Religion of the 21st Century

Religion of the 21st Century

1) Thou shalt not steal (The Government hates competition!)

2) Remember the sabbath day to keep it holy (but if you work weekends, you will get paid overtime.)

3) Thou shalt not commit adultery (unless your name is Tiger Woods or Bill clinton)

4) Thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain (unless your in one of the planes that Osama has ordered to crash. Then you might as well say it. Your gonna die in a fiery hell as it is.)

5) Love thy neighbour (especially if she is HOT!)

6) An apple a day keeps the doctor away. (God had it wrong all along. Adam and Eve were just trying to stay healthy!)

7) Man is born good and kind. (then just send him to jihadi school on the Pakistani border. That will straighten him out)

8) Jesus should have been alive now. So that he could turn all the water into wine and all the trees into weed. the world would be a better place!

9) Do others as you would want others to do you.

10) If you commit no sins, you will get into heaven. (Mostly all religions say this. But the muslims version of this is so much cooler. Because according to them, if you get into heaven, you will have 72 virgins ready to fulfill all your sexual fanatsies)

By Miss Calculated

Inaccurate headlines.

Improper headlines can cause a lot of confusion. I read the following headline today morning and i thought this guy was a cross-dresser or a homosexual until i read the complete article and found out he was a serial rapist. have a look yourself:

"THIS MAN CAN SURE PULL OFF A SARI!"

By Editor Man

Chivalry.

Chivalry is totally dead. Just today I offered a girl (a pretty one I may add) my seat in the bus and she gave me such a dirty look that for a moment I was convinced I had asked her to bed. Now I wasn’t even really looking to get talking. She was in obvious trouble juggling her phone, her I pod, her purse, her hairclip and several other ‘girl’ things I could not identify and I just thought it would be easier for her to do her juggling act with a slightly lower center of gravity and a backrest. She, however, seemed to think I’m a perverted little bastard. Well my ego prevented me from giving her as much as a second glance (ok, not really) but I couldn’t help wondering how our generation of guys is going to ever get talking to a stranger of the fairer (ok, not really) sex.

The days of charming young gentlemen are gone, and it’s not their fault either. I for one am never offering my seat to anyone ever again.

By Mr. Fly

Hot-O-Biography of a Nail Cutter.

Hullo my name is Apsara. Full name, Apsara Nail Cutters and Accessories. Off late I have been very depressed. I often feel like rusting and killing myself. I am writing this article for The Hot Spark in the hope that after I have taken out all my frustration I might feel a little bit better. So here goes...

Firstly, me and my 1000 brothers and sisters have never had the love of our parents. My Mother was a machine that used to mould hot molten iron into small little nail cutters like me and my father was a machine that used to package us into small little boxes. My parents live in a small factory in patna and me and my brothers and sisters were taken away from them right after we were born. I have grown up without the loving care of a mother and the hard discipline of a father and maybe that is why you think I am so cold, metallic and snappy. You see its not all my fault!

On top of that I hate my job. It just stinks! Imagine just waiting around for days at a stretch, waiting to be called into action and when the time finally comes, what do I have to do, but cut freaking nails! And that too would have been bearable if you humans learned to keep your feet clean. I just hate the days I have to cut your toe nails because your DIRTY FEET SMELL SO GODDAMN MUCH!

In fact they smell so much that I would rather die than go near your rotten stinking feet. And believe me I have tried killing myself but being a non-living object has its downsides. One of them being that its difficult to die! I have tried rusting myself to death but its not entirely in my hands you see because I need to be put in water for that to happen and those inconsiderate humans just don’t listen to my pleas!

Just like they don’t listen to me when I tell them not to press my head so hard when they are using me! I mean it freaking hurts! Wouldn’t it hurt you, if a gigantic thumb was pressing your head in really hard while you had your mouth stuffed with toe nails? It would right. The same way it hurts me too. And I keep yelling and shouting and sobbing and crying but they just don’t listen. They just keep pressing harder and harder till I bite right through their overgrown nails.

Am going to stop here because am getting a headache just thinking of it. So the next time you use a nail cutter just remember to press the head lightly and dip it in water so that it can happily rust in death rather than smell your smelly feet again!

Reproduced accurately and faithfully by Editor Man

Tabasco Sauce... by Nachos!

Sweet Chillies- Episode 7

Part 1

The next few days saw groups of students sitting huddled together doing something, after which they would suddenly start laughing uncontrollably. At first look many thought that suddenly the entire student populace of Panchgani Institute of Commerce and Economics were sitting in their groups and rolling joints. However that was not the case. Careful inspection revealed that the kids used to sit around a mobile phone and laugh at a hilarious MMS that was being circulated around the entire college. The MMS showed one of the institutes students Sahil Shah stark naked, trying to make his “thing” stand-up so he could fornicate with Shweta Ajmera, unfortunately his “Main Point” refused to awaken.

The MMS had been passed about faster then the Brazilian football team can pass around a football. In no time nearly every mobile phone, had the video. It was spreading wild and fast, much like a forest fire.

Poor Sahil Shah, the protagonist of that unfortunate video clip. His life had come tumbling around him. It is tough enough to deal with the fact that your “organ” is not functioning properly at the tender age of 17, and then to add public humiliation because of it, is sheer torture. This used to actually be something that nazi’s used to do at concentration camps.

A day after the scandal broke, sahil entered class to be greeted by a moment of silence and then the whole class erupted into maniacal laughter. “Sahil! Am surprised to see you made it for the morning lecture. I thought you wouldn’t ‘get up!’” said Vicky. Vicky whose actual name was Vikram Singh Ahluwahlia, was a wannabe. Among other things, he really wanted to be cool. That's why he had kept his name Vicky and thought he looked really cool when he spoke as loud as a factory machine and ragged people by cracking stupid jokes on them.

Sahil quietly sat down. “I knew you would sit down. You cant ‘stand-up’ can you?” said Vicky and gave a really loud laugh.

Sahil remained quiet. “Hey Sahil! You are definitely not going to be a great man, because great men can ‘rise up to the occasion’!” cackled Vicky.

Sahil just kept counting sheep to keep his anger in control.

Part 2.

“Let him be you dimwit!” said Satyavardhan Singh, “What's your problem? You’re acting like you were left unsatisfied because of his problem.”

Vicky turned around. The smile had been wiped from his face. He looked around angrily as the entire now began laughing at him.

“Look whose talking! If it isn’t the world’s biggest liar himself. You know what if you were Pinocchio your nose would have been so long that it would have crossed the border and begun poking the Pakistani army.” Said Vicky.

“What do you mean by calling me a liar?” said Satyavardhan defensively.

“Oh really! I’ll tell you what I mean. When people ask you if you’ve studied for a test you say you haven’t. You say that you were playing computer games all night long. It turns out that you get the 3^rd highest marks, and you don’t have a computer. When I asked you a stupid thing like the time just yesterday, you told me it was 8:30, when it was actually 10. You go around telling people that your father works in the film industry as a director. It turns out that your father is actually a stunt man. Do you want any more evidence, me lord?”

Satyavardhan was silent. “The case is closed. I win.” Said Vicky and stalked off.

Interview with Hitler

This is a very rare interview that took place somewhere in the year 1945. Our guest is a very distinguished man, the man who is responsible for a lot of death, destruction, general anarchy and bad fashion. Apart for being known for his poor taste in fashion, our guest is also known as the leader of the german forces that were hell bent on ruling the world. Today we conduct a very special interview with Mr. Adolf Hitler.

Q1. Good morning Rudolf, how are feeling?

Ans. my name is not Rudolf. It is Adolf. Adolf Hitler.

Q2. Am so sorry, So Adolf how does feel like, now you face a crushing defeat in world war 2 and certain death after they catch you?

Ans. Umm... I guess I feel bad.

Q3. How bad?

Ans. very bad. Move on to the next question.

Q4. Alright. How do you explain your moustache?

Ans. it is my style. The German style.

Q5. Is it true that it is actually because you ran out of shaving foam?

Ans. No! (raises his voice, slightly)

Q6. Is Charlie Chaplin your brother?

Ans. No.

Q7. Cousin?

Ans. NO.

Q8. Step-brother?

Ans. NO! He is in no way related to me. No more personal questions. From now stick to professional questions or I will have you shot.

Q9. Yes sir. Tell us more about your tanks....

Ans. Yes(calming down). We have engineered a new set of tanks, which are very powerful and extremely potent. We call them Panzers.

Q10. Have you ever ridden a Pansy?

Ans. its not a Pansy, its a Panzer! (getting agitated). No I haven’t ridden or driven a Panzer.

Q11. Is it because you don’t have a driver’s license?

Ans. NO!!! Gah, next question.(eyes slightly popping)

Q12. Which place do you intend to bomb next?

Ans. That is top secret. I am afraid I cannot disclose that in this interview.

Q13. Oh, Come on Rudolf, tell us which place you are going to bomb next. It will stay between the two of us don’t worry. (Slaps Hitler on the back, in a chummy manner).

Ans. WILL YOU STOP IT! (Screaming so that nerves on neck are visible) AND FOR THE LAST TIME MY NAME IS ADOLF! NOT RUDOLF! RUDOLF IS BLOODY REINDEER!

Q14. Oh, I am so very sorry, slip of tongue you see. Rumor has it that you are going to bomb Germany next. Is it true?

Ans. GERMANY IS MY OWN COUNTRY, YOU FOOL!( Shaking with anger)

Q15. Oh, am so sorry, I didn’t know you were German. So are you going to bomb Zimbabwe next?

Ans. NO! (getting on his feet and screaming very loudly)

Q16. West indies?

Ans. NAI NAI NAI(Hopping up and down) GET OUT YOU IDIOTIC RASCAL!

Q17. Are you gay?

Ans. interview ended abruptly as a bomb was hurled in interviewers direction.

Conducted by Editor Man

Hot-O-Biography of a Mosquito.

Hello my name is zzzztotzzzz, which in the mosquito language means He Who is Stronger Than Mortein. So how is life being a mosquito, you ask? Well I’ll tell you...

Firstly I hate fans. It’s wind totally blows me of track, I don’t really weigh too much to stand a chance. And plus sometimes its so strong that it mangles up my 6 legs and my wings. Damn I hate fans! Why don’t you ‘smart’ humans use the AC instead?

And I really don’t see why you get so angry when I suck you? You seem to like it a lot when your females do it to you, then you keep pleading and begging for more, but the moment I decide to suck you, you feel like killing me! I just don’t understand? Trust me, give me a chance, am sure I can suck better than any one of those naked female humans!

And even if you don’t like it, what's the harm if I suck out just a little of your blood? Come on lets be a bit rational here and put the whole thing in perspective, the little tiny bit of blood that I require for my well being and overall nourishment, is going to make not one tiny bit of difference to you! DO YOU REALLY HAVE TO BRUTALLY MURDER ME BY SQUASHING ME TO PULP FOR TAKING LESS THAN A DROP OF YOUR BLOOD? Be more charitable and learn to give more often!

Oh and you can tolerate all kinds of loud, obnoxious, irritating noises, but for some stupid reason you cant tolerate my light gentle buzzing? I wonder why that is? When there are a hundred cars honking and passing by outside your window, thats ok, when your friends keep jabbering in your ear thats ok. When your phone is vibrating and buzzing, you can tolerate it! But one buzz from me and you want to squish me into a red spot on the wall! YOU CAN FREAKING LISTEN TO HIMESH BUT YOU CANT TOLERATE ME! COME ON GET REAL!

And lastly I know am great and am probably the most awesome thing you have ever seen, but you really don’t have to start clapping every time you see me. I like to be really humble and down to earth, so I don’t much like all the excess love and adulation that you choose to shower on me. Seriously keep the clapping for the birthdays and music concerts because we mosquitoes don’t like it. It sounds bad and is a threat to our life and general safety and besides it reminds of Nana Patekar.

That's all. I think I’ll buzz off now.

Reproduced faithfully and completely by Editor Man

Monsoons and Motorcycles

The Monsoon arrived last week and suddenly a 100, 000 more people started travelling by trains. That brings the total number of people who travel by train upto something that maths is not equipped to calculate. However this is beside the point. The point is that where are all these people coming from?

The answer is rather simple. These 100, 000 odd people who have suddenly increased the number of sweaty armpits that can be found on a local train are actually bikers and motorcyclists who have been forced off the roads by the arrival of the monsoon.

You see the monsoons are the worst season of the year if you happen to be a biker. In the monsoon bikers lose all their motivation to drive their bikes.

The problem many bikers face is that bikes unfortunately don’t have roofs and it often happens that they end up getting very wet when they drive around in the rain. So bikers have to wear these really sad looking raincoats while they zip around the city on their two-wheelers. Now any true-blooded biker will tell you that raincoats make a biker look totally uncool. You cant imagine to look cool when you’re wearing a raincoat which makes you look like a black blob. Also people cant see your long hair and ripped jeans when you wear a raincoat.

When roads become wet and slippery, it becomes a little difficult for bikers to zip-zap-zoom through traffic. Neither can they perform high-speed stunts which could break their neck when the road is as slippery as a bald man’s head when its smeared with oil. They feel very frustrated to be driving at normal speed limits and without doing something that spiderman would be proud of and hence they give up biking in the monsoon altogether.

But the biggest reason that makes bikers feel resentment towards the monsoon is : Girls. On days when the weather is pleasant and dry, bikes act like magnets for girls. Girls cant seem to resist sitting on a bike, as it manoeuvres through traffic like a snake through grass . They swoon and fall as bikers perform such heart-stopping stunts. But come the rains and girls don’t even look at bikers. Becasue which girl would want to plant her lovely bottom on a squishy wet seat, risk the rains ruining their make-up that too when the biker is driving carefully and within the speed limit rather than recklessly trying to impress her with a wheely.

She’d rather prefer a guy with a car instead. And bikers would rather prefer trains.

by Editor Man

Sweet Chillies- Episode 6

Part 1

Sahil Shah, brushed his hand through his hair. His hair bounced up and down like Pamela anderson’s Assets when she ran on the beach on Baywatch and then fell in place nicely. He looked at his handsome face in the mirror and smiled a smile that would have blinded him had he not been wearing his sun-glasses and looking cool. He was THE stud at The Panchgani Institute of Commerce and Economics. Every girl looked at him longingly, if not outright lusting after his good looks, hot body and cute bum.

He had already finished dating 5 girls and had dumped them after finding out that they would only surrender themselves completely to him after marriage. He was currently going out with Shweta Ajmera. She looked like something between a babe and a really hot woman. Not only was she good-looking, she was also very willing.

Shweta’s nicknames were usually words like, “slut”, “Nympho” and “Vaccumm Cleaner”(or her proficiency in... err... sucking things) She had a rich tradition of going out with boys, Shweta Ajmera: dating boys since 2004(when she turned 13.) She was known to have lost her virginity, so long back that no one remembered when she had lost it. Usually you would see her cat-walking her way across the campus in clothes that revealed a lot about her and of her.

In short she had all that Sahil wanted in a girl. On their first date she had smooched him. On the second she had put her hand on his thigh. This was going to be their third date and she agreed to do it with him.

Sahil shah entered her room. She got up and kissed him. After that there was a lot of physical expression of love and clothes flew about the place. The time had come for the final act of intimacy when sahil noticed something was wrong. His “little man” was feeling sick today. His “Pole” refused, for some mysterious reason to stand up today. He looked at the hot body of shweta and he couldnt understand why he couldn’t stand up. Shweta was growing irritated and had begun fiddling with her cell. “get it up fast” was her advice.

‘Aishwarya Rai... Angelina Jolie... Porn...’ thought Sahil, but his “length” refused to stand even with the crutch of his imagination. He hit it, he beat it, he even threatened it with a scissor, but his “stick” refused to move under such pressure, shrinking further into its shell like a tortoise. Finally sahil gave up.

“uh... Shweta darling, am afraid am not feeling too well, so I don’t think we will be able to do anything tonight.” He said, sheepishly, hoping the earth would swallow him up and shit his remains in heaven.

“Ok babe!” said Shweta, “But you look really funny in the video!” she cooed.

She had been recording him on her cellphone.

Part 2

2 days later, a teacher, Mr. Bholerao, barged into the Principal’s office, with a cellphone.

“Sir” reported Bholerao, “I have confiscated this mobile from one of the students. They were seeing a Video on it. It were best you saw it yourself. It involves two students of this institute.

Bholerao left the phone with the Principal and stormed out. Mr. Devendra Bhatt, The Principal, looked at the video of Sahil shah unsuccessfully trying to rouse his slumbering “dragon” and shook his head. ‘students nowadays’ he thought to himself, ‘cant do anything right.’

In two minutes his peon had brought Shweta in front of him.

“Mrs. Ajmera I have heard... I mean... seen something very disturbing about you.” He said.

“What have you seen... sir?” said shweta. She was wearing a top whose neck seemed to end at her waist.

“Well I am seeing a lot” said the Principal honestly, “But I am referring to an MMS clip that you have supposedly taken.”

“oh that!” giggled shweta, “what about that?”

“what were you doing in that? Explain yourself.” Said the principal

“Sir we were trying to have intercourse.” Said Shweta, as if she were saying that they were both having pharsan.

The Principal was taken aback by her frankness. He was expecting her to make excuses and defend herself, if not outright deny the allegations. But she seemed to be embracing them with such glee that it unnerved him.

“errr... well... and... what else do you have to say...”

“well we tried doing it, but his “bird” just wouldn’t stand-up.” said Shweta, “does that happen with you also sir?”

“WHAT!?!?” said the principal. He couldnt possibly tolerate this from a student... or could he? “No... it never happens with me...” he said softly.

“Oh good..” said shweta coming closer, “Then you could probably do what Sahil couldnt.”

An hour later, Shweta was let off after being told not to repeat her actions. Or maybe repeat them just once more next Thursday.

Things That Stoners Do Not Want You to Know

The Things That a Stoner will never tell you:

1. The grass is greener on the other side.

2. He will not abuse you: he will be busy feeling the love.

3. You want me to drop you home?: Even though he knows where you live, but he will be thinking--So does Santa Claus

4. He Indirectly does believe in God : How much ever atheist he may be, when he is stoned these three will erupt from his vocal cord –“BUM BUM BOLEY”—

5. He will give money to the beggar’s: He cannot blame them for using money on drugs and alcohol.(that’s what he uses it for)

6. Amsterdam Sucks---Mumbai Rocks : We earn our whore’s !

7. He is high.

8. He did listen to Venga-boys as a kid !

-Issued in Public Interest by Gautam GotiGotwa*

(*Gautam GotiGotwa, regardless of his name is a real person and currently studies in TYBMM in Swami Vivekanand College

We Love Mr. Going-to-america-after-graduation

Yes, we absolutely love Mr. Going-to-america-after-graduation. We are talking about the average indian not so bright student, usually engineering, who flies to America the moment he gets a degree.

He is the same guy who has a thick indian accent and is fat, ugly and sexual deprived. This guy has seen enough american porn movies to fall in love with the country because he believes that every American woman is just waiting for him to arrive in her country and satisfy her sexual hunger.

He is the guy who believes that all his dreams will come true the moment his wiggly toes touch foreign soil(For some medically unknown reason, he believes that the moment he lands in America, the fatty layers of incompetence will suddenly be shed and everybody will see the hidden awesomeness that is him. Something that every single person in India failed to see.)

But no matter how insignificantly stupid he may seem. No matter if he's got as much patriotism as a migratory bird, we still love Mr. Going-to-america-after-graduation because he helps reduce the population

by Editor Man

Tabasco Sauce......by Nachos!!

The World Cup

And so it begins. 4 long years later, the world cup is here again. The joy I feel today is overwhelming. Its like seeing your favourite girlfriend for the first time after 4 long gruelling years. Today the wait of those many years will end as South Africa kick-off against Mexico. AH! What orgasmic pleasure it shall be. One month of football everytime you switch on the TV. This must be what heaven is made of, except in heaven it wouldn’t end in 30 days.

Brazil yet again start as favourites in India, and practically everywhere in the universe, including Pluto, Neptune and the far off galaxy of brazil supporting stars. Its a tradition, ever since Brazil won the world cup more times than others, to support them. There is something about the Indian Supporter that leaves me very worried. They have this inborn tendency to always support the winning team. Ask any football fan which football club they support and you will get either Manchester united or Chelsea, depending on who has won the league that year. Since Brazil has won the world cup 5 times it makes Indians want to support them like a tight bra supports a saggy pair of breasts.

As for me, I will be supporting, Spain, because they won Euro 2008.

But I am happy that India is not taking part in the World Cup. For one thing we would lose so humiliatingly that I might have to consider adopting dutch citizenship and for another, it would be very sad to see Indian Supporters at the world cup, chanting ‘Sachin Sachin!’ in the match, just out of sheer habit, or throwing bottles and setting fire to the stadium just because we happen to be losing 50-0, or worse still, they start supporting Brazil in the middle of our match.

The next 30 days are going to be very tough for me. I will have to perform complex tasks such as opening the door while under influence of 52 bottles of beer, keeping the fridge stocked, not vegetating on the sofa, while watching matches continuously, back to back.

My mother says she wants to watch her favourite soap opera, I said, it would be as possible as Manmohan Singh winning the gold medal at the 100 meter dash at the NEXT Olympics. She said she wouldn’t mind catching the re-run which came in the morning. I said I would mind. You see what she doesn’t understand is that although the matches start in the afternoon/evening, the world cup isn’t all about the matches. Its also about the pre-match analysis, half-time analysis and post-match analysis. It is also about seeing the highlights of the games you have already seen and see the news coverage of certain matches on India TV(“KYUN MILLI RONALDO KO RED CARD?” “MESSI KI JADOO KI JHAPPI!” “KYA GERMANY KE TEAM KO 2 SAR WALA CHUHA KHA LIYA HAI?”) In short the TV is mine for the next 30 days, and if it is on(which it will be all the time) then it will always be about the football.

Speaking of which every 4 years I take out a loan. I take a loan because every 4 years the world cup comes around and there are a lot of expenses that I have to take care off. I have to buy a new TV for better picture quality, a soft sofa for a softer rear experience, food and beer, enough to last me a lifetime in an igloo and/or my house while the world cup is on. After the presentation ceremony of the final day and after seeing the post match analysis, and news coverage, I start thinking about how to repay the loan. I usually do this by selling of the TV and sofa.

During the world cup I have to make a lot of tough decisions. There are a lot of important things that suddenly and unexpectedly crop up while am watching a crucial match, for example feeling like peeing. If ever I am faced with the situation where Brazil and Portugal have entered into a penalty shootout and I have to pee so badly that it hurts, then I know what am going to do. Am going to see the shootout and clean the floor after the post match analysis and news coverage. Also I will choose football over most things in life, like running if my building catches fire and running if we are hit by an earthquake. I will make an exception for breathing.

But if you see me walking around like a zombie, with bloodshot eyes, incoherent with the lack of sleep, eyes bulging, red, my number increased because of excessive TV viewing and my voice inaudible above a whisper, because it died while screaming my lungs out, then you will know that inside that harsh beaten body, lies a soul which is happier than it has ever been.

P.S. I wont be taking any calls during the world cup. Leave me a message if you want to contact me. I’ll call you back after the post match analysis and the news coverage, if the next match hasn’t started already. Ciao and A Happy World Cup to all of You!

By Editor Man

The World Cup and Women

FIFA WORLD CUP!!!!! WOMEN LOVE YOU TOO!!!!

Well... as you all know... FIFA WORLD CUP IS HERE!!!!!!
YAY!!!!!
now most people think that women dont like football and are not excited about the world cup... but there, you are mistaken my friends... Its not that women dont like football... its just that they like it for different reasons than men do... here are some celebrities and their reasons for liking football...

Paris Hilton: She thinks that footballers are really HOT.. she watches football because the sight of so many men in shorts running behind one GIANT ball makes her wanna make another sex tape... "ohmygod... Soccer is like... sooo hot!!"

Sonia Gandhi: Sonia Gandhi LOVES football... it is the one time of year, she can sit back, take off her sari, and be fully italian!!!... n when i mean take off her sari, i mean it literally... ahem... STOP IMAGINING IT!!!! "Mu-jhe fooot-boll ba-hut pa-sand he"

Sania Mirza: Sania likes to watch football because it takes her mind off her own miserable life... Watching the men fight over the ball as they do, she can stop thinking bout her husband and his first fat wife fighting over thier nikhah nama... "i like football.. it takes my mind off my bridal mehendi and my husband's bitchy first wife.."

Victoria Beckham: She will obviously love Football!!! her husband is a footballer... football is the reason for her being able to afford to walk around in gucci and louis vuitton... and buy 80,000 dollar clothes for her sad spice girl reunion... "of course i love football... but i love david's balls more... when his balls are involved, i get to play too..."

Karan Johar: Now this is the one bitch that doesnt like Football... life in this next month is going to be sooo long for him... Shah Rukh will be soooo busy watching the matches that he will have no time to talk in the middle of the night with his dahling KJo... :(.. poor thing...

By Countess Von Calculatier

The Hot Strip ........ By Tanzania THS™

Hot-O-Biography of a Dog.

Hi, my name is Bruno and I am a dog. And let me tell you straight away, it’s a dog’s life and it aint easy.

Firstly imagine every person you ever meet, regardless whether they know your family or not, calling your mother Bitch. That is so cruel when you are growing up. That sort of thing leaves you scarred for life.

The very next thing you know and your being sold of, or given away to some stupid human being who you have to call master. And I thought slave trade stopped a long time ago! Woof!

Well the tragedy doesn’t end there. Then your ‘master’ teaches you tricks and ties you to a string, and parades you around the place. And every time he wants to give you any love he starts hitting you on the head!

What is it with human beings showing us love by hitting us on our heads! I’ve never seen them pat each other on the head when they want to show love to each other. Cant they see we have a huge open back for patting, thumping and showing love?

Oh ya and I so totally hate dog biscuits! I mean how can you give that to us EVERY SINGLE DAY!!! would you be happy if you got only biscuits to eat for the rest of your miserable human lives?

Oh yes and lastly we do not like it when you copy our love making style! Come on do you see us copying you? Have you ever seen a dog using a man on top position or have ever seen a bitch riding a dog? NO! Then why do you humans use the doggystyle, especially when you are doing it in a pussy?

Reproduced and translated faithfully by Editor Man

Free isn't good enoough

Anything free is not worth buying.

Free things are usually not worth picking up. I can already see the many ardent shoppers looking disgusted at the previous statement and shaking their heads at it like your boss when you ask him for a leave. But probably after they’ve heard my argument against free goods they might just realize their flawed reasoning and thank me for making them see the light. I accept apologies.

The thing with free goods is, that there will always be an effort required to obtain which will be greater than the value of the product. For example when a supermarket announces that it is giving toilet paper absolutely 100 % free! People immediately queue up until the line becomes bigger than the line of ants outside an open fridge. There will always be, on average, a 100 people lined up to get anything which is free, even if its toilet paper and they don’t know how to use it. If you are willing to stand for eternity in a line full of smelly, unshaven and probably unwashed people all for a pile of toilet paper just because its free, then my advice to you is go ahead, but then get an IQ test done as well.

Companies aren’t stupid. If the products were any good they would charge you for it. All free goods by default have a defect. That's just the way things are. If the jeans are free its probably because the zip is broken, or that the colour fades faster than your memory or that its got a tear near the crotch. Needless to say free things last as long as a stomach problem right after you’ve had an Eno.(Eno, Kaam shuru sirf 6 second mein)

Even if it doesn’t have a defect, any article that is free will never be in your size and shape. Those free pair of shoes will either be for feet in the extra extra extra extra extra small category or will be available in a size that will only be of interest to bigfoot. They will also be shaped in a manner that will make you wonder whether they were intended for humans, kangaroos, horses or ducks. Or all at once.

If you do manage to hunt out those pair of free shoes that are of your shape and size, then get ready to be disappointed because they will not be in your design and colour. The shoes with large plastic flowers attached to them are always free, so are the ones with leopard prints. The choice of colours in free goods is always restricted to your least favourite colour and a colour that you do not like. Take your pick.

If any product that you happen to pick up, is without defect, and is of your style, size, shape, design and colour then be assured that it probably isn’t free anyway. Hence just buy what you want rather than take what you don’t.

by Editor Man

Tabasco Sauce....by Nachos!!

Day at the Doc

It was the first time I was visiting a skin specialist. Being a very hygenic person I had never ever had these red rashy patches before. The clinic was as usual small, white, and uncomfortable. It had 2 large sofa’s and one reception desk.

Behind the reception sat a short, dark and stout woman who looked more like a cook than a receptionist. She had an expression on her face that looked like something a pig would give if you threw a stone at it, with her eyebrows narrowed and her lips puckered in an upturned curve. I went up to her. she looked at me without blinking. I looked back.

“yes?” she grunted like an angry pig after its had a stone thrown at it.

“My name is Editor Man. I have an appointment for 7 o clock.”

“sit.” She grunted.

I sat. The sofa’s were probably from some prehistoric era, for they were hard as if made of stone. It was 6:50. Still 10 minutes before the doctor would see my red rashy patches. I stared at the ceiling then I stared at the clock, then I stared at the receptionist’s cleavage. She caught me staring at her ample outer crust and gave me a look that reminded me of Gabbar Singh for some reason. I looked away.

That's when the bombshell entered. She was a tall leggy girl, wearing a tight hip hugging skirt. She had such a silky voice, as she asked that female wrestler of a receptionist whether the doctor was ready to check her not. I don’t know about the doctor, but I sure was checking her out. She came and sat next to me and my heart sank down into my pants and began rising up again. I looked at her and smiled. Big mistake. On her face were big pulsating boils. Which wobbled each time she moved her head. To make matters worse, she had a yellow rashes running all over her checks. I’ve seen south American toads with better faces than her. My heart promptly retreated from my pants.

And then, thankfully my turn came. I pushed opened his door and entered. My doctor was a certain Dr. Bhimdev Balraj Ahuja. He had the kind the kind of name that would have passed unquestioned in a boxing or body-building competition but raised doubts when a Dr. was attached in front of it.

But he was a short smiling man with a cheerful personality. I sat on the examination table. He chit chatted for a while then he asked me to show him the problem. I slowly and embarrassedly unbuckled the belt, opened the button, pulled down the zip and underwear and lowered the trousers and turned my head the other way. I couldn’t believe I was letting another man have a look at my private part. To my horror, the doctor then reached out and grabbed it in his gloved hand and raised it up to see my red rashy patches.

Now the thing is millions of years of adaptation and instinct have wired thus that when a foreign object or anything resembling a hand grabs the little instrument and raises it or does anything to it in general, the thing begins to activate. It begins to “rise”. London Bridge starts building up again. It begins swelling as if its been punched by Mohammed Ali. And mine was no different. The moment the Doctor grabbed my thing, it began inflating like a balloon. There I was sitting with my pants down with red patches near my genitals, with a male doctor inspecting it while holding my organ while it was getting erect. Perfect.

The doctor realised what was happening in his hands and looked at me with a smile.

“well well well.” He said.

I was redder than the rag that bulls charge at. “I didn’t mean to... it just happened...” I mumbled.

“oh I understand” said the doctor, “here is your prescription.”

I took it, dressed up and hurriedly left the room. It was only later that I saw the backside of the prescription. It was written “9899980008- call me! With love, Dr. Bhimu Ahuja.”

By Editor Man

Sweet Chillies- Episode 5

Part 1

Rachit Vohra felt like kicking himself on his rear and he would have done it too had he not been tied to a pillar with jute rope. He had come to the saree don for help instead, ended up being tied to a pillar in nothing but his underwear. The rope was actually hurting as it cut into his exploding stomach. Rachit kept his eyes on the floor because he once seen a documentary, which had said that when you are surrounded by wild animals don’t try to make eye contact for that really pisses wild animals off. He certainly didn’t want to piss off any of the 7 bodybuilders or saree don herself.

“what’s your name you fat balloon?” asked saree don in her gruff manly voice.

“r... r... rachit maam”

“why did you come here and disturb me?” she asked and at the same time poked his paunch with a stick. Hard.

“I came to ask for your help in dealing with this boy called siddharth doshi. He stole my notes.” Said rachit.

Saree don started laughing really hard and manly like gabbar singh.

“how cute.” She said, “what made you think I would help you out?”

“because you help the weak and the oppressed and you give justice where there is none.”

“What do you think I am? Batman? Or mayawati? Bloody hell! I am saree don. You understand and saree don doesn’t do anything without getting 5 plates of pav bhaji in a week for 2 whole weeks understood?”

“yes.”

“what does your father do, you rat?”

“he is the owner of Srimaan Pan Masala and Gutka company...” said rachit.

Saree don froze in her tracks. A strange and dreamy expression came on her face that is usually known as surprised.

“WHAT! You father owns Srimaan Gutka?!! That is my all time favourite brand! Why didn’t you tell me before.. what's your name?”

“rachit” said rachit proudly inflating his chest and making the ropes hurt him more.

“Neelratan untie him. From now on he is our friend. Now what work did you have off me?”

Part 2

A few minutes after he had kept the phone, Aditya realized that when Prity had called to say that she was going far far away, she hadn’t met matheran but rather heaven.

Sweat broke out on aditya’s brow, because it was a very humid evening. He quickly wore his shoes and began running toward Prity’s hostel room. He ran so fast that Varun, the sports prefect saw him and made a note to put his name in the 100 meter dash.

Aditya reached prity’s room and knocked on the door. There was silence. He began pounding on the door. There was no answer. Maybe she is in the toilet, thought aditya. Maybe not said his instinct.

So he tried the door knob. The door opened and aditya’s worst fears were confirmed. Prity lay on the bed with her eyes staring upward and her tongue lolling out like a dead rat. Aditya saw the bottle of rat poison and immediately understood why she looked like a gigantic dead rat.

In her hand was a peice of paper. Aditya yanked it out, on it was scribbled, “I know who killed me. His name is aditya. Put him in jail for abetment of suicide and also for not getting physical with me and quenching my bodily needs. Ciao.”

Aditya quietly slipped the note his pocket, sneaked out of the room and shut the door behind him. ‘Bitch’ he thought, ‘trying to get me in trouble by killing herself! Hah! I outsmarted her!’ and he tore the suicide note into tiny peices and ate it. The next day the only evidence linking him to the suicide had been flushed into the ocean.

Twitter is for Celebrities

If you thought twitter was for the layman. If you thought twitter was the thing to spread information faster than domino’s can deliver pizzas to ordinary people across the world. If you thought people would appreciate what happened in your boring days and lonesome nights, also read as most of your life, then you were as wrong as the people who thought Housefull was an intelligent comedy with a story.

Twitter is definitely not for us ordinary mortals. It is only for celebrities and I’ll tell you why. Celebrities are famous and have a life unlike you and me. As a consequence people want to know what happens every minute in their life’s in 140 charachters or less. They do not care the same way about you because you are not famous and look like a dingy old bat. Period.

If Shahrukh Khan tweets “Good Morning all, traffic & my nose both blocked. ate a full green chilly & didnt feel a thing. means on the coldometer scale...my cold is 11 on 10.” Then there are atleast 3 million of his followers to feel happy about the good morning, shocked about the col, disgusted by his eating habits and the things he eats and confused at the lack of basic logic displayed in the statement 11 on 10. Within minutes he will receive a million more tweets back wishing him to get well and recommending he chew peppercorns, stand on his head and gargle shark infested water to rid himself of his ailment.

However if you tweet the exact same thing word for word(by copy pasting it, for those who don’t know how to do it) then you shall realise exactly how insignificant you are in the twitter universe. Tweet and sit back relax to the sound of silence disturbed by that rat thats gnawing away at your chair. You will get approximately zero replies in forever minutes.

I have seen endless number of people who have followed a surplus of 7000 people only to get 5 to follow them back. This is mostly because they have names like cooldaddy007 and sugarpuffsweetu999, who tweet things like “I is gone to sleep now befour I brushing.” Nevertheless the moral of the story being there is nobody to see and as consequence give a pig’s ass about whatever peice of wisdom or rot you tweet.

When the Modi-Tharoor Controversy broke, people were burning with jealously all over twitter. They were probably thinking, “here we are, tweeting our hearts out. Tweeting stuff that is so controversial that it could have gotten us executed in places like china, but no one even gives us a second look and here comes this guy Modi who looks like someone who parks cars for a living, who just tweets one small stupid name of some obscure woman and the world media jumps on it just because he happens to own the IPL! ITS NOT FAIR!”

Like I said, Twitter is for celebrities. Especially loud mouth celebrities like Modi and Tharoor. I bet they became even more popular on twitter after the controversy.

Facebook is for normal people. For one thing, normal people require more than 140 charachters to express themselves, they need pictures and status’s and they need people to like and comment on their status’ just to know that they are not entirely friendless and alone. And Even if they have no real friends atleast on facebook they can get the odd, ‘I want to be your frand’ request! Hence Proved.

By Editor Man

The Hot Strip ........ By Tanzania THS™

Kids+Romantic Dinner=Disaster!

Romance should never die. If that is your motto, then get ready to hire a nanny when you decide to pop out those things called kids.

Kids can completely and totally suck out whatever little romance is left in your relationship, if age, wrinkles and the hot new neighbour haven’t done it already.

You might still sneak in some romantic action by acting tough and packing your little one to bed sternly under the pretence of getting up early for school, but if you thought that you could ever milk some love out of a romantic dinner, when you decide to take your kids along, then you were gravely mistaken.

Taking your kids for a romantic dinner is the romantic equivalent of an atomic bomb.

If you have kids(small creatures between the age of 2 years to 7 years) then get ready to contend with the following.

You enter a swanky restaurant to celebrate your 10^th wedding anniversary. You’re so happy you made it so far without doing some serious bodily harm to each other. Alongwith you are your two angel children.

The waiter sits you down. You sit down and dump the children next to you. The menu card arrives. Your three year old son, has already begun banging the spoon on the table. You take it away from him. He starts with the fork.

Seeing him your 5 year old daughter tries standing up on the chair and dancing to his thumping tune. Your wife sits her down. You take away your son’s fork. He stares at you for a while like a lost puppy then begins wailing like a wolf on full moon night.

You hastily order the starters. You want to stare into the eyes of your wife on this special day, but she’s busy trying to get your daughter to stop dragging the tablecloth of the table as if it were a woman’s skirt and she were a rapist.

The starters arrive and your son sinks his mucus filled fingers straight into your soup, whilst your daughter has decided to use her pepsi like a waterfall and is busy pouring it on the floor. Your wife lunges for the glass. It falls and breaks. Your daughter starts wailing and the whole restaurant is looking at your table.

The main course arrives. Your son has calmed down. You look across lovingly at your wife only to find her stuffing chicken peices down your daughter’s throat. You sigh and eat your own chicken.

Each time you begin talking about the joys of being in love, your children interrupt with their squealing questions on stupid things like, “What is salt?”, “is water same as waiter?” and “what will santa bring this year?”

Finally dessert arrives and your children get busy with finishing their icecreams. You see an opportunity and you lovingly hold your wife’s hand in yours. You’re just patting her hand and telling her how much you love her when you son, having finished his cup, decides to pick up his fork and stab your hand with it.

You launch into a howl and the waiter immediately comes with the bill and sternly tells you to leave before you drive away his entire business. You pay through sore hands and bundle up your little devils. You fight back emotions of doing real damage to your little ones and go back home, tired, hungry and starved for love.

by Editor Man