Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Part 2 - Explanation to nusery rhymes

Dear People,
I have a friend whom I shall not name (Nicola Bush, Fairmont, Dubai), who sort of has an explanation for nursery rhymes. She says… perhaps they aren’t all that idiotic after all. Perhaps they are symbolic for something much deeper. Get the drift?
So letzee….Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool, yes Sir yes sir 3 bags full, one for my master, one for my dame.. and one for the little boy who lives down the lane. So… Assuming Sheep is code for drug dealer. And the kindergarten kids singing the rhyme are shitting bricks coz the Drug Enforcement Agency is on their case.. so they have to sing in code. And these kids are asking the drug dealing sheep how much of maal he has. And he claims he has three bags. But his wife needs to smoke a joint.. and so does his dad and he’s thinking of rolling one for his granny (a.k.a little boy down the lane).Hmm.. kindda fits in, but I’m still a bit skeptical coz I have a friend who’se granny says she and her friends hate pot and they just stick to extasy. And why would a sheep need to peddle drugs to support his own habit when he gets all the free grass in the world. Debatable

Monday, October 30, 2006

Human Vacuum

Today we’re going to talk about being FAT.
Fat is but a state of mind. Just like poverty and good looks.
And at the end of every month I find my brain constantly telling me – Jon… you poor, poor ugly bastard.
Now, as I look down and see my navel, where my feet used to be, the truth seems to hit me hard and bounce of my paunch like a crazy ball on steroids. (I was never good with similes and metaphors)
I used to keep telling my friends. “Of course I have a six pack. They’re just piled on top of one another.”
Others suggest that there are much more than 6 hiding in there. Funny.

Assuming that my “friends” have some basis in calling me lumpy, let’s get down to identifying the causes and stemming them.

1) Vegetables: Veggies make you fat. This is a personal experiment that I’ve conducted and has no scientific backing. From past experience, the scientific community tends to distance itself from me. Go figure.
So I’ve tried this. French Fries. Capsicum stuffed with mince. Extra lettuce and tomatoes on my burgers. A few more peas in the fried rice. Even gone to the extent of enquiring about the price of karelas (bitter gourd).
Nothing. Nada. Zilch. No weight loss. Just another notch on the evil messenger (the weighing scale for you think schmucks who don’t get it). Vegetables are our enemy.

2) Exercise: I’ve tried everything. Spot jogging in the lift. Crunches on the escalator. Toe flexes while I’m sleeping at work. Nothing there either. And if it weren’t for my hip flask, I’d have died of dehydration. Or Sobriety. Either ways, exercise is a no-no.

3) I don’t really really have a 3rd point. But I would like to take this opportunity to state that DIET is an anagram for I E(a)T. (for those of you slower than I am, I have slyly removed the ‘D’ and added an ‘a’. Clever eh?)

I’m a fatty. And that’s the not so bare truth. Well, at least I’m…. ….. damn.. just realized there’s no positive side to this.
As usual, feel free to criticize, curse me, or generally talk about the weather.


If you're wondering what's in the sheep's hand, it's a pair of binoculars. I think i'm improving, whaddya say?

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Wild on Goa

Please note that the airplane has hit the bird this time. I've tried to get a little neo-modernsitic, quasi-impressionistic and pseudo arty by adding that flower. Your criticism is welcome.

The Unmentionables

This blog contains explicit language and discusses sexuality in depth so if you're below 18, close your eyes.. and have someone else read it out for you.

So I was travelling to work today and this Chakh (Eunuch) "strokes" me and asks me for money. If you've been to bombay, you've been through the drill. What I don't understand is... What the hell is their claim? What are they saying? Give us money because we're women? That's not a claim! It's not valid!
And what gives them the right to touch me? Because they're women? (not that women are standing in line to touch me. Or even look at me). Well I've got news for you... If you look down buddy, you'll find woody wood pecker! And woody says your not a woman!

And that brings to mind another connundrum (damn I love the thesaurus).
I understand the technicalities involved when a man wants to become a woman. I mean.. all they have to do is choppy choppy down there and if they want breasts.. there are always implants. Here's the curve ball.... What happens when a woman wants to become a man???? Ehhh... gotcha there didn't I?
Where do they get equipment from...( or as I like to call them.. Bert, Ernie and Big Bird). I passed this question around the office and got loads of unacceptable answers ranging from thumbs, carrots and secret underground BIG BIRD banks.
So if anyone out there got a clue, please enlighten the rest of us, because we got no work and are waiting patiently at our comps (when not surfing for porn).
Till then,
Ciao for now and all that jazz and stuff,

Monday, October 16, 2006

Legal Bullcrap

Ola people!
Today I’m going legal.Questions from legal fields to which I really don’t have any answers to. Not that I have the answers to any of the questions ever being posed to me. I don’t know if any of you guy really know this, but sometimes I fake it. No kidding.

Oh.. and by the way… I’m treating everyone who decides to reply to this blog. Beer. And I’m not talking about the stuff I distill in my room. I’m talking about real beer… that doesn’t make you see polka dots on your unmentionables after a couple of sips.

Anywoosies…lets start.

Legal contracts.Why the hell do lawyers have to make things so complicated.
So I was reading this contract the other day. They don’t mention anything by their real names so as to make things simpler. Or so they say. So there’s Party A.. and There’s Party B. And so on and so forth.

Now take this into account. Hypothetically speaking, imagine all these dudes were really talking about a party. And Michael is allowed to go to Rakesh’s party and have Alcohol. The contract would say something like this.Michael - henceforth... known as “Party A”, is permitted to enter the legal premises of the aforesaid party, from now on known as “Party” conducted for non commercial purposes by Rakesh from now on known as “Party B” and is legally permitted , at the PARTY to consume alcohol from now on known as “Spirit A” , not to be confused with spirits of the supernatural kind. Ceterus Paribus.

Oh yeah.. you have to end everything with a Latin phrase. And you can even make up shit.

Swallowed everything so far? Now… hypothetically speaking (as always), there are hundreds of people involved. But there are only 26 letters in the alphabet. So, to describe someone you’re gonna have to have a combination of alphabets right? Do you get to choose really cool names then? Get a load of this.
So Jayee, Reagan and Beverly can come to the party as well.“Jayee, Reagan and Beverly from now known as Smarty Party, Party Farty and Party Shmuck are hereby, herewith and alongwith permitted for all social purposes to join Party A for the Party if, and if at all, invited by Party B for the Party wherein there shall be Spirit A, considering that Party B is not having Spirit B and Spirit C which really goes better with coke. Holy Shitus Magnificus.

Incase you’re having trouble with Latin.. I’ve provided a small non-patented list which you can use incase you ever draw up a contract. Feel free to use them.
Ratus Bittis my-asses
Upp-em yors-es.
Underwear Tightis
Bunnies humpalotis

If you got anymore legal crap you wanna add on… feel free.Next time we’re gonna talk about why Judges wear those weird wigs,what exactly does the steno do and why do lawyers have to wear teddy’s? Isn’t there any other lingerie they get to choose?NB: All names in the newsletter are fictitious and any similarity between real life people is purely coincidental.

PS: Dont' give me flak for writing 'anywoosies'. I'm under a lot of stress.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

WORK - wat dat?

Ola people!
How’s it goin? So, we’ve covered the Arts, family ties.. this week we’re gonna discuss work.
W-O-R-K. ‘The’ dirty 4-letter word. It sounds filthy every time I say it.
Downright blasphemous.
Work - a lousy way to make a living.
When did it all change? I remember a time when all you had to worry about was if the guys are gonna let you play football with them in the evening or is it going to be another evening of Hop Scotch with the neighbourhood girls.
And now –
Where is my career heading?
Is this what I was meant to do for the rest of my life?
Which month am I getting paid for anyway?
That HOT chick in accounts would look really cool if she didn’t have a moustache.
And there’s other crap like trying to figure out what language the people in your office are trying to speak.
Yesterday I heard my boss saying.. Jonathan.. we’ve got to get the T.P’s (transparencies) to our H.O. (HEAD OFFICE) so that they can start working on the C.G (computer graphics) A.S.A.P.
Oh.. I really hate ASAP. That’s the worst one.
So I turned around and told her, “sure… but hold on for a sec while I go for a P. and perhaps catch some Z’s and after surfing some P.O.R.N.O.G.R.A.P.H.Y.” Ok perhaps that last one didn’t really gel.
Oooh Oooh… yesterday I had this conversation with my brother.. and while describing his job said he was to embark on a project that would involve…(hold your breath)…’Crystallising the Offings’.
So I said.. dude… why’re you going around buying jewellery for other peoples kids?
And he says… No No my dear ignoramus. (I didn’t get that one either)
It involves projects that are not really projects, and I’ve got to make them REAL projects by crystallizing them.
Non Signior.
Ok.. straying away from corporate jargon.. what about Time Sheets? Have any of you guys ever filled out a time sheet. Not me.. I never had the good fortune to fill one out.
For those of you who don’t know what a time sheet is, it’s a Break up of each working day and how constructively you spent it. And after a period of time, management uses it for appraisals.
I figured out what my time sheet will look like.
10:30 –11:00 – Getting sensitized to work surroundings.
11:00 – 12:00 – Catching up on daily world events to progressively broaden my world views (read the paper)
12:00 –1:00 – Analaysed my past eating habits and after drawing a pie chart, figured out what the present days consumption would be. (ordered lunch)
1:30 – 2:00 -- Lunch
2:00 – 4:00: -- Siesta, which of course is an integral part of any work place.
4:00 -- 5:00 : Surfed Porn, which of course is an integral part of any work place.
5:00 – 6:00 : Worked on the Pepsi campaign.
6:00 – 6:30 : Watched some TV.
Work.. it’s hard…it’s lousy… but somebody’s gotta do it.
If anybody’s got some kindda anecdote about work… do write in. You know what .. even if you don’t still write in anyway. Say something like.. "Hey bro... you're of freak of nature. Cheerio then!"
It helps boost morale around here.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Superheroes. Are they really super?

When you need a shoulder to cry on, when you need the support and the help , when you think any type of assistance is a distant forlorn dream, you can be sure he’ll be there. Superman. Ok Ok.. I know I’ve talked about this before but it has never been opened for discussion. How does Superman Pee? Oh Batman for that matter. And Spiderman.

Let’s start with Superman. One flaw which easily misses the naked eye is… he wears his underpants on the outside. So he’s on his way rescuing a puppy from a burning building and the need to make wee wee makes its presence felt. So he flies down to an ally, pulls down his undies… and ….whoah… what’s this. Pants underneath. And they’re skin tight. And that’s another thing.

You too Spiderman. Where in the world is your Zipper? Forget about the wee wee thingy, how about getting into the damn thing? Do you just fit in through the collar? All of you through the collar?Ok… here a tricky one for you. Does invisible man wear clothes? He can’t right? So basically he goes around naked. Unless he has one of those cloak thingies. I’m not sure. But if he doesn’t… then basically he is a nudist. For all you know he could be flashing people all over the world... and we call him a super hero! Yeah right pervert!

And who does this guy date anyway? I bet it must be weird... even with invisible woman. I bet she looks at an empty couch… having long conversations… thinking invisible man is a ‘good listener”. But this dude left after ten minutes to make a sandwich and to flash bat-woman. Lucky bastard.

How about superwoman. If she’s feeling ‘special’ does she wear lingerie instead of the customary red undy on the outside? Oh crap, just got this weird image. Superman in a red thong. Getting with the times. So many questions. Anybody have any answers?

Do write in,

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Whatcha doin?

Summore of my master pieces. Please note the bird, plane, tree and sun.

Family Matters

Comme Ca va? ... Marhaba… teshek delek. Nihao…Howdy!
None of those are made up. I’m making progress huh? I was once known… among the literary cirles as ‘multi lingual Jonathan.’ Primarily because of the fact that I could say “Holy shit” in exactly 2 languages.
Anyway, still on the lines of subjects of substance, today’s blog is about family ties- ties that bind, and strengthen and ties that are sometimes used for kinky sex. (focus jonathan... focus you horny bastard.. family ties.. not neck ties)
Ok….Ever since I was 8 years, my parents have been pleading with me to run away from home. Heehee…those jokers. Mom… dad… you were joking all those years right?
But seriously. have you ever thought about it. The subtle hints that your family gives you, subconsciously or not, to express how they feel for you. I have kept a log of events of such SUBTLE hints….
1 year old – One brother learns how to spell the word ‘asphyxiation’
1 year and 1 day – Learns the words ‘asphyxiation’ and ‘younger brother’ and tries to use them together… physically.
2 years and 3 days – Other brother… the kind soul that he is.. ties to send me to Jesus. Via garbage disposal.
5 years – ‘Supposedly’ got myself lost in the supermarket. The fact that my folks told me to run down the vegetable aisle, close my eyes and count to 100… seemed a bit fishy. When I saw them getting into the car and speeding away before I reached 5… proved certain suspicions.
6 years – Family dog bites me.
6 years 1 minute – Family dog starts chewing the door mat. Rumour has it that he was trying to get the previous awful taste from out from his mouth. Go figure!
9 years – Family buys a rotweiller. (Hmmmmm… why does he have a glazed look in his eyes. And why are they forcing me to play…'blow in the sweet doggies face’. And why am I the only one playing?)
Anyways.. it goes on and on. Infact Just the other day I received a bill from my mother asking me to pay for rent for the first 13 years of my life, food expenses…stationary.. the bill also includes 9 months rent while she was carrying me, and incidental expenses for labour pains. Hehehe.. funny Ma.
Ahh.. family. Who can survive without it. It’s a gift. To help one cope with life’s problems and deal with all the lemons life hands out.
So, if any of you guys wanna share with us anecdotes, stories et al about your freaky families, do write in,

Waiting, Ciao for now and .. blah blah blah


Some of my art. Keep in mind I have no formal fine arts training. This is all pure talent.