Bongs - and why you should avoid them

1. The Bong body was once famous for being a rigorous piece of engineering, but it slowly became but an excuse to cover the most potent weapon known to mankind , the Bong brain. Years ago, when they were asked by the Universal Creator(read: Jothi-babu) which organ they would like to make robust and strong, the people of Bongland, who just got out of their favourite sport- killing people randomly(which the world mistook for communal riots) replied unanimously, 'My Brain'. Jyoti-babu subsequently ensured that the prices of fish, specially Ilish (Hilsa), Horlicks, radio sets and beedis were capped to ensure a generous supply of brain juice. Where a Punjabi would use his body or a South Indian his charm to woo women, the Bong does so purely on the strength of his intellect. The intellect of the Bangali is inversely proportional to his height, they say. Which is also why Bongoshontans have spent generations hooked to developing aptitude from reading Aggarwal and solving sums from SP Basu and KC Nag.
   
   
2. The Bong's lifelong obsession with food (which being the reason for the fall of many an otherwise successful marriage) is well documented and observed. Take, for instance, the parting of the Bong plate into four careful quadrants, a subject of furious debate by food critics all over the world. One quadrant consists of a lemon that is green on the outside, which men savour with a somewhat kinky look on the face, the lobon, or common salt, and the most vital part of the plate, the cornerstone of the Bengali meal, the kacha lanka, or green chilly, which they bite with their rightmost incisor pair. For this reason, this quadrant of the food plate is also called Sri Lanka (a family joke). The second, third and fourth quadrant would be white rice that is heaped like a small hill. Part of the first course would inadvertently be a dhal, that floods half the plate and which is sensuously squeezed through the Bong's fingers.
   
   
3. This dhal might have debris and leftovers of the head of fish, which the Bong would suck erotically through the gaps of the bones, with a noisy slurp. This historical slurp is losing its charm though, becoming looked down upon. So much so that the All India Trinamool Congress has taken note, who's lifelong aim is to protect our noble farmers, our rich Bengali culture and set fire to pretty much everything else. Robindroda used to do this(the slurp, not the AITC), and look at him, he won a Nobel. Mamatadi used to do this too(both the slurp and the AITC), till Buddhu-da told her its cool only when men do it. Sourav Ganguly does it too, but don't tell a Bangali that, okay?
   
   
4. Nothing would shock and appall an educated and respected Bong bhodro lok (gentleman) more than to learn that his society or friend, (preferably another Bong) has never heard Rabindra Sangeet, supports Salgaocar FC, does not rub his potbelly in public, fails to see the point in 'I don't eat fish, I eat only Ilish'(another family joke), works for a Non Bangali Boss, does not know his native village, does not watch Star Jolsha, does not speak English with the accent, does not use the term 'marketing' instead of 'shopping', does not part his hair, does not eat his egg roll, does not pronounce 'rasam' as 'rosom', and does not know the difference between a Marxist and a Maoist.
   
   
5. They think they own art. Well, sure they got a large number of poets/singers/actresses/miss universes, but its per-capita wise pretty consistent. They don't understand that its because of the large number of Bongs. It was part of Jothi-babu's plans of world domination- when the population control era began, Jothi-da was left fuming as he wanted more Bangalis, as he had invested money in Ilish maach production. So what does he do? He creates an Elite committee to recruit skilled labourers from Bangladesh to jack open every condom vending machine in the state and poke 2 holes in every condom. (one for stuff, the other for air). When people lost faith in condoms, these labourers got fired and they got pissed off and joined the Naxalites.
   
   
   Besides, only a Bong would say 'May Dada hit a century, but India still lose to Bermuda. Serves Kiran More right. And that Greg Choppol, bashtard'.
   

Chicken soup for the songi soul

Yes, I haven't blogged for a year. Yes, I spend Saturdays online on gtalk. And yes, I wish I could speak Japanese. What with all the loonies on earth doomed on goodness makes out when to end their sick hedonistic life, which isn't too far away, that theory created by those god forsaken sons of a what not. They made it so believable, I'm rejoicing. I wish I died at 32 though. That's like the time when thoughts stir into your head that getting laid isn't exactly the greatest of pedestals that humans dreamt of stepping on on a large, long term scale, historically speaking.

You wake up every morning to be the morbid you that you planned to be before you fell asleep that previous night. Yes, I shall write that record. Yes, I shall mug up that transmission lines derivation. Course I will clean the windows of the house, inside and outside. And for sure,I shall align source code to keep my oh so apparently non frivolous dsp lecturer happy, just so I get the bare minimum in the internals that a person needs to get through so as to keep the past semester past. And then you wake up, stare at gtalk all day, and die. Google, what would I do without you?

Songi bastards.

Imagine

Bomb blasts, regicides, kidnaps, extortion, Indians molesting Britons in India, Indians molesting Indians in Britain, Britons molesting Indian kids in ..well, India . . .


"When aye grow aap, I weel make won beeg news channel showing wanly good news."

My niece sure is small(secaand standard C secshan), yeah, Lalu Prasad style thinking, yeah, but that did make sense. Maybe when I become filthy rich, by some stamp paper scam, bribe a politician to raise a tax cut issue in parliament that'll work on my side, hoard up goods when prices are on nitro, ...

We could fuck the machine till the system blows up, or till we blow ourselves up, the machines that we are, and publicize that the world needs change, and do what we do best about terrorism, condemn it. Or, sit in our cushioned merry-go-round chairs, and blog about it.

Lennon sure could imagine a world with no heaven or hell, religion or people, no not even sex.
He had the cojones to. Sugar coated it, he did, to make you think its the most beautiful song in the world, but he meant it. No big deal, everybody say, he sits in an airconditioned room in London, or wherever, writes a song when he has a bank balance bigger than yours, and then sleeps with his wife for a month in public, smoking pot, lifts a couple of fingers and tells you to come to Nutopia. But he did.

Hell, he got shot at too. Some mofo comes at you with a derringer and drills a couple of bullets into your appendix, shouting God Fuck You or something like that, in some language you didn't care to study when you were in school. Not much you can do about it, yeah. Or blow you up with lil lakshmi-vedis targeted from a mobile phone.

Then you sit at home, schools and colleges closed for a few days, and swear at the government, swear at the sniffer dogs, swear at the havaldars, swear at your neighbour, swear at his mom who lives in Kerala... Life is screwed up, your pet parrot soon picks up your language and now can talk foul-mouthed shit in sixteen different tongues, your neighbour loses his temper and gets a heart attack yelling at his eight year old kid for flunking in his social studies exam, the sniffer dog dies of fatigue, that after biting half a dozen people who didn't realize that the dog was rabid, and the police blow their stupid whistles and breaks apart every couple or meeting of three or more in the street... but that's not the point I'm trying to make.

What the fuck is my point anyway?


#Sammok