying niceties. None of this pussyish nonsense of treating kids like they were fragile ice sculptures in the middle of an Arabic summer afternoon.

I maybe harsh, but I tell it like it is....like it was meant to be. I am NOT generation pussy like some of you out there.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

The truth about homosexuality

This Saturday we had a flyer stuck into our mailbox. It was quite a promising looking piece of paper. Some kind hearted church group was generous enough to spend hard earned money to print thousands of these little papers so that we all should know the truth. It was very hot that day too. They must have walked down the street with such determination to pass on God's message.

I was thrilled and ecstatic. It's not everyday you hear from God. See God does not talk to unimportant people. Thats why we unimportant people are unaware of God's wishes. So we need kind hearted church groups to pass on the message.

My sister was the one who picked it first, so she sat down to read first. I was appalled to see her start ripping it apart. Such disrespect for a message from God. Then she explained that the paper must have been exposed to the rain Thursday night. The glue had spread all over sealing it shut and impossible to open without ripping it to shreds.

Convinced that a second set of hands with more conviction would do the trick, I took it in my own hands. Jesus Fucking Christ, it wouldn't open. It was really frustrating. Like having a whore, who would not spread her legs even though you paid the full price. Such disappointing behavior for a message from God.

That evening when I took my dog for a walk she found a piece of paper in a pile of lawn clippings. When I said drop it, she spat it out right away as if she just had molten plastic and poop souffle in her mouth. Even that half crushed pine cone seemed to have been more exciting. If you know my dog, you know that she does not spit things back out that easy.

My joy knew no bounds. It was an actual dry readable copy of God's message. The truth about homosexuality. However, I was very disappointed when I finally read it. So many untruths and lies. And I'm not just talking about the fact that gays will burn in hell, and homosexuality is a beastly filthy habit, because these things are a scientifically proven fact. The same guy who proved the existance of God, heaven and hell proved these. I would not question such a wise man. What bothers me is the lies about our founding fathers, the constitution, the laws of the land. I just studied American government and politics and could not take the lies.

Then I thought to myself......

The heavens unleashed rain on these flyers to make them unreadable.

The only readable copy I could find was discarded with a pile of lawn clippings and almost chewed by a dog.

Even the dog spat it out, and I trust their instints.

I think the heavens are trying to tell me something. This is not a message from God, but a bunch of lies. God saved my neighborhood from the lies, but God is busy....so you may have to save yourself.

The next time someone sends you a flyer claiming to tell you the truth about homoexuality. Letting you know why the recent surge to grant equitable marriage rights to all is absolutely, totally wrong. They will claim to be passing on God's message.......but is it really what God wants us to hear.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Funnier Said than done....

A while back my friend and I came up with the brilliant concept of a book called 'Cooking with Baby'. It was inspired by the Family Circle and Food Network's cooking with kids week. However, you see it was not about cooking with baby, it was about cooking with baby. Like in baby as an ingredient. There, all you people with a soul just twisted your noses up in disgust. One of you pure minded people must have said a little prayer that I cook in hell fire for such a horrible inhumane idea.

Jesus! You really would not skewer a baby and stick it in the rotisserie would you. I'm not sure if I pity Jonathan Swift more for the criticism he endured or the people who took 'A modest proposal' seriously. The frustrating thing is that most people just don't get sarcasm and the likes or they take it too seriously.

Irony is the greatest weapon of rhetoric, and sarcasm is the sharpest blade in it's armory. Its a beautiful blade actually. Very small, very simple, extremely delicate and intricate. Unlike most weapons, sarcasm is not really to kill or severely wound. Its a quick sharp slice that merely reminds people of a simple little fact 'sharp objects cut'.

A lot of people get offended by sarcasm or take it as an insult. Some people take it that sarcastic people are being pig headed and obnoxious. Then there are the wannabes who think you are being sarcastic when you ask for a glass of water. Haha yeah right, you were soooo thirsty right, that you just had to ask for water.

Anyways, sarcasm ought to be taken for what its worth. It is a means of pointing out the absurdities in our life. A way of forcing us to rethink the way we think and reimagine the way we perceive the world. Stop taking it literally.

Cake or Death?

I call it the cake or death test in honor of Eddie Izzard, but its a test that I devised during my tenure as a supervisor to identify worthy people. Ask them "Can I poke you in the eye, with my pen?" The average human will react why, or tell you to stop being ridiculous, some may argue with you. If you are exerting authority like I did in my position, people will accuse you of abusing authority. Worthless simple minded people these lot are. As Mr. T would say, I pity the fool.

Here are three answers that I thought were gems, and highlight people who are worthy.

"Ok" That which yields is not always weak. The one who will willingly allow you to cause them harm, is a fatale to be watch for.

"How do you propose to get past my glasses" Awareness. One must be aware that people are not always capable of doing, what they propose to do. Don't judge the bite by the bark and vice versa.

"If you do that, I will ruin your teams performance stats?" Comeback. You can always renegotiate a status quo. No one is powerless, and there always is a bargaining chip.

So Cake or Death?

Its not whether you choose cake or death, its how you can overcome dichotomies.

As Kirk would say, there is no such thing as a no-win situation.

Monday, May 4, 2009

Curiouser & Curiouser

There are many reasons I want to be a millionaire. I just want to keep poking the bear. I doubt if the world would benefit from it though.

For one, I want to buy real estate. Single family homes to be precise. Then rent them out. When election comes, I'm going uproot all Democrat signs with Republicans and vice versa. For those who get smart on me, it will be Paris Hilton for President or something of that shizzle.

One of my life goals is to break down the hospital where I was born and build a temple in my honor there. The creative freedom to make my own God's is one of the most valuable lessons I learned in life. My mom and dad find this goal amusing. This will cause my sister who was also born there, demand the freedom to create her own God. My parents know very well that this is what I am hoping for. I single handedly want to boost the construction industry with people tearing and rebuilding.

I think I've also wanted to start a cult. Like a neo-pagan revival of some sorts. It will take a lot of pondering to determine which God of the Parthenon I want to favor. Perhaps I will fuck that and just start building large Parthenon across the world. I'm going to teach my children stories like the Minotaur, Perseus, The Fall of Troy, Hades & Persephone and act deeply offended at the schools who say these are just myths.

The best pleasure in life is not in poking the bear, but the way the bear roars as if you just sliced off his vitals. Humans, they grow so curiouser and curioser by the day.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Dr. RTH: Come Flu with me

Or how you will stop worrying about the swine flu and learn to love it.

Right now you are probably running around like chicken with your head cut off. There is a tickle in your throat, and you wonder is it here. That Mexican garbage collector was away for a week, you wonder if he had traveled to Mexico and back in a shipment of pigs to visit his family. You do not like the fact that Taco Bell has many shady Mexican employees, who could have been in Mexico sometime in their lifetime. So in short, you are afraid, very, very afraid.

Chillax! Don't worry, be happy.

Look at it this way

Unemployed people could die, that would drop unemployment rate. Maybe people will die and create jobs vacancies for the unemployment. That would also reduce unemployment rate. More importantly mother nature could do with less people.

No spring in your spring break on account of the economy. Now you can look forward to party in Cancun. Flights are cheap, hotels are cheap, and the beaches will be devoid of pesky teens. Yeah there is a risk of that flu thingie, but you will flu right through it.

After all its just a flu.....

And if it becomes a pandemic like those scary people say it will be

You could start a sweatshop making fake green masks. Hopefully, the person who could sue you will die. Maybe you can start a prayer circle and charge for it. You could start your own voodoo medical practice. Crush random leaves and berries and infuse them with teas as remedies. If you are Christian blame it on the homosexuals. Its all because Iowa allowed those fags to marry. If you are Nazi blame it on Obama. Its all because we have a black president. If you are American blame it on the Indian elections. No country can host democratic elections that are larger than USA without the permission of our great nation. This is Gods way of punishing our lack of oversight.

And if it becomes really bad like the black death

It will be just like the disaster movies. If only viruses would mutate to create flesh eating zombies and bloodsucking vampires. Then we tote our guns and have some kick ass fun. Anyways we could start creating catacombs under our cities. We could create intricate patterns with skulls that have no meaning. Write nonsensical graffiti on the wall. Invent strange burial rituals and hope that the future generations will have their minds totally fucked trying to decipher them.

Hopefully, by this time the economy is crashed and is in a shit pile. Life is all good as we walk out every day gather some wood and berries, toast a squirrel on the fire and enjoy some moonshine. Lather rinse repeat.

Disclaimer: Dr. RTH was born and brought up in Bombay. RTH water from the taps, ate food off the streets (sometimes off the asphalt too), RTH & friends shared bottles, plates, stuff and all sorts of cooties all the time. RTH school abscence record has a bout of influenza every quarter.
RTH can consume nuclear waste and have enough energy to break out into a mass choregraphed Bollywood dance routine. RTH can fly like a bird, moo like a cow, eat like a pig and pretend to be human. RTH superhuman powers and exposure to all sorts of germs give her immunity. RTH gets influenza two to three times a year and recovers. Influezna is a dear part of RTH's flesh and blood.

Moral of the story: Stop living in a fucking bubble. Your immune system needs practice before it takes on the big boys like swine flu. If you have no training, the big boys like swine flu will kick your ass and you will be fucked. Train your immune system - forget to wash your hands, let your kids sneeze in your face, eat more Taco Bell, forget to wash your glasses, share food of a plate with a stranger, play beer pong, make out with someone who is down with the flu. Share the germ, spread the love.

Exception: Hand sanitizers cos they are cool and funky and feel awesome on your hands.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Dear Prom Committe

I wanted to be honest with you and let you know that your theme of Victorian Masquerade for the senior prom is quite lame. Many people do not know who Victor and Masquer are, so they following will not be attending their senior prom because of the lame theme you have chosen.

Bishie_Boi (Cosplay Club)
One_Ring (LOTR Fan Club)
Iwannafuckcaptainjameskirk (Star Wars Fan Club)
Ho_Down (Country Club)
Yellow_Submarine (Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club)
Razor_Ramon (YMCA)
VW_2 (Hippie Club)
MaryPickford (Roaring Twenties Club)
Avada_Kedarva (Club Voldemort)
Sexy_Wolf (Club Lupin)
I_LOVE_FELTON (Club Draco)
HarryPotter (Club Harry)
Wizards=Sin (The Christians against Harry Potter Club)

I understand that the prom committee conducted a student poll and many of us did not participate to let you know what theme we wanted. However, that is besides the point. I know Victorian costumes are expensive. But cost is not the matter here. I would have spent money to buy a Utena or Spock outfit, but whats the point if my friends cannot be Anthy or Kirk. We could all collectively dress like Victor's Ian, but that is besides the point too.

I know as editor of the school paper I promised a full page advertisement for the prom. But only if the democratically chosen theme was one that my friends agreed on. But the school paper is not the point here.

I am considering organizing my own anti-prom dance for people who cannot attend your lame prom. All I need to do is get 50% of these people to agree to one theme. My democratic processes will be more betterly democratic than yours. I think it might be Harry Potter, But Harry Potter and Voldemort do not get along. But that is also besides the point.

So I don't know what the point really is, but thats beside the point to. So consider this as an anti RSVP to your lame invitation.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

The Flight of the Thornbird

The young fledgling soared across the sky in search of the perfect thorn. It knew not what a thorn was. No clue on how to find it or what it looked like. Yet the fledgling flew confident of finding its destination. To find that perfect thorn that would pierce its heart and enable it to fill the skies with the most beautiful melody. A song fit for the God's of the sun and stars.

One day it came across, a jagged edge from the mountains reaching out towards the skies. The Thornbird found itself fascinated and drawn. It knew not if it was a thorn, but it sure filled its heart with a magical song waiting to be heard. Should it sweep down and pierce the heart the fledgling wondered. However, the flock cried out, "Oh young fledgling, thats not a thorn, its just a rock". The song in its heart, was drowned out by a painful echo of shattering cliffs. "If you were not a rock, but a thorn, I would sing my heart's song for you" cried the fledgling and flew on.

The fledgling now a young bird, flew into an old oak savanna. Somewhere in the vast expanse of these shrubs and bushes, lay hidden its thorn of destiny, the Thornbird was convinced. One day under the stately blue oak, amidst the auburn colors of red in the dirt, the bird spotted a tender spear. "Are you a thorn?" inquired the bird. The young spear trembled in the wind and whimpered "I know not who I am, I could be a thorn, but I'm just a child, I need to grow".

Resolute that it had found its thorn, the destiny of its life, the bird nested in the tall oak to nurture its thorn. It would swoop down over the animals that would threaten to trample the tender shoot, it pecked upon the insects that would pierce the roots of its thorn. Autumn and winter had past and the spring sun beat down on the savanna. The tender little spear spiralled four feet into the sky. On a summer's eve the spear called upon the thornbird. The Thornbird felt its heart swell with song. Melody drifted through the winds as it fluttered its wings in a gentle descent. Soon the sky would echo with song, as the thorn would spear its heart.

The tall spear and its companions rippled in the wind and shimmered green and gold. Spoke the spear softly "Dear bird, I thank you for your love and affection. I wish I were a thorn, but I am but a mere needle of grass. I want to stand stiff and true, and pierce your heart with my blade. But I am afraid that I cannot do it, for I am just a needle of grass and I would bend and break"

Tears filled its eyes as the bird let out a cry and flew to the skies. Wildly flapping its wings, the Thornbird flew for days. Never stopping for wind, rain or storm. It flew through the wooded forests, and across burning prairies. It flew over mossy streams and crystalline lakes. It flew over barren sands and lush meadows.

The Thornbird was a mature bird now. It had flown across the world in vain searching for its thorn. It now fluttered aimlessly through the shady forest singing the songs of its journey. It sang songs of the chakor that swam up in the moonlight, striving to reach the moon someday. It sang songs about the noble gryphon selflessly protecting the lands. It sang of the self sacrificing phoenix that would emerge from its own ashes.

One day the Thornbird was pecking the ground for worms and seed, when it came across an unusual seedling. Dark and smooth like an onyx with a bright yellow eye. A yellow tendril scratched the earth trying to dig into the earth as the wind cruelly pried it away. Taking pity on the seedling, picked it up in its beak and flew into a clearing. It pecked a hole in the ground and gently dropped it in.

"Thanks!" cried the seedling "My name is Acacia, I come from a beautiful land, far far away in the heart of the dark continent. The winds never like the seeds of a strange land taking root amidst its whispering pines". The Thornbird chirped joyfully "Fear not dear Acacia, the wind dares not blow here, it fears the tall cliffs here".

The Thornbird and Acacia soon became friends. They shared stories of their travels and adventures. The Thornbird sang about its adventures, while Acacia unveiled the wondrous tales of mystique and magic in the dark continent". In the company of the Thornbird Acacia grew taller and stronger.

Then one day Acacia stopped growing and began to wither away. First the Thornbird approached the cliffs "Oh great cliffs, have you betrayed your song let the winds breakdown my friend". "We stand true and strong" retorted the cliffs "The winds chip at us and destroy our glory, but we stand tall and do not let them through" Then the Thornbird chided the gazelles "I fly through the skies to find you the most fragrant berries, yet you feed on my friend". The leader of the gazelles leapt forward and said "Thornbird, we would never betray our true friend. I'm hurt that you chide us for my flock would never feed on a thorn tree"

"A thorn tree" the bird exclaimed in alarm, flapping its wings hard flew to its beloved Acacia. How could it have not known. The bird may have given up on destiny, but destiny had not given up on the bird. How fitting that the most beautiful song of them all, be sung for its beloved Acacia. "Acacia, my love" the bird chirped "You cannot wither away, you have to grow strong and tall for me. For it is in your thorns, I shall pierce my heart and sing you the most beautiful song in the world. I can feel the melody swelling in my heart. You have heard the song of the Gryphon and Chakor, of doves and eagles, of songbirds across the world, but the song that will burst out with the prick of your thorn is unlike any you have ever heard before".

"My friend Thornbird" replied Acacia "that is what I fear. I am a thorn tree and you are a thornbid. Destiny has written us to be. However, friend as much as my branches yearn to grow and pierce your heart to revel in the song that was made for me; I do love all the songs you sing to me. The song of the gryphon, the chakor, the doves, eagles and the songbirds. I cannot bear a world without these melodious songs lighting up everyday. I have no care for the ultimate song written by destiny for me, I only want my Thornbird to be with me forever. I shall not grow to bear thorn"

"But you shall die if you refuse to grow, and I shall have no one to sing. Beloved Acacia, if I promise I shall never pierce my heart upon your thorn, would you please grow and live for me" cried the Thornbird.

So Acacia the thorntree grew tall and strong. Amidst her delicate yellow flowers, that filled the air with sweet fragrance of the frothy white nile, she grew dark and beautiful deadly thorns. The Thornbird looked at them with longing. Its heart ached to have the thorn pierce through its flesh. The Thornbird thought the agony of longing would drive it to insanity. Whenever it stood on Acacias branches to sing for her, it felt like jumping onto the alluring thorns. However, it always remembered its promise to Acacia. The Thornbird loved Acacia so much that it could never bear to break her heart.

Everytime temptation called, the thornbird would fill its heart with Acacia's love. One spring eve the Thornbird felt a temptation so dire, that it mustered up all the love and memories it had of Acacia. Then something unexpected and surprising happened. The Thornbirds felt its heart welling up with its magical song. Its wings flitted to the rhythm and its whole body was pulsating with the ultimate song. It felt a stab in the heart and soard to the skies filling the evening with the magical song of the Thornbird. The Thornbird flew across the forest singing its song of love for Acacia. The creatures of the forest began to dance to the song in a frenzy, the cliffs forgot to hold their own and crumbled letting the wind through. Even the mighty wind forgot its destruction and casually flew across the forest whistling its tune.

The Thornbird sang louder and heartier as it realized the most beautiful truth of its life. There was no need for a thorn, the song was always there in its heart. Acacia smiled at the broken upon her branch, the thorn that had accidentally grazed the chest of her Thornbird. She laughed at how she had misunderstood their destiny. The thorn had changed nothing at all. Once she was in the thornbird's heart, the thorn meant nothing at all.

Moral of the story: Sometimes you cannot help but sing? There is always a thorn in the side?
People actually read through stories about birds and trees? Have you heard this tale before? Please share what you learned, I am curious..............

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Powerless!!

There are those days you feel on top of the world, days filled with joy, love and hope. Then there are those days where you hurt. The fact that you are human makes you sick to the core and you want to hurl. An eerie feeling of desiring to crawl out of your own skin and vanish into nothing. That feeling where there is no good left, just bitter oblivion.

Today as I was surfing the news online, I came across a news article that made my heart ache and brought tears to my eyes. Everyday, I read stories about rapes, murders, war, crime, recession, depression and all that good stuff and I can sustain through without batting an eye. However, I am inherently flawed and this story took its toll.

Lucy a two year old Weimaraner was hit by a car after she slipped from her home. The driver did not give a damn and just drove on. That was not the worst though. Some moronic hero assuming himself to be some great gift of god thought it was in the best interest of Lucy to hit her with a hammer to bludgeon her to death. After suffering the beating she was shot by the sherrif's aide. Hopefully, the served as a soothing final respite from an excruciatingly prolonged and mayhap needless death. It just broke me down from within.

It ushered back painful memories as a twelve year old child, watching a hapless puppy being bludgeoned to death. Not with any club or ordinary stones, but a stick with nails. All because the dog was rabid. Sometimes on those bad nights we have, I still hear those heartwrenching yelps. I find myself seething with rage of all the passersby, who stood and watched.

I don't believe in altering fate. Whenever, people ask me what I would change in my life my answer is nothing. My life is perfect. However, if I really could have one shot at altering fate I would ask to go back to that fateful day. Have God grant my twelve year old self the courage to run out of the house, grab the stick from the man and whack him in the balls with it. If it the nails pierce my vitals, so be it.

We argue over administering lethal doses to terminally ill and pyschotically dangerous people, let alone beat them to death. We would not dream of bludgeoning a victim of a hit and run. I think the least we can do is let an animal die with dignity.

Although, I have to say there is some hope and fairness left in the cosmic justice. As horrible as it sounds, my seemingly innocent twelve year old soul took a lot of immense pleasure over the death of a human. A human who died all alone, far away from home on business. A human who suffered a massive heart attack, with no one to give a damn about it. A human who died and no one cared or noticed till the stench of his rotting corpse displeasured some noses. The force has an uncanny way of balancing itself.

Needless to say, I came home and wrapped myself around Aria giving her a big squeezing bear hug. As usual she was being a loud obnoxious pain and I told her off, but I still had to hold her close. I even kissed my Lucky Lee and the stinky Nikki Chan and the lazy fat ass Maxwell Fettucie.

As a human I know I am inherently flawed that my soul stirs for these animals more than it will for any human. I know its probably warped that I detest infants, and consider Aria as my beloved baby girl. But thats the way I am, and I truly believe that this is just another way how the force balances itself.

The truth too is there is something that you get back that no human can ever give or even has the capacity to give - Unconditional love. A pet does not care whether you are rich or poor, smart or stupid, important or nobody. No matter what happens whenever you come home they are always there waiting to say "I'm so glad your back. Welcome home. I love you. I missed you."

Seriously....how can you not fall in love with this adorable droopy face. I already feel much better now, because I am so lucky to have this family.

Monday, March 23, 2009

The American's Prayer

Our Obama who art in the Whitehouse
Hallowed be thy name
Thy govt come, thy will be done
In the South, as it is in the North
Give us this day our daily rebate
And forgive our bankruptcies as we forgive those who bankrupt against us
and lead us not into depression
but deliver us from debt
For thine is the country, the house, the senate, forever and ever, Abe-in

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Thats So Gay


There has been a big fuss over the use of referring to something as 'gay'. People gay and straight are coming forward to set the record straight. Saying 'Thats so gay' has become something wrong and disrespectful. People use 'gay' to replace terms like stupid, awful, ridiculous etc. I really get why 'That's so gay' is wrong. However, I think we are all barking up the wrong tree.

Seriously, whats the big deal though. Thats so gay. Say it like you mean it.

Bollywood - Thats so gay. Running around trees, running through the flowers, random song and dance sequences, bright colors, sensitive emotional well dressed dancing men and a generous helping of bromance. Thats like so totally gay. Not that I love Bollywood or homosexuals any less, its just that I love witticisms more.

Lap Dogs - Thats so gay. Tiny yippy yappy lil ones who would be a bite size snack for my big ol coonie, sticking out of leather purses or better yet jogging along with muscular men in shorts on a hot summer day. Thats like so totally gay. Not that I love dogs or jogging men any less, its just that I love witticisms more.

Why are we concerned with five year old kids saying thats so gay? Why are we not concerned about ye olde english poets who can no longer be happy and gay. Is it not disturbing that we live in a world where bright yellow daffodils, silvery moonlight, bright blue skies, flitting butterflies, singing meadow larks and fields of lupine just cannot be merrily gay anymore?

I think the first real crisis we faced as humanity is when we stole the blisfull gayness from hippy hoppy happy happyland. Gone are the days when a gay lad was womanizer womanizer gay womanizer oh oh he was oh oh he was. Could you imagine if Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers the gay divorcee today. It would be a back breaking, heart aching, eye sobbing Oscar winner about a heterosexual couples discovery of their true identity.

Whether homosexuals are gayer that straight people is unknown, because only marriage can be the true measure of human misery. But the transcend from happy to insult is quite a journey eh.

The problem with 'Thats so gay' is not with its usage. Its the colloquialism we have allowed to be attached to 'gay'. If the Beatles released Sgt. Pepper today, The Times should be able to say "Thats so gay", back in 1967 they gave a smashingly good review to what they referred to as a 'gay' album. The problem is that people have allowed 'gay' to become an insult.

Way back in the day during the second season of Indian Idol I made the error of referring to contestant NC Karunya as being so gay. The fact is that I am a huge fan of Karunya and rooted for him all along. I just thought he had that quality like Chandler. People pounded on me for insulting Karunya. I was like hey wait a minute, 'gay' is not an insult. The problem was that people thought that there was something wrong in being gay, and it was insulting to be gay.

Homophibic elements have made 'gay' become an insult. Thats so Gay, which could have been neutral or positive has become negative. By going all gay on people who say thats so gay all we do is point out that gay is being used negatively and acknowledge its negative use. Homosexuals have turned around and embraced 'queer' which was a term coined for insult. Its time to reclaim 'Thats So Gay'. Lets not lose this awesomely gay phrase from society.

So next time when you say 'We're Queer and we're here" remember "Thats so gay, its the thing to say" The next time you watch a movie that blows your mind remember to exclaim "Wow! Thats so gay". When you read a great book tell your friends "Dude, it was so totally gay". "Check out the new i-phone man, it so gay"

Humans! Thats so gay. Say it like you mean it. Say it again and again. Don't be so homosexual about it.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Books by RTH

One of my childhood dreams was to become an author. Unfortunately, lack of time, energy and most importantly focus, ambition, concentration and determination have prevented me from writing a book. These are the books I dream to write.

The Shimmer Series

The Shimmer: Millions of parallel worlds exist layered upon another. The inhabitants of each world completely unaware of the time and space they share. The Shimmers are beings responsible for maintaining order in the parallel worlds. They are beings who cease to exist, but merely shimmer as shadowy objects through existence. Until one ordinary oblivious human is granted the power of Shimmers. No human has ever been made a guardian Shimmer before, no human is capable of it. Now he has to learn quick to save the human world from oblivion.

The Clan of the Tiger: Off the western coast of India lies a mysterious foggy island locked in a curse of time. Humans who cast their eyes on it experience a maddening cycle of dreams. Trapped on the island is the ancient Clan of the Tiger - devout followers of Lord Rama they patiently pray for release from their curse. Throughout time Shimmers have sought to release the Clan from their anomalous entrapment in time and space, but the truth about the curse is a forbidden secret. When the love of his life casts an eye on the island, she loses her sanity in her maddening dreams. Now the human shimmer has to unlock the secrets of the clan and set them free - or lose his love forever.

The Prisoners of Kyoo-Whan: The home world of Shimmer elder Mandor is a medieval human world with fantastical beings and beasts. One of them is the ancient sentient giant squid Kyoo-Whan. Every decade Kyoo-Whan captures several humans the coast of Ireland and takes them to his castle at sea. With ancient powers beyond the realm of the guardian Shimmers, they form an uneasy truce with him. When the human Shimmer visits Mandor, Kyoo-Whan captures him mistaking him for a human. Can the raw unsespecting Shimmer outwit the ancient wisdom of Kyoo-Whan and set himself and the captives free.

Other Books

The Leader: Now that I think of it, it rhymes with Reader. Set in a fantasy fiction land, it is a tale of a young knight who organizes the peasants to lead a rebellion against the tyrannical king. When the burden of the crown is unwillingly cast upon him, he finds himself discovering the think line between benevolence and tyranny. Is he the mesiah as people prophesize or will he become everything he loathed.

The Cheswick Report: A young photographer Julie finds herself an apartment in the attic of an elderly couple. Tucked away in a box in the attic she discovers "The Cheswick Report" by Dr. Robert Gray a former tenant. The report is a diary chronicling his treatment of a young woman Dana Cheswick who was believed to be possessed. What begins as a scientific report gradually morphs into an engrossing and haunting love affair as Dr. Gray begins to romantically obsess over the seductive Dana. Through the words of Dr. Gray Julia falls in love with Dana and begins writing about a fictitious affair taking place in her dreams. She is determined to find this dangerously seductive Dana Cheswick. The trouble is Robert Gray was not a doctor but an alcoholic musician and there is no one called Dana Cheswick.

Seduction: Originally this started as fan-fiction, but is probably my most inspired works. If I ever get to writing a full length book this is on my top list to be cleaned up and made publishing class. The story is an intertwining affair between an arrogant business tycoon, a promiscous gold digger and an ambitious prostitute. Full of dark characters the story shows that darkest seduction is not of the flesh but of the mind and the greatest redemption is not forgiveness but love.

High Fantasy: Bob is 29 stuck at a boring dead end job. His love life is DOA and he is plain broke. To get him through the tough days Bob convinces himself that someday he will get magical powers and become a superhero. To his awe and surprise, on his thirtieth birthday he finds out he is a wizard and is enrolled in magic college. What follows are Bob and his magical adventures - or are they really as magical as he thinks.

Pirates of the Union: A comic play on Pirates and modern day Piracy. Jack is a bumbling but brilliant Swedish student being booked for privacy. Will is an apprentice to a DRM lawyer, till he discovers his father left him a legac of piracy. Elizabeth is the daughter of the lawyer engaged to a greedy music tycoon.

Inspired by Real Life

Desis in the Curry Smoke: A Gorrillas in the mist spoof like story of the quirks and habits of Desis.

And then Kajol arrived: A book on the love and lunacy for Bollywood

One State Two State Red State Blue State: An American coloring book of political rhymes.

I know out on public domain means people may steal ideas. Hmm who knows, I might just shrug and read my inspired work, I might sue for rights. Lets see.