Friday, 9 November 2007

I Like Monkeys

Found it somewhere. Thought it was funny.

I like monkeys.

The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought that odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.

I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead. Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.

I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.

I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked fora while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.

I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't all go bad.

I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odour wasn't improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.

I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

I like monkeys.

Wednesday, 7 November 2007

Did You Know? (Part 2)

In Switzerland, it is illegal to flush the toilet after 10 P.M. if you live in an apartment and a man may not relieve himself while standing up, after 10 P.M. (Imagine if the man has a broken toilet seat!)

In Israel, picking your nose on Saturday is forbidden. (Aww... shucks!)

In California, USA it is illegal to set a mousetrap without a hunting license. (Wonder what the animal right activists would say to that.)

In the city of Blythe, California, a person must own at least two cows before he is permitted to wear cowboy boots in public. (Free! Free! Free! Buy two cows and get a pair of cowboy boots absolutely free! Hurry! Offer till stocks last!)

In San Salvador, drunk drivers can be punished by death before a firing squad. (Talk about having the last drink.)

In the city of York, England it is legal to murder a Scotsman within the ancient city walls, but only if he is carrying a bow and arrow. (Aah! But only...)

In the Mohave County of Arizona, anyone caught stealing a soap, must wash himself with it, until it’s all used up. (That’ll make sure that the guy never uses soap again.)

In Angeles, California, if robbing a bank, shooting at the teller with a water gun is prohibited. (But water's cheaper than bullets!)

In Australia, it is illegal to dress up as batman. (Now that’s a big let down for all comic book fans. Hopefully dressing up as Superman is legal.)

In Israel, if you have been maintaining an illegal radio station for five or more years, the station becomes legal. (And until then? Can we operate from the basement?)

In Arkansas, a man has a legal right to beat his wife, but only once a month. (So what’s the legal right of the wife, the rest of the 29 days?)

In Los Angeles, California you cannot bathe two babies in the same tub at the same time. (And what about saving the water?)

In Florida, unmarried women who parachute on Sundays can be jailed. (So don't forget to carry your marriage certificate with you.)

In Boston,Massachusetts it is Illegal to take a bath unless one has been ordered by a physician to do so. (Obviously!)

Sunday, 4 November 2007

Dear Diary...

Writing a diary is supposed to enhance one's literary skills and will help in recollection if you look back at it many years later. Or so I had read it somewhere many years ago. After which I decided that I'll start keeping a diary from the coming new year onwards. Which I did. And I don't really know if it really helped in enhance my literary skills or now but let me tell you, it does provide a hell lot of recollection and not to mention a good, hearty laugh which rather helps in getting my circulation system a bit more enthusiastic about it's job. Here are the diary entries, verbatim (barring the grammatical mistakes which I'm too embarrassed to leave uncorrected).

January 1, 1999
Hi! I'm going to be writing in this diary everyday about my life and what goes on in it. I should hope that it'll be fun. I'll share everything in it. So, to start with, I'd a wonderful New Year's Party. The food was wonderful. We played Cluedo and then Monopoly. I didn't win but it was fun. But now, I'm going to sleep.

January 2, 1999
My vacations end today. I wish I didn't have to go to school tomorrow. But life! Didn't do much today. Played on the computer and watched TV. Boring.

January 3, 1999
Went to school. Nothing interesting happened. Boring.

January 4, 1999
Went to school. Nothing interesting happened.

January 5, 1999
Went to school. Nothing interesting happened.

January 6, 1999
Went to school. Weekend tomorrow at last.

January 7, 1999
Weekend's fun. Did nothing though.

January 19, 1999
Oh sorry, I'd forgotten that I'd to write in the diary. Nothing interesting happened, though. Went to school. I'll be regular from tomorrow.

January 20, 1999
School was boring. Life's boring.

February 12, 1999
Sorry, I forgot all about this diary again. I'll be regular from now on.

And that was the last entry for the year. The rest of the diary was used for rough work and recording poems and story ideas. Stupid things though, the diaries.

Thursday, 1 November 2007

Driving in India

An article by Coen Jeukens, a Dutchman, who spent two years in Bangalore, India.

For the benefit of every Tom, Dick and Harry visiting India and daring to drive on Indian roads, I am offering a few hints for survival. They are applicable to every place in India except Bihar, where life outside a vehicle is only marginally safer.

Indian road rules broadly operate within the domain of karma where you do your best, and leave the results to your insurance company. The hints are as follows: Do we drive on the left or right of the road? The answer is “both”. Basically you start on the left of the road, unless it is occupied. In that case, go to the right, unless that is also occupied. Then proceed by occupying the next available gap, as in chess. Just trust your instincts, ascertain the direction, and proceed. Adherence to road rules leads to much misery and occasional fatality. Most drivers don’t drive, but just aim their vehicles in the generally intended direction.

Don’t you get discouraged or underestimate yourself except for a belief in reincarnation; the other drivers are not in any better position. Don’t stop at pedestrian crossings just because some fool wants to cross the road. You may do so only if you enjoy being bumped in the back.

Pedestrians have been strictly instructed to cross only when traffic is moving slowly or has come to a dead stop because some minister is in town. Still some idiot may try to wade across, but then, let us not talk ill of the dead.

Blowing your horn is not a sign of protest as in some countries. We horn to express joy, resentment, frustration, romance and bare lust (two brisk blasts),or just mobilize a dozing cow in the middle of the bazaar. Keep informative books in the glove compartment. You may read them during traffic jams, while awaiting the chief minister’s motorcade, or waiting for the rainwater to recede when over ground traffic meets underground drainage.

Occasionally you might see what looks like a UFO with blinking colored lights and weird sounds emanating from within. This is an illuminated bus, full of happy pilgrims singing bhajans. These pilgrims go at breakneck speed, seeking contact with the Almighty, often meeting with success.

Auto Rickshaw (Baby Taxi): The result of a collision between a rickshaw and an automobile, this three-wheeled vehicle works on an external combustion engine that runs on a mixture of kerosene oil and creosote. This triangular vehicle carries iron rods, gas cylinders or passengers three times its weight and dimension, at an unspecified fare. After careful geometric calculations, children are folded and packed into these auto rickshaws until some children in the periphery are not in contact with the vehicle at all. Then their school bags are pushed into the microscopic gaps all round so those minor collisions with other vehicles on the road cause no permanent damage. Of course, the peripheral children are charged half the fare and also learn Newton’s laws of motion en route to school. Auto-rickshaw drivers follow the road rules depicted in the film Ben Hur, and are licensed to irritate.

Mopeds: The moped looks like an oil tin on wheels and makes noise like an electric shaver. It runs 30 miles on a teaspoon of petrol and travels at break-bottom speed. As the sides of the road are too rough for a ride, the moped drivers tend to drive in the middle of the road; they would rather drive under heavier vehicles instead of around them and are often “mopped” off the tarmac.

Leaning Tower of Passes: Most bus passengers are given free passes and during rush hours, there is absolute mayhem. There are passengers hanging off other passengers, who in turn hang off the railings and the overloaded bus leans dangerously, defying laws of gravity but obeying laws of surface tension. As drivers get paid for overload (so many Rupees per kg of passenger), no questions are ever asked. Steer clear of these buses by a width of three passengers.

One-way Street: These boards are put up by traffic people to add jest in their otherwise drab lives. Don’t stick to the literal meaning and proceed in one direction. In metaphysical terms, it means that you cannot proceed in two directions at once. So drive as you like, in reverse throughout, if you are the fussy type. Least I sound hypercritical, I must add a positive point also. Rash and fast driving in residential areas has been prevented by providing a “speed breaker”; two for each house. This mound, incidentally, covers the water and drainage pipes for that residence and is left untarred for easy identification by the corporation authorities, should they want to recover the pipe for year-end accounting.

Night driving on Indian roads can be an exhilarating experience for those with the mental make up of Genghis Khan. In a way, it is like playing Russian roulette, because you do not know who amongst the drivers is loaded. What looks like premature dawn on the horizon turns out to be a truck attempting a speed record. On encountering it, just pull partly into the field adjoining the road until the phenomenon passes.

Our roads do not have shoulders, but occasional boulders. Do not blink your lights expecting reciprocation. The only dim thing in the truck is the driver, and with the peg of illicit arrack (alcohol) he has had at the last stop, his total cerebral functions add up to little more than a naught. Truck drivers are the James Bonds of India, and are licensed to kill. Often you may encounter a single powerful beam of light about six feet above the ground. This is not a super motorbike, but a truck approaching you with a single light on, usually the left one. It could be the right one, but never get too close to investigate. You may prove your point posthumously.