Nikhil Sharda's Blog, page 3

Anti-Thesis

We seem dissatisfied with our heroes nowadays. I think it’s because people have caught onto the fact that flawless human beings can’t exist, and if they did we really wouldn’t want them, because, really, they wouldn’t be heroes. They would just be perfect…boring…unchallenged.We want internal turmoil. We actively crave Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight; it gives us joy that every superhero in Wathcmen is as broken as the world they inhabit; Iron Manis only interesting so long as he is an egotistical wanker. It’s an exercise in self-validation, a look at the greats, thinking, ‘if something that amazing has a really shit side, then my shortcomings by comparison must only be mild and weak-limbed, because I’m only an average bloke.’In that vein, here’s some balm for your heroic souls:Hercules went mad and killed his family.Ghandi was very often a terrible husband.Martin Luther King Jr was a serial womanizer.Turns out Lance Armstrong was on drugs.Oscar Pistorius may possibly have a bit of a violent temper (subject to the outcome of his case – in which, funnily enough, his prosecutor was taken off due to multiple charges of attempted murder. South Africa FTW).Everyone wants to be a hero. Unless you’re apathetic, which, I guess, makes you a student. In that case, you, dear reader, probably don’t want to be a hero.I say seek out anti-heroism. It’s what Epics are made of these days.It’s the tragic fall that makes the hero shine brighter and turns his/her story into an epic. Try to do as much heroic shit as you can before then. Because you will fall. Trust me.Note: On the other hand, if you think I’m wrong and are an optimist like my high school English teacher, do check out my conversation with the retired messiah.

I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and s...

I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and smoke-free. A diversified multi-cultural, post-modern deconstructionist; politically, anatomically and ecologically incorrect. I’ve been uplinked and downloaded, I’ve been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a high-tech low-life. A cutting edge, state-of-the-art bicoastal multitasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond!I’m new wave, but I’m old school and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice activated and bio-degradable. I interface with my database, my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive and from time to time I’m radioactive.Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, riding the wave, dodging the bullet and pushing the envelope. I’m on-point, on-task, on-message and off drugs. I’ve got no need for coke and speed. I’ve got no urge to binge and purge. I’m in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top but under-the-radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps and run victory laps. I’m a totally ongoing big-foot, slam-dunk, rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic. A working rageaholic. Out of rehab and in denial!I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up. You can’t dumb me down because I’m tireless and I’m wireless. I’m an alpha male on beta-blockers.I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever, laid-back but fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home, low-rent, high-maintenance. Super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built-to-last! I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk head case, pre-maturely post-traumatic and I’ve got a love-child that sends me hate mail.But, I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing – a supportive, bonding, nurturing primary care-giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I take a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cash-flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds and I watch trash sports! I’m gender specific, capital intensive, user-friendly and lactose intolerant.I like rough sex. I like tough love. I use the “F” word in my emails and the software on my hard-drive is hardcore – no soft porn. I bought a microwave at a mini-mall; I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast-food in the slow lane. I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear and I come in all sizes. A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically- formulated medical miracle. I’ve been pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed and, I have an unlimited broadband capacity.I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal. Lean and mean. Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock. Rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide. I’ve got glide in my stride. Driving and moving, sailing and spinning, jiving and grooving, wailing and winning. I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hanging in, there ain’t no doubt and I’m hanging tough, over and out!

The Confessional

Muslim Extremist: I have sinned, old man in a white robe.Catholic Priest: Call me father.Muslim Extremist: Papa.Catholic Priest: Not Papa, Father.Muslim Extremist: Dear Father, I have sinned.Catholic Priest: What are your sins, my son? Confess and be forgiven.Muslim Extremist: I’m not sure where to begin.Catholic Priest: Let’s see, have you ever indulged in any kind of incestuous activities?Muslim Extremist: Not at all. My family frowns on such things. If my dad knew I eventouched my sister he would make me suck his dick as punishment.Catholic Priest: Ok, what about rapes? Done any of those?Muslim Extremist: Just girls.Catholic Priest: Well, that’s no sin then. How about cursing? Are you a frequent user ofcurse words?Muslim Extremist: Fuck No! I’m not a foulmouthed cunt like some modern Muslims outthere. I stick to every word of the Koran and completely refrain from swearing.Catholic Priest: Well then, have you taken the life of another man?Muslim Extremist (hesitant): Quite a few, actually. I’m sure you must remember thosebeheadings that was all over the news and Internet some years back. I did five of those.Catholic Priest: I thought I recognized your accent. So you have killed five people?Muslim Extremist: Well, beheaded five. I have skewered seven, bombed eighty four, shot dead nineteen, tortured to death twenty two, strangled six, poisoned three, pushed off the cliff two, farted to death eight, and bored to non-existence twelve.Catholic Priest: Damn, boy. That’s a big-ass sin list you have there.Muslim Extremist: But I did it all to uphold the honor of Islam and the Prophet. I did it so I can force others to believe what I believe consequently enslaving them. I was merely using fear to get people to do what I want.Catholic Priest (thinks for a few seconds): Well, that’s cool then. We do similar stuff togays, Jews, Protestants, women seeking abortion, and pro-stem cell research people and then  blame it on black people.Muslim Extremist: I guess the blacks are really useful to you guys in that sense.Catholic Priest: They also make good punching bags.Muslim Extremist: Umm…don’t you think that’s kind of racist?Catholic Priest: When I said they also make good punching bags, I meant they produce good punching bags. I didn’t mean that it felt good to punch them. I mean, I don’t know for sure. Maybe they do. But that’s not what I meant.Muslim Extremist: Ok.Catholic Priest: Coming back to you, I really don’t think all that you have confessed so far are really that big a deal. A lot of people do it and still mange to lead very productive,successful lives.Muslim Extremist: But I’m not done.Catholic Priest: Ok. What else have you done? Have you stolen any babies and then torn them apart to sell their kidneys?Muslim Extremist: No.Catholic Priest: Have you tried pleasuring your pet cat using your index finger andsucceeded?Muslim Extremist: No.Catholic Priest: You mean you haven’t succeeded?Muslim Extremist: No, I meant I haven’t tried pleasuring my pet cat using my index finger.Catholic Priest: Do you get turned on while reading your Holy Book?Muslim Extremist: Is that a sin?Catholic Priest: No, but that definitely makes Sunday mass a lot more exciting. Forget it, have you treated a woman with equality?Muslim Extremist: Oh, God, no! I would never do something like that.Catholic Priest: Good, because that would really ensure damnation for you.Muslim Extremist: Duh! You don’t think I know that?Catholic Priest: Have you ever preached about love, peace, and harmony and actually meant it?Muslim Extremist: Father, please, I’m not an animal. I have always been hypocritical in my life and set double standards to everything that I’ve said and done.Catholic Priest: You appear to be a gem of a man to me. Have you ever thought ofconverting?Muslim Extremist: Never. My religion is sacred to me and I shall never abandon it.Catholic Priest: Well, that’s fine, I guess. We do need someone to bitch and groan about. Frankly, speaking fighting the Hindus is no fun. They are either too busy fighting amongst themselves or breaking windows and burning stuff.Muslim Extremist: Yeah, I know. What’s up with that?Catholic Priest: Well, that’s it. I have officially run out of sins to list. I’m even consideringcanonizing you.Muslim Extremist: I don’t know how to say it.Catholic Priest: What is it? What is this big sin that you feel you have done? Go ahead and confess. Be not afraid, thou will be rescued from thine mistakes, by ere Lord shalt doth would or some shit like that.Muslim Extremist: I bought Paris Hilton’s music CD.Catholic Priest (goes silent for about a minute and speaks in a cold voice): You did what?Muslim Extremist: I don’t know what I was thinking. I was scanning the location of a music store to plan a suicide attack and then my eyes fell on her slutty album cover and…and I …I just did it. It was an impulse buy and I regret it every single second. I am a bad person. I am a horrible, terrible person.Catholic Priest: Damn, right, you are. You bought Paris Hilton’s music CD? If at least you had downloaded it, there was a chance the Lord would have forgiven you. But to buy that piece of crap…Muslim Extremist: I know the heavens have scorned me because every time I listen to the CD my ears feel like they are bleeding and my brain goes cold trying to figure out what a spoiled, untalented little cocksucker this bitch is.Catholic Priest: I’m afraid your soul has already been lost to the dark…Muslim Extremist (interrupts): Please, father, don’t say that. Help me out. One religiousextremist to another. Get me some providential pardon. Would it help if I destroyed the CD in front of you? I have my little brother outside waiting with it.Catholic Priest (suddenly sits up): Your little brother?Muslim Extremist: Yeah, he’s waiting outside with the CD. Please, figure out some way to help me get providential pardon.Catholic Priest (licking his lips): How old is your little brother?Muslim Extremist: He’s eight.Catholic Priest: That’s perfect.Muslim Extremist: What are you talking about?Catholic Priest: You see, there’s one way the Lord will forgive you for the ultimate sin ofbuying Paris Hilton’s music CD. All you have to do is let your little brother be alone with me inside this detachable confessional booth for about three hours. I’ll try really hard to convince the Lord to forgive you.Muslim Extremist: Oh, thank you father. Thank you so much. I promise I’ll never buyanything that’s even remotely related to Paris Hilton. I’ll go get my brother now.(The Muslim Extremist returns with his brother. The Catholic Priest, by now, has rehashed the Confessional Booth in such a way that the intermediate separation is no longer there. The scared little boy enters the Confessional Booth as the Catholic Priest bids goodbye to the Muslim Extremist. The Catholic Priest, then, hangs a sign outside the door before closing it.
The sign reads, “DON’T COME KNOCKIN’ IF YOU SEE THE CONFESSIONAL BOOTHROCKIN’”)
Catholic Priest: Oh, God. Yeah. Oh, God!

eFiction India - You and I

You and I Lyrics – Vineet Mittal Lead and Vocals – Deevesh Sinha Rhythm and Playback – Nikhil Sharda Produced by eFiction India
For More Click Here

What It Means to be A Man

You shouldn’t probably be reading this if you don’t have an all-consuming penis dangling between your legs. Because only if you have one of those can you understand the concept of what it is to be a man; only then will you be capable of realizing why a man has been established, historically, as the head of every family; only then will you be bestowed with the sense to fully fathom the concept of honor and its extreme significance in the life of a man; then, and only then, will you be able to comprehend why, in order to save the honor of a family or a tribe or a caste, we men are willing to go to the strenuous lengths of stabbing a woman forty six times or shooting her twice in the head.                 It’s tough living around women, whether they are mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts, nieces, girlfriends, or wives. And I’m not talking about constantly having to worry about the toilet seats; I’m talking about how these women assume that they can just go ahead and think on their own and do stuff that they like without considering the ramifications their actions would have on their families, especially the men in their families. I blame it on the immoral culture of today’s world where certain miscreants are trying to spread a propaganda stating that women are actually equal to men. That’s just stupid.                Pakistan seems to be harboring a lot of these audacious women who think, ludicrous as it may sound, that they can just act on their own will. I know, it shocks me as well. There was one case where a woman’s audacity transcended boundaries of consciousness to bring shame upon her husband and her family. Her husband had a dream in which she was having an affair with a strange man who was half robot half accountant. Clearly, his wife was cheating on him with some mutated creature from the future. The husband immediately dressed up, left the brothel and headed back home to his infidel wife. Since he didn’t want to wake up his wife who went to bed on an empty stomach after she had waited till late night for her husband to arrive, he decided that it would be appropriate if he just poured some kerosene on her and set her ablaze. After she was charred to death, my fellow man was able to breathe a sigh of relief. His honor had been restored.              Another major problem is the whores found all over the world including India who think they have the right to feel attracted towards a man of their choice, and even go on and marry him. Marrying a person who is not the smelly old guy, who has already been “married” five to seven times, that her family chooses for her? Can you believe the nerve of that slut? How hard is it for her to understand that her life is not hers to be lived? Traditionally, in such cases a family’s honor is rehabilitated by hurling some acid on the girl’s face, disfiguring her for life so she’ll be reminded of the ugly whore that she is. But if the bitch goes over the line and has sex, or gets alleged of having had sex, before she gets married to the man of her family’s choice then she would have to be either stabbed in her throat till she can’t spit any more blood or shot in the back of her head in front of her entire community. At least then they ought to learn that there is no greater shame than a broken hymen. Besides, such shame associated with a family will make it much harder for the men in the family to get into the pants of other virgin girls.               There’s yet another type who brings shame to her family, and these bitches are probably the most irresponsible ones of the lot. I’m talking about those shameless sluts who let themselves get raped by decent god-fearing men. You would think that the least these tramps could do to not shame their families is avoid getting raped, but, no, they just walk around tempting good men with their tits and their asses and they get raped. Any community that would be willing to not reward such careless behavior with a blade through the rape victim’s neck or kicks to her face and crotch till she bleeds to death is, I’m sorry to say, uncouth and uncultured.                Maybe it’s fine for the morally scanty women in America to go around shaming their families as they please by doing what they want with their lives but at least in India we have to do whatever we can to protect the honor of men and to preserve our rich cultural heritage of being assholes to the women around us. And, so, the next time you notice that a woman- be it your mother who has raised you with all her love and strength or your sister who would do anything to protect you or your wife who yearns for your love every second- does something that she wishes to do, you don’t even need to think twice before capping that bitch. And since in India we are all brothers and sisters we men have the inherent right to kill any woman- that means I can shoot your mother- in order to protect our honor and then term it an ‘honor killing’. Reputation, not relationship, is what matters to us men the most. Women just need to accept the truth that we men are the ones who keep the sanity and morality of this world in tact. And if we weren’t special then God wouldn’t have given us the uniquely remarkable ability to pee standing up.

You've Got Mail - Christ

Dear Me-ians (think about it :) Pretty clever, eh?) And Rest,             I’ve got quite a few things on my list that I have to go over with you. Firstly, tragedy struck us today morning at ten o clock when Santa Claus died of an extreme syphilis-gonorrhea combination affliction. He caught it from Rudolph the red assed reindeer. PSYCH!! I was just messing around. Santa is still alive.  I love that red fat bastard. He does have the syphilis-gonorrhea combination affliction though. That has been known to happen when you slide down too many chimneys in the same night if you get my drift. And as a result, I’ll be couriering everybody’s gifts to their homes this time. So, if you don’t get the useless shit you asked for this year, don’t whine to Santa or me, whine to FedEx.
              I don’t particularly like celebrating my birthday. One of the reasons is because the parties in heaven suck. I mean, shit, what’s a birthday party with just eleven people?! And Gandhi won’t even let anybody eat meat. Talking about thrusting your beliefs upon somebody else. I’m glad none of my followers are like that. So, anyway, that’s why if I ever feel like partying hard I just hop down to hell and hang out a little while. Say what you want about Hitler but that Nazi motherfucker knows how to throw one hell of a fucking party.  “Ich liebe Hackfleisch”.  Yeah!
               Another reason I don’t want to be reminded of my birthday is because of my age. I mean, shit, you humans freak out when you hit thirty; imagine what it is to be over two thousand years old. Although, the popular opinion up here is that I don’t look a day over one thousand and seventy. To be honest, I owe it to all to healthy food and dedicated working out. Plus an occasional facelift doesn’t hurt anyone. PSYCH!! Just kidding. I’m in heaven, not Holly-fucking-wood.
               Birthdays are often occasions to reflect on and reminisce about things past. I was never someone who looked out for the future. I tried to make each day as useful as possible and better as many people as possible. In retrospect, I feel like such a douchebag for being so reckless in my behavior. When I gave up my life for the rest of you, I did it so that you’ll learn the significance of selflessness, love, and sacrifice; I even foolishly hoped you would all become better people. Instead, some of you assholes got together and devised a big fat hoax (in my name!) to control the lives of others and exploit it to your advantage; and the rest of you suckers let them get away with it. The aforementioned lines are not just true for me but some of my other comrades up here in heaven. In fact, both Krishna and Muhammad helped me write those lines because they feel the same way about those who run around chanting their names. You morons down there have no idea how pissed off we three are because of your stupid ignorant behavior since forever. Fuck! I promised myself I wouldn’t get too emotional on my birthday. Damn it! But it’s ok. It’s all right. I’m not angry; I’m just a little dented, cardiac wise.
             Speaking of things you people down there are doing wrong, I’d like a few things about the way you celebrate my birthday changed. I mean, don’t take this personally or anything but frankly speaking I’m kind of bored with the whole Christmas tree idea. Hell, it’s just a fucking tree for Christ’s My sake! With some glittery shit on it. It doesn’t really say anything about me. I would much rather prefer if you guys put up something bold, something adventurous, maybe some midget skeletons. Yeah, that’s right, midget skeletons. I think I’m onto something truly groundbreaking here. Just stay with me here! Get some midget skeletons, hang it in your front yard, inside your home, wherever you want to bring that holiday mood, and decorate it with some buffalo balls. Yeah, that’s right, buffalo balls. Or even bull balls. I don’t really care about that. Just make sure those midget skeletons look really Christmassy. But it has to be either buffalos or bulls. No bison balls. I hate bison balls. So remember, yes to buffalo balls and bull balls. But a big fat no to bison balls.
               And one more thing, when you are doing skits and stuff about my birth make sure you choose a cute baby to play me. I have seen some ugly-ass babies play me over the years. I don’t want that. If you can’t get a cute baby that’s human get one of those animatronic babies, I don’t care. But don’t rope in some shit-ass baby who looks like something that came out of Paula Abdul’s ass.
               Well, that’s it then, I guess. Hopefully you’ll have a great new year as well. Unless you get blown up by some psycho with an underwear bomb, or slain by some preschooler, or screwed over by your friends, family, and lovers. Or get plain depressed and end your lives. Anyways, Merry Me-Mas (think about it :) Pretty clever, eh?) to all of you. I’ve got a Fuhrer Partay to attend. Now, where did I leave my swastika?! PSYCH!!From,
Christ.

Take Life by the Balls

Need I ssy More today :D

*shudder* speed

I felt anxiety and fear unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I started to question my own reality; the way objects look began to seem extremely disturbing, people started to look disturbingly alien (as if it was the first time I had ever laid eyes on a human being), I felt as if I was realizing something humans aren’t supposed to realize. I was beginning to see things working behind the scenes, and it was frightening as hell. It’s kind of like that splinter in your mind that reality isn’t what you’ve always thought it to be, and now that you know the truth, it will haunt you forever. I have trouble even relating to my memories, my past, my identity, who I thought I was and who I wanted to be. For the first time in my life, I felt afraid. Of what, I have no idea. But it’s this feeling, its deep within me. I think I might have to stop my mind from transcending, for good if I ever want to feel normal again. Its de-personalization and de-realization to a degree that really frightens me, I’ve never felt so alien, I never knew anyone could feel so alien and alone. But now I’m scared of something I can’t even put into words, and I’ve broken down a couple times trying to explain it to people.But I can't. There is no words to describe it or maybe I haven't yet learnt the language yet.

I am climbing out the well of delusional reality and into the sunlight. I might either find myself or become Batman.

Filth and Pachas Paisa

People despise me saying I got a perverted filthy mind
Believe you me this verse is gonna be an unhealthy find
I spend my time snapping pictures of women with healthy behinds
I was fourteen when I started exhibiting these signs
I promise there’s no exaggeration in these lines
Used to carry my camera to my auntie’s gym
And click every time I saw this one blondie’s bum
But butts were plenty in that gym it seemed like a bum symposium
To me it felt like those women were actually posing them
So my trusted camera could capture those round cushions
To me this is an art, one that provides me sound visions
And it ain’t like I expose these ladies’ faces
All I do is take photos of their amazing bases
I knew I was made for this and I started branching out
I stared making money using this enchanting route
People really loved the photos I was handing out
Haunted coffee shops for girls sitting in or standing out
Sneaked into fashion shows to click the cheeky models
Doors or security couldn’t stop me from seeking more belles
I have even snapped a few secret celebrity pictures
When it comes to my work I lay down no strictures
The only golden rule I care is customer satisfaction
But that doesn’t mean I take clients like Michael Jackson
My camera doesn’t capture children or even the male race
I won’t compromise on that even if it means I won’t be able to save face
Amongst my best sales are the butts of JLO and Britney Spears
I don’t have to mention those aren’t a pair of itsy bitsy rears
I caught them both at a bar trying to drink free beers
They were both dressed in dresses whiter than the head of Richard Gere
Nothing’s more ironic than Britney Spears in white
And ain’t nothing more erotic than Jen Lopez in tights
Then there’s Anna who’s hot as long as it’s no tennis fight
Her pictures sell great even on her most heinous night
Her butt’s clearer in my pix than the ones on any website
You must be thinking I wrote just to advertise my collection
That’s not true; I have another reason for this method selection
Let me fast forward to my worry; let me tell you all about it
I hope you’re in no hurry; you’re a writer so I doubt it
The problem has everything to do with my latest client
He’s a good customer and I’ve always been reliant
But his latest need has totally wrecked my peace
He wants a photo of the butt of my girlfriend, Denise,
I’m left stumped, can’t figure out how I’m to act
Never say no to my clients is my primal business pact
This situation has landed me in a very tough spot
Even a word against my girl is a bad enough thought
But backing out of my job isn’t one of my functions,
At the same time I’m being overwhelmed with compunction
To do or not to do that is the question
I want you to answer that with a good suggestion
And don’t think me stupid I do know the obvious answer
Forget about asking me to hire some helping hands, sir,
I know I could just employ someone and give him the task
But I work alone and don’t take help from any wimpy ass
If anybody’s snapping my girl then I’m the one to do it
The issue is whether or not I will afterwards rue it
Also there’s a chance that Denise will finally find out
Don’t want things to change, they’re perfectly fine now
All I’ve told her is that I work as a photographer
She is unaware that I’m really a buttock sniffer
I so damn wish this client would get off of her
This guy is more obstinate than Adolph Hitler
I could turn him down, say no to the horny chump
But he’s loaded almost as much as Donald Trump
Nobody knows about this world in which I exist
Mother nor sister know this is how I bought our Lexus
So reply fast I need a way out this mess
Make sure it’s one where I suffer least distress
Some plan where I’ll end up with the girl and cash
Not some stupid one which will make me whirl and crash
Help me out I’ll definitely make it your time’s worth
I’ll send you photos of any bum you want on this earth.

                                                                                     Huge Pervert, New Delhi
Dr. Pachas paise replies:

I’m not suited to judge your mind’s condition
Although I think your brain’s out of commission
Your job definitely isn’t for the weak-hearted
It stinks like the air when a dead sheep farted
At first I imagined someone was pulling a prank
The more I read the more it stank
You’re nothing but the lowest form of paparazzi
You wanna be a hero, go slap a Nazi
You’re only fooling yourself sounding artsy-fartsy
Taking pictures of women with their asses half seen
You’re the biggest Jack of all the asses I’ve seen
I’m very much shocked that you’re still alive and clicking
But listen real close your clock is ticking
Now or later you’re going to end up hurt
Sorry for the tone generally I’m not this curt
But I’m telling you man you’ve almost reached the brink
You better call it quits and bleach your kink
Best thing would be for you go see a shrink
The storm will hit you and your ship will sink
And stop calling what you do as work
It just proves you’re a humongous jerk
What you’re doing is a punishable offence
The price you might pay could be very immense
You’re hurting people’s families in a sense
You’re preying on unsuspecting women having innocence
Your habits seem to have eroded that aspect of inner sense
Now when your girl could be the victim you feel the sting
For the women whom you victimize it’s pain you bring
But I see the issue for you is an entirely different thing
I first got the wrong idea from your marks of ink
I pictured you had finally learned your lesson
Figured your perverseness would finally lessen
It isn’t love or anything close that leaves you distraught
Your heart holds nothing but various sleazy thoughts
Concern for your girl isn’t what is upsetting you
You just don’t want her to be suspecting you
You don’t care if someone treats her badly
You’re willing to make money off her gladly
As long as you’re in the clear and not involved directly
You’re playing up to a false image you’ve erected
Just by delegating the task you think you’re free from blame
You’ve pawned your morals for attaining money and fame
The matter at hand is not about being true to your clients
What you’re doing is against God and an act of defiance
You belong with rats though you might dream of lions
Exploiting innocents is what you judge as triumph
You cannot cross bridges until and unless you try ‘em
If you loved your girl you wouldn’t have needed my help
You would have told your client to go straight to red hell
And you wouldn’t have lied and side-lived a secret life
Your personality sucks, it’s worse than being a stereotype
You have wasted your life lusting after fame and money
You adopted vulgar means and that’s the same as demonic
However God is one who forgives even the worst
Don’t you want a clear mind before you’re in your hearse?
Death can capture everything but it can’t capture hope
God can save your neck even if the devil latches on it with rope
All that advice is under assumption you have plans to become changed
Although from your letter you sounded more than deranged
So if you’re planning to stick to your lifestyle then I have a request
I know you find it proper in you what others find grotesque
So be the proper professional and make good your promise
You promised that my time will bring me photographic profits
I think I know just what would please my most common sense
Naked pictures of buttocks that belong to your mom and sis.

Modus Molestation

Imagine this. A huge statue of a tall dark handsome Indian man. Located in a central spot somewhere in our country, a place where our countrywomen, tourists, foreigners, and visitors to India can have a deep long look at it. The statue stands tall towering well above the monuments around it. Safe in the man’s right hand raised high into the air almost touching the clouds hovering over it is a tablet with the inscription “Woman is God” on it. Below the man’s waist wrapped in his left hand is a huge concrete erection that’s pointing up towards the blue skies and two gigantic balls, which have inscribed on their vast surface the words:
“Give me your blonde, your brunette,Your unsuspecting bitches yearning to get raped,The wretched sluts whose pussies I’ll forcibly make wet,   Send these, the innocent, the underage, the elderly, regardless of how they are shaped                                       I lift my horny chauvinistic cock and rape every single cunt I can get.”

It’s been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that two out of every three Indian men (the third is a eunuch) find it physiologically impossible to refrain from molesting at least four women every week. So, we might as well have a statue announcing to the whole world that east or west, we’ll do our best to molest.
Much like everything else in this world our modus molestation has also evolved. A decade or so ago, our best men toiled in harsh working conditions (like crowded buses, jam-packed queues, markets, poorly chaperoned nieces’ houses, movie theatres, and churches) using simple techniques (like the ass-graze, the sleep-grope, the accidental boob jab, the inadvertent thigh caress, the trip and grab for support bit, and the misguided peck on the cheek) that often gave the desired result but in a degree lesser than expected. With the passage of time, things have changed, sexual repression has increased, carnal depravity has grown, and we, the Indian men, have developed far more impressive and efficacious methods of molesting women. We’ve become way more adept at what we do, much more meticulous, and thorough professionals.
The Delhi Molestation event that transpired not long ago (http://in.news.yahoo.com/delhi-police-constable-suspended-molestation-171509836.html) marks a new milestone in the Indian Men’s molestation track record. Never has our country felt prouder since the release of Mallika Sherawat’s Murder.
We hear all the time about corporate tycoons making a mark outside their own country using their business acumen and their grandfathers’ fortunes. Indian men, too, have begun expanding their activities to non-Indian pussies. There was a time, when due to social constraints and a narrow outlook, we were restricted to molesting only the women in our country. Now, thanks to globalization and exaggerated advertising about Indian tourism, we are presented with several opportunities to forcibly extend our cocks to unwilling foreign cunts. Be it the smooth molestation of a Swedish teenager in Cochin by a few dozen of our compatriots (http://www.ibnlive.com/videos/55436/local-revelers-in-kochi-molest-swedish-girl.html) or the molestation of an American woman by a messenger of God (http://www.ibnlive.com/news/american-tourist-alleges-molestation-at-pushkar-temple/55960-3-1.html) the quality of work and the ease with which the cases are swept under the carpet to brighten the tricolor surface of our nation are nothing short of stupendous.
A lot of people feel that molesting a woman is different from raping her. If you ask a true hardcore Indian man you would realize that the two are as different as a Bollywood actress and a Red-Street prostitute, or horseshit and donkeyshit, or a poor wife with great tits and a rich wife with no ass. When you rape a woman, you complete the job; you finish what you started; there is closure. Molesting someone, on the other hand, is more of an initiation course before you perform in the big league of rape. It’s like the chicken broth before a three-course dinner. Often, several men have a taste of the soup and take a raincheck on the main course. But you know that sooner or later those soup tasters will come back to bite into the main dinner.It is undeniably true that none of the commendable progress of the Indian molesters and rapists would have been possible if it weren’t for the police, the court, and the various state governments. And, undoubtedly, the biggest token of gratitude goes to the word “alleged” that the media and the officials efficiently throw around when it comes to sex offences. Thanks to that word a giant beast with big ears, tusks, a trunk and pillar-like legs will remain an “alleged” elephant unless proven by a court of law.For some reason women don’t quite enjoy getting molested and raped as much as the men who commit those acts do. I’m personally quite baffled by this lukewarm response from the ladies. But hey, to each their own. However, one thing you ladies need to know about Indian men is that we never say no (except when the wives ask us if we’re having an affair). Regardless of the mediocre level of enjoyment you derive from our manly acts, we will strive to molest and rape all women, Indian, non-Indian, alien, and feminist until the end of time. If you don’t want to be involved in it, then keep your ass inside your home. Might seem a little regressive but that’s our best offer. Get out and get molested. Stay home and save your ass. Well, unless your male relatives at home wish to rape you. Allegedly, of course.